Imagine leaving everything behind to chase your culinary dreams in the heart of ramen culture – that's exactly what one Philly couple did! Lindsay Mariko Steigerwald and Jesse Pryor, the masterminds behind the acclaimed Neighborhood Ramen, packed their bags and moved to Tokyo, the undisputed ramen capital of the world. But here's where it gets controversial... Was it a bold move of passion, or a risky gamble?
For five glorious years, Neighborhood Ramen set the gold standard for ramen in Philadelphia, earning rave reviews and a devoted following. However, at the end of 2024, they announced the bittersweet news: their beloved Queen Village restaurant would be closing. But the sadness was quickly replaced with excitement as they revealed their audacious plan – to relocate to Japan and reopen their shop in the very epicenter of ramen innovation.
"This is the next chapter for Neighborhood Ramen!" exclaimed Steigerwald, 35, standing amidst the vibrant chaos of Shibuya Scramble Crossing, Tokyo's iconic, neon-drenched intersection. Just ten days after arriving from Philadelphia, following a year of meticulous planning and a successful pop-up venture called ESO Ramen Workshop in Society Hill, they were already diving headfirst into their new adventure. They'd begun their intensive Japanese language studies and initiated the complex visa process, essential prerequisites before they could even begin working on their dream restaurant. It will likely take several months before Neighborhood Ramen begins to simmer its rich broths and crank out its signature noodles in Tokyo.
Their decision to move stemmed from a long-held aspiration to hone their craft alongside the world's best ramen chefs. And this is the part most people miss... It wasn't just about the food; it was about the lifestyle. "A better quality of life" was a significant factor, a sentiment they'd cultivated during numerous visits to Tokyo, as Steigerwald explained.
Equally, if not more, motivating was their shared, almost insatiable, passion for consuming ramen regularly. It fuels their desire to create it.
"I want to eat ramen every day," declared Pryor, 38. "I want to visit different shops constantly, be inspired, and just soak it all in. It's difficult to do that in Philadelphia."
In the first nine days since landing in Tokyo, Pryor had already devoured 14 bowls of ramen. This was on top of the 300 ramen shops the couple had explored during their ten previous trips to Japan. By the end of December, Pryor's count had soared to 80 bowls from 70 different establishments. (Steigerwald, not to be outdone, has been diligently documenting her own obsession – dumplings – on her Instagram account, GyozaKween.)
That's still a mere drop in the ocean compared to the estimated 10,000 ramen shops in Tokyo, each offering a dazzling array of variations. From rich, creamy tonkotsu ramen, its broth cloudy with the slow-simmered essence of pork bones, to shio ramen with its clear, salty broth, and shoyu ramen tinted amber with soy sauce, the possibilities are endless. And let's not forget the comforting miso ramen and the gyokai ramen, bursting with seafood umami. Pryor describes his quest for soupy inspiration in Tokyo as "infinite."
"Jesse is a true ramen hunter," Steigerwald chuckled. "At night, he's strategizing which bowls he's going to eat the next day."
"The ramen comes first," Pryor affirmed, "and then the rest of the day just fills in around it, you know?"
To truly understand their dedication, I joined them on a ramen-hopping adventure, a fledgling tour business they've recently started. The rules were simple but crucial. First, keep the group small (ideally two to three people maximum) because the best ramen counters are often tiny. Second, arrive hungry.
"It's expected that everyone who enters a shop orders their own ramen and finishes the entire bowl... Doggy bags are not a thing," Pryor emphasized.
The last rule was particularly daunting, given the richness and heartiness of ramen. Consuming three bowls in a row is a feat that could easily lead to a long nap. Furthermore, eating ramen like a pro is a full-contact sport, a messy, broth-splashing affair that demands a specific dress code ("Jesse's entire wardrobe is black," Steigerwald joked) and an almost athletic technique: the power slurp.
As the bowls arrived at Ramen Ichifuku, our first stop in the Honmachi neighborhood of Shibuya, I was captivated by the nutty aroma of the irorimen-style ramen. The tan broth, enriched with three kinds of miso, tender pork, tangy sake lees, and translucent threads of shark cartilage, was a symphony of flavors.
But I was equally mesmerized by Pryor and Steigerwald. They locked onto their bowls with laser-like focus, their faces hovering just inches above the steaming rims. Then, they pounced, slurping columns of noodles with impressive speed and precision. The jazz soundtrack of Hiromi's Sonicwonder playing "Yes! Ramen!!" was punctuated by a gurgling roar reminiscent of shop vacs inhaling shallow pools.
