Jambon Beurre Ramen from My Paris Kitchen

Jambon Beurre Ramen from My Paris Kitchen

I don’t like the word “fusion.”

It feels vague and neither here nor there. It’s overused and often thrown around without care. It’s not just the meaning it implies that bothers me, but even the way it sounds, “fusion.”

But ironically, everything I do is fusion. My food, my thoughts, even the way I live.
Especially when it comes to my cooking, it’s so deeply rooted in fusion that it’s hard to describe without using the word.
Maybe that’s why I became so fixated on traditional dishes to hold onto something pure.

From the way I choose ingredients to how I cook them, I’ve always had a strong attachment to traditional origins and recipes. Back when I began sharing recipes actively as a food blogger in the early 2010s, especially when it came to Asian cuisine, creating dishes in my “own” way—rather than sticking strictly to the original or “authentic” methods wasn’t exactly welcomed.

From the very beginning, it just felt natural for me to cook everything in my “own” way. Using the ingredients I had access to, the methods that were available to me, and being creative. To me, cooking was always about being flexible and creative with what I had, shaping each dish to suit my tools, my pantry, and my taste. And if I could do something differently (but better) I gladly would.

But when I shared those kinds of recipes online (especially in the early days of YouTube) they were not welcomed. Comments poured in saying, “That’s not how it’s done,” “That’s wrong, this is the original way,” “You don’t know anything,” “Come back after you learn properly,” or “How dare you share a recipe like this?” The criticism stung so deeply that I stopped sharing any recipes that were reinterpreted in my own style. I didn’t dare to post anything that carried my unique approach. Although, I learned so much through it all, and looking back now, I’m truly grateful for those experiences.

These days, people all over the world are sharing their own interpretations and styles on social media, and it’s not only accepted, it’s celebrated. And all of that has changed in just a few years. New ideas, new dishes no one’s seen before, unexpected flavors, and new combinations. That’s what people are excited about now. I wonder… if only I still had that kind of passion again.

Maybe I’m just tired of social media or maybe I’ve simply grown older. Or perhaps I never quite knew how to bridge the gap between tradition and my own style in a way that others could truly understand.

Still, there’s a creative energy inside me that stirs.

It’s such a fundamental part of who I am… how could I ever silence it?

Maybe that’s why.
I followed that creative impulse and began to write. But honestly, I’m not even sure if I’m really writing anymore.
Am I just making up a story?
Is this even what I wanted to say in the first place?
What am I trying to say?
Does any of it even matter?
Does it have to matter?
Sometimes, I have no idea what I’m doing.
And as I keep writing, there are moments when it all just feels… too much to hold.

Even though I started it, I don’t know how to carry the story forward. I don’t know how to organize all the thoughts and feelings swirling in my head and heart into words and sentences that others can actually understand.

Writers truly amaze me. I never realized how hard it is to take a thought from the inside and express it in words. I used to think it would be easy because the thoughts are mine. But now I see that thinking and writing are two very different things. Thoughts come and go freely. But language has its limits. Thoughts can appear in an instant, but finding the right words to express them takes time.

Honestly, I just wanted to write a post about my Jambon Beurre Ramen. 😅

It was something I threw together after a late lunch—or maybe an early dinner—around 4 p.m., when my husband and I were snacking with some wine and suddenly got hungry again. The idea just popped into my head: a clean, light shio broth with thin noodles and a single slice of jambon on top. 

Jambon-beurre is France’s beloved sandwich. Just baguette, butter, and ham (jambon). Sometimes cornichons or cheese if you’re into it. We usually add butter, jambon, and cornichons. We rarely add cheese. Probably because I’m not the biggest fan. Chef’s choice, right? 😄 

Since we arrived in Paris three weeks ago, I’ve only made jambon-beurre on two kinds of days: either we had absolutely nothing else to eat at home, or one of us happened to pick up a fresh baguette that morning.

There’s something about the simplicity of a jambon-beurre (made simple but with quality ingredients), that reminds me of Japanese cuisine. The more time I spend in both France and Japan, the more I realize how much they have in common. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, but I’ve felt this similarity deeply after living in both places. And yes, food is definitely part of that.

