From Myth to Menu: The World of Ultra-Oily Ramen in Japan
In Asakusa—a district where temple-lined streets and old storefronts still preserve the atmosphere of historic Tokyo—there is another kind of experience waiting just around the corner.
In a previous article, I
stepped into the chaotic world of back fat ramen at Ramen Benkei.
Here, pork fat doesn’t just add flavor to the soup—it takes
control of it.
This is the so-called “cha-cha” style, where back fat is shaken over the bowl until the surface is covered in a shimmering white layer.
Back Fat Ramen: Japan’s Wildest Bowl – Featuring Benkei in Asakusa
You might remember the keyword
I mentioned—
“Gita-gita.”
A kind of spell you whisper to the staff to ask for extra fat.
And then, there was something
else.
“Chou Gita.”—“chou” meaning “super” in Japanese—
A rumor.
A whispered upgrade.
Something not written anywhere.
—Or so it seemed.
The Rumor
Becomes Real
Recently, when I returned to
Benkei in Asakusa after some time away, I noticed something had changed.
Standing in front of the
ticket machine, I saw a button labeled “Chou Gita
Ramen,” priced 250 yen higher than a regular bowl.
Yes—the legendary “super oily” option had officially made
its way onto the menu.
What once had to be spoken
aloud, like an insider code,
can now be ordered with a single press of a button.
Why
Now?
This shift is probably no
coincidence.
Platforms like YouTube have amplified extreme food culture,
and I’ll admit—I’m part of that trend as well.
More people are now chasing
the most excessive ramen possible, filming it, sharing it, and asking about it
at the counter.
It’s no longer a secret.
There’s also a more practical
reason.
Ramen culture in Japan has
long included a kind of quiet generosity—
extra toppings, larger portions, more fat if you ask.
Each shop has its own unwritten “calls,” and learning them has always been part
of the fun for regulars.
At the same time, these
unwritten rules can sometimes cause confusion.
There have even been minor controversies online—stories of customers feeling
uncomfortable because they didn’t know the right timing or phrasing, or weren’t
familiar with the system.
Of course, if you don’t say
anything, you’ll simply be served a normal bowl—so there’s no real risk. But
the existence of these “hidden rules” has occasionally sparked debate.
And then there’s the broader
reality:
Rising global ingredient
costs are beginning to put pressure on this culture of free extras.
What used to be free—and
unspoken—
is slowly becoming something defined, measured, and priced.
In that sense, “Chou Gita”
feels like the endpoint of a process:
from hidden code → to viral
curiosity → to official menu item.
A
Small Confession
To be honest, I didn’t press
the button this time.
Part of the reason is simple:
it now costs an extra 250 yen. (laughs)
But that’s not the whole
story.
There was something
compelling about not knowing.
Back when “Chou Gita” wasn’t
on the menu, it carried a certain tension.
You had to say it yourself.
You didn’t know exactly what would come out.
And there was no guarantee it would be the same every time.
That ambiguity was part of
the experience.
Now, it’s clearly labeled.
Defined. Explained. Packaged.
More convenient, perhaps—
but also a little less interesting.
Choosing
the Known Chaos
That said, I really do like
back fat.
So on that day, I chose the
familiar option:
“Gita-gita.”
Yes—the original call for extra fat is still free.
And what arrived was… more
than enough.
The surface was blanketed with white back fat.
Around the spoon, a translucent layer had already begun to form—rendered fat, melted out from the back fat itself.
More than enough to satisfy.
More than enough to slow me down halfway through.
And then I thought:
If this is still considered “extra fat”—the free version—
then what exactly is “Chou Gita”?
More volume?
A different kind of fat?
Or something that pushes the bowl into an entirely different realm?
Perhaps some things are better left unanswered.
For
Now
 |
| Every strand of noodle is coated in rich back fat. |
What was once a shared
“secret code” among ramen fans
has now become a clearly priced option on a machine.
Secrets, it seems, don’t stay
secret for long.
Things that once existed
underground don’t disappear—
they simply become buttons.
For now, I’m satisfied with “Gita-gita.”
It’s free.
It’s excessive.
And it’s still just unpredictable enough to feel like a small adventure.
But if you’re confident you
can finish it—
the button is already there.
Related articles:
Back Fat Ramen: Japan’s Wildest Bowl – Featuring Benkei in Asakusa
Soba in Japan: A Cultural Thread Through Seasons, Regions, and Daily Life
Why Do So Many Japanese Retirees Become Soba Masters?
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