Permission to slurp. I don’t know about you, but any place that gives me consent to do a bunch of things that usually raise eyebrows is my kind of place. That’s the magic of ramen, it’s supposed to be indulgent and noisy. The simple fact that the process of creating this unctuous soup is veritable art form both in Tokyo and now here, too, means it’s perfectly acceptable to follow a set of rules that are marvellously offensive, at least eye-roll worthy, anywhere else.

And so it is at Ryo’s Noodles. Ramen gives you consent to over order. So I say “yes” to the extra almost jellied yolk soy egg on the side, and the crunchy wood ear mushrooms, a little bowl of menma shoots please, and one of those big sheets of nori, maybe a small slab of butter. Anywhere else they label it gluttony (believe me). Over ramen it demonstrates gusto, rather than gutso.

It’s a no-frills room and the walls are decorated with menu items scrawled in kanji, you help yourself to water from a communal plastic water flask, using plastic cups. But we call Ryo’s Noodles on Sydney’s Falcon Street Queudles, because from opening time a line forms outside and stay around all night. No wonder, it’s one of the best examples of Tokyo’s favourite soup in Sydney with traditional salt, miso and chicken broth options, as well as that rich, cloudy porky tonkotsu, each bowl filled with springy, oh-so-noisy noodles.

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