How can the toothsome bite of a noodle evoke seriousness? We often think of noodles and their various forms as thoroughfares through which we easily, yet deliciously satisfy our appetites. The nuance of both taste and texture are overlooked, thus leaving the poor noodle to be taken for granted. At Soba Ichi, however, this is not the case.
Soba Ichi, located in West Oakland amongst a neighborhood of warehouses and apartments, is the most serious noodle operation in the East Bay. Specializing in handmade buckwheat soba—a rarity in the United States—Soba Ichi imbues rigorous technique into every noodle. Run by the masterful team behind Berkeley's own Ippuku, the kitchen here appears to be in hyper-focused solitude as it churns out soba and small plates in a zen-like building.
The Arrival
As we arrived through the gates of the restaurant, we passed through a seemingly empty driveway filled with unused Japanese decor. Going further through the wooden door ahead, we came to a quiet room with the kitchen to our right and the soba making chamber to our left. As we were seated in our booth, the room's string lights, delicate table lamps, and earthly wooden seating brought the experience into focus. It felt as if we had escaped the city and drifted into a den from a long-lost time.
The Food
Once settled, we ran down the menu: small plates, tempura, rice bowls, and soba. The first dish we chose was a fried mountain yam lightly seasoned with salt. With a feather-light coating giving way to bright yam flesh, the fried appetizer felt like a more virtuous reincarnation of the french fry. It displayed the kitchen's attention to detail, allowing for each textural element to highlight itself in conjunction with the others.
The next dishes, a house-made tofu and an assorted tempura platter, extolled increasingly intelligent execution. The tofu, somehow equating firm and supple texture, had a mild sweetness balanced by the soy sauce poured over it. And the tempura platter, a melange of shrimp and vegetables, contained nicely fried, matcha-salted components that worked to provide hearty fulfillment to the meal.
Next, came the soba. The first one, a hot soba with daikon and mushroom, was earthy and complex. The dark broth and nutty soba noodles played off each other, evoking deep, strong flavor notes. The other hot soba contained yam and was contrastingly bright. With citrus-like pitches, the broth counterbalanced the sturdy noodles to make the entire bowl elicit an image of sun-kissed daze.
Then, there was the cold soba, served carefully on a bamboo tray with some sliced scallions, wasabi, and a dish of tsuyu — a dipping sauce of dashi (an umami-rich fish stock), sweetened soy sauce, and mirin. As the noodles took a quick splash in the tsuyu and the first bite was realized, it was almost as if the force of the hand that made them was transmitted through the strength of the dough.
The soba's texture and flavor, compared to that of the hot dishes, was chewier and essentially more resolute. Its toothsome bite contained perhaps as many lessons in al dente tradition as an Italian trattoria. The entire dish took on a serious minimalism that permitted each texture and flavor to ring true and loud.
These noodles, made primarily of sturdy buckwheat, reoriented our perception of how a good noodle dish can be. Their other-worldly chew and nutty taste allowed for a more refined, contemplative noodle experience that's sure to have us back for more.
To finish off, we had the soba tea mousse. With a clean, perfectly sweet composure of tea-flavored jelly, puffed buckwheat, and soba mousse, the dish's playful textures delighted every sense.
As the food at Soba Ichi is all quite exquisite, the handmade soba makes it stand out as one of the true hidden gems of the East Bay. The restaurant Soba Ichi offers a wonderful lesson on how timeless technique, humble ingredients, and superb focus can produce food that is endlessly desirable. You might even be tempted to make soba at home after you try Soba Ichi.