Is it just me or has Greenpoint gotten kind of… soupy? Our community formerly known for its extensive amount of shitty laundromats and indie coffee shops has been submerged in hot broths and among soft boiled eggs and within the residual depths of miso flotsam.

 

And not one of us hates it.

 

I’ll help you take stock of the new, the old, and the non-existent and navigate the formerly uncharted waters of our soup infiltration here. Dive in, brotha.

 

 

Nestled among the pomposity of Torst, the place where they serve you 2 oz pours of beer in whisper-thin wine glasses for $16, and the mystical (but definitively unseductive) polish social club, Wanpaku popped up with open windows, minimalist decor, air ferns and what could be tempted to feel like an air of pretension, until you step inside. The staff here seem genuinely happy to see you and to share with you the magic and warmth of their offerings, and the prices don’t reflect the pristine decor.

 

 

We ordered both the Kakuni (pork) bun and the Chicken Tatsuta bun, which both contained the perfect amount of flavor and magic that can be held between the soft, steamy bun folds. My date went for the Shoyu Ramen which for only $12 is one of the best values in town considering how perfectly balanced this bowl was. I went for the $20 Washu Beef Ramen which was almost worth the price for the rare slices of beef atop it. The garlicky-soy base had just enough going on within it to have me completely forget it was 85 degrees out and slurp every last drop. Oh, yeah, and there is a stunning speakeasy in the back called the hidden pearl. Go, discover. 621 Manhattan Ave

 

 

The one who didn’t ride the wave of broth into our fair community, they set the tide. Amami place easily has the best sushi in town but also has been bathing us in tradition and reliably rich ramen since 2016, when Greenpoint was still the land of pierogis and weird burger places “hidden” in the back of Subway shops and, well, exceptionally bold rats. And while it’s really hard not to focus on sushi here, their ramen is just as well-thought-out as every delicate dish of fish they serve. The guy behind the mTonkotsuagic (and often the sushi bar) at this beautiful space on Nassau Ave is focused on a balance between simplicity and sophistication, and every steaming bowl is a reflection of those tenets. Go for lunch, get the Tonkutsu, and understand finally what Ramen is supposed to be. 57 Nassau Ave

 

 

I don’t like to take a chance on ramen. I want to know it will be good. I want to find integrity in my bowl from the first hot sip to the last cool slurp. Ramen Spot is your go-to for reliable, undeniably good ramen with a bare-bones approach. They have created a space that feels most like the traditional ramen “spots” you hear about in Japan, focused on the food without the fanfare. My Takayuki was rich and bold with perfectly-cooked noodles, soft mushrooms, crisp pea shoots and well, you know, that hypnotic little fish cake thing that I always don’t mind but never want. The spicy miso was meticulously crafted with sleeves of sweet yellow corn and just the right amount of heat and seduction. These guys know what they’re doing by focusing on building the perfect broths and let everything else fall quite simply into place. It will make you forget the absence in your heart that appeared once Radio Shack shuddered its doors. (Oh, you already did, didn’t you, you heartless savage…) 760 Manhattan Ave.

 

 

 

Ok, ok, I know. This isn’t ramen per se, it’s pho. And yes I know the difference. But is it a hot new soupy spot in Greenpoint? Do I think it deserves a spot on this list and that you need to go there, immediately, and check it out? Yep. Diandi has boldly entered one of those Brooklyn black holes, a place that has been so many other places that we all probably thought about entering but instead waited in the 2.5 hour line at Paulie Gee’s. No one knows why these spots feel unapproachable; it’s like they carry the ghosts of all the failed businesses of their past, and no amount of bright lighting or 6-layer sprinkle-covered cakes in the window (blessed Hail Mary, no grace could have saved you…) can tempt us inside. Enter Diandi, a fresh as phock Vietnamese spot that will make you soon forget all of the woes of 68 Greenpoint Ave’s former tenants. Get the wok-seared beef pho with a friend donut, for dipping. 68 Greenpoint Ave.

diandi.nyc/

 

Daniel Birnbaum became a student of the Japanese art of ramen and we were all along for the ride, 3 days a week, tucked inside a Nordic cafe on Greenpoint Ave. Ramen Railroad wowed us with his interpersonal approach to soups and then immersed us in dynamic flavors and inventive elements. He easily tempted me to dismiss the often cold service behind the coffee bar at Budin and instead get cozy with a bowl of hot ramen while sitting and feverishly typing away at my laptop much more satisfied than virtually every other freelance inhabitant of the space. And it seems that Daniel took his train out of there just at the right time as (very unfortunately) Budin lost its battle with some likely piggish landlord and has permanently shuddered its doors. While we all indefinitely drown our coffee sorrows in other establishments, Daniel’s soups will be popping up at the Diamond nearly monthly for their Thursday night #diamonddinners. His spicy miso is made with almond milk which adds a rich, delicate balance and a surprisingly Vegan approach to this familiar friend. His Shio Paitan focuses on that seductive slow game by marinating, slow-cooking, and ruminating over the elements for 10-24 hours. But the best part about Ramen Railroad is inevitably the conductor. Pick his brain about his love of the food as he selectively chooses every element that goes into his meticulously-crafted bowls. His pop-ups will always be featured in your Weekend Guides, so I’ll help make sure you don’t miss him. And, of course, get on board here too.

 

 

Come on, guys. Where are you? The “first” of the wave of hot broths to claim steak and pork in the neighborhood threw up a bold sign on Franklin St that got us all talking and then six months later, that’s still all we have. They came in hot and left us cold. The last anyone heard is that they are still waiting for National Grid to install a gas meter, which simply tells me that ironically, they aren’t paying off the right guy. Come on, Ramen Mafia. We’re hungry. 208 Franklin St.

UPDATE: Well, that didn’t last long. Ramen Mafia opened and then closed within a year. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.

 

 

Among the first and also the most expensive options in the neighborhood, the cousin to Williamsburg’s famous Ichiban inevitably knows what they are doing. And also, they were the first restaurant review I ever wrote. Read it here, then go, get the short rib Ramen and fall apart. 614 Manhattan Ave.