The pride they have in their national cuisine is striking. In fact, the Japanese might even outshine the French in how much they cherish their culinary traditions. Of course, most countries take pride in their food, but with France and Japan, that pride feels especially intense. And it shows in the way they talk about and treat food.

It’s honestly hard to explain all of this properly, especially with my limited vocabulary. But among all the countries I’ve lived in, these two left the strongest impression in this particular way. Then again, that’s just my personal experience and perspective. So don’t take it too seriously. ☺️

Anyway, back to the Jambon Beurre Ramen.

The idea just hit me out of nowhere. Clear, delicate shio broth, thin noodles, and a single slice of jambon laid gently on top.
Before I step into the kitchen, I usually cook the whole recipe in my head first—imagining flavors, mixing ideas, and testing out cooking methods mentally.

Of course, I didn’t have any of the classic broth ingredients at home. No pork or chicken bones, not even dried seaweed, kombu. I mean, who keeps those things on hand all the time?
But ramen cravings don’t exactly check your pantry first. They just hit. And even if I did have all those things, I wasn’t in the mood to stand over a simmering pot for hours.

But I want to eat Jambon Beurre Ramen right now so I started mixing up a broth using whatever sauces and seasonings I had in the kitchen.

Since butter is one of the main ingredients in jambon-beurre, I figured the broth needed a little of that richness too. Just a touch of really good, fragrant butter. And of course, it’s still ramen, so I had to throw in some finely chopped green onions or French chives.

What about Egg… um… Nah. Too much hassle. 😅 Plus, it might muddle the clarity of the broth.

Right, that one tiny local restaurant in Osaka where we had an omakase meal. At the end, the chef served a simple, clean bowl of ramen. Barely any toppings—just delicate broth and perfect noodles. That final course was so satisfying. That’s the vibe I want. We had already snacked and sipped some wine, so a minimalist bowl felt just right.

I headed straight to the kitchen, put water on to boil for the noodles, and started working on the broth.

If I were doing this properly, I’d simmer meat bones or dried anchovies for hours to build depth. But not today. I wanted something quick and easy.

So I made a shortcut broth using a mix of Yondu, shirodashi, a dash of fish sauce, and a pinch of dasida (Korean seasoning).

I was so grateful to have a pack of thin egg noodles in the fridge—the ones I picked up earlier today in Chinatown. If it weren’t for those noodles, this Jambon Beurre Ramen wouldn’t have come to life. I snipped a generous handful of chives from my little herb pot and finely chopped them.
It’s basically done.

I added a bit of good quality butter and some bacon grease to the bowls. When I poured in the hot broth, the fats melted into shimmering cristal circles, gently floating on the surface.

I drained the noodles thoroughly and arranged them neatly in the broth. Then, carefully laid a slice of jambon on top. Wow. It already looks stunning.

A sprinkle of finely chopped chives to finish, and I called out to Jacob, “Ramen’s ready!!”

A glass of white wine and the Eiffel Tower view from our balcony… Could anything be more perfect?
Tender egg noodles in a clean, delicate broth. Mild fragrant from chives, rich butter, and that beautiful slice of jambon.
Perfection.
I really do come up with the best ideas when I’m a little tipsy. 😄

While editing photos and writing about this Jambon Beurre Ramen… it’s making me hungry all over again. It’s not good because here I am, already showered, teeth brushed, ready for bed. 😅 

Tomorrow morning, I’m definitely making another bowl of Jambon Beurre Ramen with the leftover egg noodles and jambon. I will pick up some green onions so I can enjoy a slightly stronger flavor than chives. And since it’s breakfast, I’ll add some soft-boiled egg.

I’m already looking forward to it.
My mind is always full of food. Nonstop. It’s been like this for over 15 years, and it still amazes me.
How is it possible to think about food this consistently?
Honestly, I’m kind of proud of it.

So go ahead, Seonkyoung. Eat that Jambon Beurre Ramen tomorrow.
And enjoy it.
Life’s short.
Let’s savor it with everything we’ve got.

Thank you so much for reading. If you missed the previous From My Table post, you can find it here. I’d love to have you back for the next story. ✨