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It’s cold outside; there’s a bitter wind and hardly anyone
walking SoHo on this Friday night. But behind the heavy doors
and up the steep and narrow staircase to the second floor,
there’s the smell of soba at Honmura An. This is the House of
Soba, soba noodles raised to a religious experience. Soba made
on the premises, in a room separated from the zenlike dining
room by a wall of glass, this soba is clean and nutritious,
savory and sensory. To eat soba in such a serene temple, filled
with fellow converts, is to worship the body beautiful – where
good food makes for a better person. Or so the mind imagines
amidst spectacular floral arrangements and solicitous service
and the happy murmurings of a sated clientele. Mind you, next to
Nobu or any other rarefied Japanese restaurant, Honmura An is
more the humble auntie, perfectly pleased to provide you with
food which comforts your stomach and salves your soul – and
sometimes, and particularly on a cold winter’s night, soba is
exactly all that.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
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