Soba-ya

The day after Thanksgiving, and Soba-ya is packed --- with groups, with couples, with kids fascinated by the man making the eponymous buckwheat noodles. Anyone who fears that cellphones and iThings are ruining the attention spans of our youth should spend some time in the dining room of this East Village establishment.

Our bento box came stuffed with shrimp and vegetable tempura, pickled veggies and a morsel of chicken, salad topped with the standard carrot dressing, a small piece of salmon flash-cooked and sprinkled with soy sauce, and a pocket of fried tofu filled with sushi rice and doused in vinegar known as inari. But the headliners of this particular show, of course, were the noodles: plump udon in a simple, soulful broth, slender soba in a blooming sea of bean sprouts and sliced duck. Although our feedathon had ended just hours before, we grabbed a spoon in one hand and chopsticks in the other and went to slurp-town.