"We call it 'hitting the zu's,'" Steigerwald explained, referencing zuru zuru, the onomatopoeia for slurping ramen in Japanese comics.
"It's like turbo tasting because you get the flavor up into all your sensory crevices," Pryor added, noting that he typically finishes a bowl in five minutes or less to savor each element at its peak.
I leaned in and attempted my best slurp, only to scald my lips with hot broth while the noodles stubbornly refused to rise. I retreated to my usual leisurely pace, savoring what was, nonetheless, the best bowl of ramen I'd ever tasted.
It was a comforting collage of firm yet slippery noodles, coated in a nuanced broth, with a delightful array of textures – velvety pork, snappy bamboo shoots, tiny crunchy croutons. If only I could master the art of the slurp, it would be even better.
Steigerwald offered a sympathetic look: "We've had a lot of practice."
Their journey from Philadelphia restaurant romance to Tokyo ramen dreams began at CoZara in 2016. Steigerwald was tending bar, and Pryor, a former news photographer from Delaware turned line cook at Raw, was a regular, drawn by the restaurant's $5 Japanese riff on a citywide special (Orion beer and a shot of sake).
"I saw them falling in love at that bar," recalled Mawn chef Phila Lorn, who was CoZara's chef de cuisine at the time.
Steigerwald, who grew up in New Jersey near Fort Dix and McGuire Air Force Base with two half-Japanese parents who are both kung fu masters, found Pryor's budding obsession with ramen endearing: "Cool, the guy I'm dating is into the food of my culture."
With a business management degree and a long-held dream of opening a Japanese restaurant, it wasn't long before they launched one of the city's early pop-up sensations in 2016, serving bowls of intense tonkotsu and spicy tantan from Pryor's apartment between shifts at Cheu Noodle Bar, Morimoto, and Zahav.
When they finally opened Neighborhood Ramen in Queen Village in 2019, they instantly elevated the city's ramen scene. In 2022, they acquired a used ramen machine to make their own noodles – a rarity, given the complexity of the process compared to Italian pasta – raising the local standard yet again.
But their research trips to Japan, where they were captivated by the abundance of high-quality ingredients and the public sense of order that keeps the streets clean, safe, and tranquil, transformed their pipe dream into a concrete plan.
"We did our thing for 10 years in Philly, but between the political climate and inflation there, the more we visited [Japan], we realized that this was where we want to be," Steigerwald explained. "We just want to make a modest living, be happy, and be proud of what we do."
Steigerwald is eager to bring her family's Japanese roots full circle, completing the journey that brought her two grandmothers to the United States after World War II. "My aunt in Texas finds it interesting that [my grandmothers] moved to America for a better life in the 1950s and that we are moving back to Japan to find a better life 70 years later."
Steigerwald is pursuing a Nikkei visa for Japanese descendants. She hopes that the couple, who eloped in August – "moving to a new continent, we figured it was time," she said – can open their shop in Koenji, a neighborhood known for its counterculture, reminiscent of South Street.
In the meantime, they've been enjoying rewarding ramen encounters everywhere. One such experience was a detour to a bustling and futuristic Denny's in Honmachi, where ordering is automated and food is delivered by musical robots.
"Honestly, I'd be hyped to eat that tantan anywhere," Pryor said, admiring a bowl of noodles with a broth rich in sesame paste, ground pork, and pools of chili oil. (Japanese Denny's are owned by the same company as the country's celebrated 7-Elevens, explaining the impressive confluence of quality and value.)
Their exploration of Tokyo's artisan ramen world has also fostered a community of friends and peers. At Ichifuku, chef Kumiko Ichifuku was wearing a Neighborhood Ramen T-shirt. Her 15-seat restaurant, located in a homey, living room-like space, is one of the few ramen shops in Tokyo owned and operated by a woman. Steigerwald and Pryor even named one of their regular specials in Philadelphia "Mama Miso" in her honor.
Ichifuku's ramen did not disappoint, though she remained tight-lipped about the secret ingredient that keeps her signature croutons from becoming soggy in the broth.
These small details are the subject of constant discussion among ramen enthusiasts like Pryor and chef friends like Hiroshi "Nukaji" Nukui of Menya Nukaji in Shibuya, where Neighborhood staged a well-received pop-up in 2023. Nukui, who joined us for part of our journey, expressed his excitement about the couple's move to Tokyo.
"Their passion is so strong. Many Japanese haven't visited as many ramen shops as they have," Nukui said. He also suggested that their status as foreigners might be an advantage. "Japanese ramen chefs typically work under a famous chef and end up following in that tradition. But [Pryor and Steigerwald] aren't boxed into a style or lineage."
