Ivan Ramen is operating with very little margin for error. Walk in only. A strict menu. A small room dressed with sharp, stylised artwork, nothing more. They have opted to serve the required minimum, which means everything is exposed. There is no clever framing to lean on, no sprawling list to distract from weak spots. If the ramen is not good, everyone will know immediately.
The logic is sound. Ramen is one of those foods people fixate on at home, investing whole afternoons chasing depth in broth or the exact moment an egg crosses from jammy to ruined. That level of familiarity puts pressure on any restaurant claiming authority. Here, the approach is to keep things narrow and do the obvious things well.
Ivan Orkin’s route from New York to Tokyo and now London matters mostly because it explains the lack of fuss. This is ramen first. The izakaya-style starter plates exist to orbit it, not distract from it. Nothing is dressed up for London, and nothing is asking for attention it does not earn.
Ivan’s Karaage is the expected opener. Buttermilk fried chicken thigh, peppery and punchy, with a yuzu kosho mayo doing some serious elevating. It adds a clean hit of heat and citrus that keeps the dish moving and makes it hard not to keep picking. The Crispy Nasu was an unexpected disruption in the plan. Bites of Japanese aubergine sat on a white sesame puree that you’ll be mopping up. There is a real risk of ordering another plate and forgetting about ramen altogether.
But this is what we’re here for – and the ramen earns its place. The Tonkotsu arrives thick, loaded with shoyu-braised pork, woodear mushrooms and a soft egg. Nothing is rationed. The broth has the right level of depth, the egg exactly right, the whole bowl gone faster than intended. The Shoyu offers a lighter but still satisfying option, with roasted tomato keeping things balanced. Both dishes show restraint and consistency rather than flair, which is precisely what you want from a regular order and no doubt why Ivan is causing queues out the door.
They have their own Ivan Ramen IPA by the can and a small, curated selection of wine and sake. Enough, and no more than that. Prices remain low in a city that seems determined to normalise overpaying. In the middle of vibrant Clerkenwell, it fits easily before or after drinks. No nonsense. No spending hours at home seeping pork bone. Just Ramen.
