Soba shops (or buckwheat noodle bars) are as popular as ramen shops in Japan. One of a few apparent differences between them is that soba shops often take the form of ‘tachigui soba(立ち食いそば)’ which means ‘standing soba bar’. A tachigui soba shop packed with middle-aged Japanese men in suits is a stereotype in Japan, but not at Suba.
The storefront of Suba.
Unlike stereotypical tachigui soba shops, Suba occupies an ordinary Japanese house ‘kominka (古民家)’. No signs, no neons, no waiters. It’s just a house or an avant-garde eatery. It’s inevitable to stop and look at two eye-catching tables made by Shiga-based ceramic artist Tomonari Hashimoto (橋本知成). At that point, Suba looks like an art gallery. But menus on the wall confirm its true identity.
Suba’s menus.
Check the bilingual menus and order at the counter/kitchen. My soba bowl was conjured up a few minutes later: I hadn’t even picked my table. It was tachigui soba shop-fast.
“Jumbo nameko mushroom (飛騨ジャンボなめこ)” with a soft-boiled egg (温泉卵). 1000 yen ($7.70).
The nameko mushrooms form Hida (飛騨) in Gifu prefecture were larger than ordinary nameko mushrooms. They tasted like truffle jelly. I felt sorry for mislabeling other tiny nameko mushrooms as nasty slimy food. I was such a pig. Now I’m a truffle hog.
The soba noodles (2:8 / flour:soba) were thin and perfectly balanced in harmony with the Kansai-style light dashi (kombu seaweed-magnified, katsuobushi dried bonito flakes-flavored soy sauce-based soup).
My dining companion’s ‘Bell pepper tempura (丸ごとピーマン天)’ was also good. 800 yen ($6.20).
With a side of the artistic ceramic table.
Suba (すば) | 182-10 Minoyacho, Shimogyo Ward, Kyoto, 〒600-8015, Japan