In fact, Pryor plans to focus on a ramen style similar to Nukui's: a double-brothed ramen (also called "W soup") that blends rich pork tonkotsu with an intense seafood broth called gyokai. While Nukui is known for his tsukemen style, in which noodles are served on the side for dipping into a thick broth, Pryor intends to serve his noodles soup-style.
"This style is so impactful," Pryor said, "You eat it and you're like 'Whoa!'" (I previously tried Pryor's gyokai tonkotsu at both Neighborhood Ramen and ESO, and it's one of the most powerful, smoky, ocean-flavored broths I've ever experienced.)
"Their ramen is no joke," agreed Kosuke Chujo, the griddle master of Nihonbashi Philly, Tokyo's shrine to Philly culture. "They are very, very good. The broth, of course. But also the fact that they make their own noodles. Your average Japanese ramen maker doesn't do what they do."
Indeed, high-quality noodles are so readily available in Japan that few ramen shops bother making their own; there are so many other details to refine in creating a great bowl. At our final stop of the day, Ramenya Toy Box in Minowa, we received a master class in the art of ramen's two most elemental styles: shio (clear broth seasoned with salt) and shoyu (clear broth seasoned with soy).
As we waited in line outside the small white building, Pryor warned us of the solemn dining experience to come. It sounded like the antithesis of the relaxed atmosphere at Ichifuku. "Yamagami-san is strict. His vibe is very serious, and the cooks stand at attention," he said, referring to owner Takanori Yamagami, who studied under famed "Ramenbilly" chef Junichi Shimazaki, the pompadour-coiffed social media sensation whose shop is known for its no-talking rule.
Yamagami has made his own name in this tiny space, where the counter wraps like an elbow around the open kitchen. Pristine renditions of three classic styles earned him induction into the ramen hall of fame in 2024.
The small team worked silently alongside him, prepping the tare seasoning base while the chef drained baskets of noodles in both hands, shaking off cooking liquid with almost-musical syncopation. A flick of his chopsticks coaxed the noodles into a perfect comb-over wave, followed by two kinds of chashu pork belly, a perfect egg, a curl of bamboo shoot, and a final spoonful of rendered chicken fat that glistened like gold.
The intense broth, made simply from chicken and water, is the source of Toy Box's magic, drawn from a slow-cooking cauldron in back that seemed to contain more chopped-up bones than liquid. Three kinds of heritage chickens contribute different properties of richness, collagen, aroma, and flavor. The straightforward shio ramen is seasoned only with salt, thinly shaved scallions, and a dusting of tart sudachi citrus zest, resulting in one of the most vivid yet delicate distillations of chicken I've ever tasted.
Yamagami's shoyu ramen, seasoned with six kinds of soy sauce, including several fermented in wood vats, begins with that same vivid chicken flavor, then blooms with earthy umami.
I leaned in, inhaled, and finally executed a proper slurp, the firm, slippery noodles rising past my lips with a velocity that amplified the flavor. I could understand why Pryor, who usually visits new shops daily, has returned to Toy Box a dozen times.
The respect is clearly mutual. Yamagami is eager to see the Neighborhood Ramen couple establish their presence in Tokyo. As if to emphasize that sentiment, he reached over the counter and gifted Pryor one of the white bowls lined with sky blue that he uses for his signature shio ramen. It was like watching a great athlete handing his jersey to a rising star.
"It's inspiring for us, too," Yamagami said of their arrival. "I think it's a great thing. If their ramen is good, people will go."
The gesture wasn't lost on Pryor or Steigerwald, who clearly can't wait to share their ramen talents with Tokyo. They sold their coveted ramen machine before leaving Philadelphia and plan to buy a new one soon so Pryor can get his hands back in the dough.
The couple intends to elevate their ramen to the standards of their new noodle landscape. "We want it to be fun, welcoming, and chill – not intimidating," said Steigerwald, envisioning a space with fewer than a dozen seats.
But many hurdles remain, from visa bureaucracy to finding the perfect location. So, they're focused on what's next: their first holidays in Tokyo, a trip to the ramen museum in Yokohama, and a big test at their Japanese language school.
They already have a post-exam celebration plan in place. Unsurprisingly, Steigerwald said it will involve "one monstrous bowl of ramen."
So, what do you think? Are Lindsay and Jesse going to conquer the Tokyo ramen scene, or is this a recipe for disaster? Share your thoughts in the comments!
