This Cheese Deserves A Place In Your Bowl Of Ramen

In the gentle hum of the late-night kitchen, the boundaries between cultures and flavors can melt into something unexpectedly copacetic. Meet two icons of twentieth-century invention, born from scarcity, designed for speed, each a testament to the ordinary miracle of making something out of almost nothing. From the cupboard, ramen. In the fridge, American cheese. On the surface, they're unlikely companions — born in different countries, but raised in the same spirit. 

It wasn't until chef Roy Choi started dropping slices of American cheese into ramen on TV and in his recipes that the combination became a cult classic in the United States. What started as a homegrown Korean-American trick spread fast, picking up fans from college dorms to food magazines. The method is as unfussy and satisfyingly gooey. 

Everywhere you go, across cultures and eras, you'll find the combination of hot noodles and gooey cheese. In Rome, Alfredo was born of pasta, butter, Parmigiano, and just enough starchy water to bind it. In Seoul, Tteokbokki's toothsome rice cakes simmer in a pool of red sauce, then disappear beneath a layer of mozzarella. Ramen and American cheese join the lineage, brethren in the church of convenience.

American cheese isn't actually cheese, not exactly. It's a pasteurized processed cheese food, an edible amalgamation. To purists, it's a sacrilege wrapped in a plastic envelope. But there's genius in its mutability. Unlike cheddar, which sweats, splits, and demands a grater and a roux, American cheese comes pre-portioned and submits to heat with perfect grace. When it melts, it vanishes, going into the broth like velvet.

Start with water. Bring it to a boil, add your noodles, and let them soften. Once the noodles are barely tender, stir in the seasoning packet, if you want to, letting the broth turn cloudy. Turn off the heat. Lay a slice or two of American cheese across the top. Don't stir. Let it rest until the corners sag and the center starts to go translucent. Then, slowly, with a spoon or chopsticks, swirl the cheese into the broth. Everything will become incorporated and gooey.

You can stop here, or keep going: and add a jammy egg, a sprinkle of scallions, a shake of chili flakes or a spoonful of kimchi. But restraint has its own rewards. When the cheese melts into the broth, emulsifiers in the cheese help bind fat and water, turning the liquid smooth and slightly thick. The broth clings to the noodles instead of running off, giving each bite a creamy, rich texture. The cheese also tones down the sharp edges of salt and spice, bringing a mellow, slightly sweet note that wasn't there before. The resulting bowl feels both familiar and new, and definitely delicious.