What’s that Wagamama?

Despite what the marketing team behind Wagamama wants you to believe about the restaurant’s Japanese name, the more accurate translation of Wagamama is not “willful, naughty child” but “selfishness.” At least, that’s what I was told by my Polish girlfriend, who lived in Japan for three years as an exchange student during her undergraduate years. But I don’t think Wagamama’s franchisees are any more serious about cultural authenticity than I am, as Wagamama is not Japanese cuisine. In fact, there are no Wagamamas in Japan or China. Patrons who are Asian-noodle gourmets will immediately recognize Wagamama for the pretender that it is: European fusion taking on Pan-Asian airs.

Wagamama’s sinuous cultural history is appropriate, given that ramen originated in China thousands of years before the noodles were introduced to Japan. Hong Kong’s Alan Yau, OBE, who is famous for getting his Chinese restaurants Hakkasan and Yauatcha into the European Michelin Guide, launched Wagamama in Bloomsbury, London in 1992. Since then, the noodle bar, which claims to have been inspired by ancient ramen noodle shops, spread to 75 locations worldwide (49 in the U.K., the rest in Europe and Australia). The first U.S. location, (the one we visited), opened this past April in Boston’s Fanueil Hall.

Half of Wagamama’s allure is its ambiance. The restaurant’s décor is modern-minimalist, limited to a few sparse ficus plants and cylindrical lamps. Parties are seated communally in a galley of long, wooden tables. This arrangement exemplifies the restaurant’s aspiration to be a “culinary democracy,” although patrons have the potential to be seated near rambunctious eight-year-olds or chatty tourists. Muted white lighting in the ceiling panels stretch over the restaurant’s main seating galley, accentuating the room’s rectangularity. As soon as you sit down, Wagamama’s red, gray and black color palette is evident from the menu.

Wagamama in Boston (courtesy of Wagamama.com)

Behind glass windows, Wagamama’s chefs prepare meals in plain sight, as Wagamama’s waiters, dressed in red T-shirts and black slacks, dash across the establishment taking orders with wireless PDAs. Service is playful, brisk and talkative. The Boston location’s waiters seem to have been handpicked to infuse the restaurant with an international feel: Milena, from Brazil, and Josh, from Nova Scotia, were happy to help us deliberate over our orders.

Don’t worry if you’re too unskilled to use chopsticks like the eight-year-old sitting beside you, as I was; Milena offered me silverware. Entrées are $9 to $14, and side dishes $5 to $6. Wagamama also serves fresh juices, Asian beers (Asahi Super Dry, Kirin Ichiban, and Tiger Beer), as well as a variety of international wines. Green tea is free with entrées.

Wagamama claims to cook everything onsite and use only fresh ingredients in its entrées. The restaurant’s slogan, “positive eating + positive thinking,” is meant to reflect the company’s ethos, which is “to combine great, fresh and nutritious food in a sleek yet simple setting.” I ordered yaki soba, a heap of teppan-fried soba noodles served on a flat griddle and mixed with chicken, shrimp, egg, scallions, bean sprouts, white onions, and green and red peppers. The dish, garnished with pickled red ginger, fried shallots and sesame seeds, wasn’t overwhelming. My girlfriend ordered miso beef ramen. The dish was topped with bean sprouts, garlic, carrots, leeks, and stir-fried beef and garnished with sesame seeds, memna, wakame and chili oil. She noted that the westernized noodles were spicier and thicker than Japanese noodles. Our sides—edamame, steamed green soy beans; tori kara age, deep-fried chicken chunks; and gyoza, grilled chicken dumplings filled with nappa cabbage, water chestnut, and Chinese chives—were an unnecessary complement to an already satisfying meal. (This may be why the restaurant warns that its side dishes are not appetizers.) We expected the tori kara age to be batter-dipped, but instead it was marinated in fresh ginger and sprinkled with dried oregano and mirin. Although the chicken was rather dry, with lemon and soy sauce it retained a tangy flavor. Of the edamame, Jacqui said taking a sip of Asahi Super Dry, “They’re hard to screw up because they’re like what peanuts are to beer.”

I was seated beside a Texan who had flown into Boston for business. Because of Wagamama’s galley, patrons are virtually obliged to introduce themselves to their neighbors, as there is no room for private conversations. His wife washed away her spicy chicken chili men with a couple of scoops of raspberry sorbet, dabbing the beads of sweat on her nose. The Texan smiled as I fumbled with the chopsticks, “You use your thumb and index finger to grab stuff, and brace it with middle finger.” I could only smirk as I followed his directions, eating faux ramen in a Pan-Asian restaurant imported from the U.K. It was a delightful mix.