Himokawa Udon (ひもかわうどん)

The waiter set the bowl down and I actually laughed. There, draped over the edge of my chopsticks like a length of pale silk, was a single noodle wider than my whole hand — a flat, translucent ribbon rippling in the broth. I had ordered udon. This was udon? I lifted it and it unfurled, thin and slippery and impossibly light, and when I finally managed to slurp it (badly, gloriously, broth everywhere), it slid over my tongue in a soft, wobbling sheet. I have never had so much fun eating a noodle. Not most fun tasting — most fun eating.

Here's what it is: himokawa udon (ひもかわうどん) is udon rolled out extremely wide and paper-thin — flat ribbons commonly several centimeters across, and at some shops stretched to a jaw-dropping 10cm or more wide, wide as a bookmark, wide as a tie. It's served in hot broth or cold with a dipping sauce (tsuke), and it's the pride of Kiryu, an old textile city in Gunma. Don't mistake it for normal round udon — the whole identity is that width and thinness — and it's wider and more delicate than kishimen, the flat udon of Nagoya. Same wheat and water; radically different shape, and the shape changes everything about how it eats.

A noodle from a city of cloth

There's a poetry to where this noodle comes from. Kiryu made its name for centuries in textiles — silk and fine woven cloth, "Kiryu weaving" famous across Japan — and here's a local noodle that looks exactly like a length of unrolled fabric. Whether or not the town's weavers consciously made a noodle in the image of their cloth, eating a shimmering ribbon of himokawa in a city built on shimmering ribbons of silk feels right. The name itself points at something long and flat — a strip, a strap — and each shop rolls it to its own width, some restrained, some showing off with ribbons as wide as your palm.

I find the whole thing quietly delightful. Every udon-loving town in Japan has its house style, but Kiryu's answer was to take the humblest wheat noodle and make it theatrical — thin as breath, wide as cloth, a little bit of showmanship in a bowl. It's regional pride you can see across the room. And in a town that's watched its old textile mills quiet down over the decades, there's something warm about a food that still proudly waves the city's weaving heritage every single lunch.

What makes the eating experience different

1. The width is the whole show — flat ribbons several centimeters to over 10cm wide, unlike anything a round noodle can do
2. Because it's paper-thin, it's light and slippery — it drinks up broth and slides rather than chews
3. The mouthfeel is soft and wobbling, a silky sheet across the tongue instead of a firm springy bite
4. It's broth-forward — that huge flat surface carries a lot of soy-dashi flavor with every slurp
5. Slurping is a delightful challenge — the ribbons are big and floppy, so eating it is genuinely a little adventure (bring your sense of humor and a napkin)

How it's made

1. Make the dough. Wheat flour, water and salt are kneaded into a firm udon dough and rested so the gluten relaxes.
2. Roll it out wide and thin. The dough is rolled far thinner and broader than for ordinary udon — this thinness is what lets the noodle be cut so wide without turning heavy.
3. Cut into broad ribbons. Instead of thin square strands, the sheet is cut into wide flat straps — several centimeters up to 10cm-plus, depending on the shop.
4. Boil gently. The delicate ribbons are boiled carefully so they cook evenly without tearing.
5. Serve hot or cold. Either bathed in a hot soy-dashi broth, or chilled and served with a dipping sauce so you can taste the noodle's texture cleanly.

The craft is all in the rolling: thin enough to stay light and silky, strong enough dough that a hand-wide ribbon doesn't fall apart in the pot.

Before you go — slurp it in Kiryu

Your questions, answered honestly

"How is this different from regular udon or kishimen?" — Regular udon is round and springy. Kishimen (from Nagoya) is flat but relatively narrow. Himokawa takes flatness to an extreme — much wider and thinner, sometimes over 10cm across. It's the widest, most delicate, most theatrical of the flat udons.

"Hot or cold — which should I get?" — Both are traditional. Hot in soy-dashi broth is cozy and lets the ribbons soak up flavor; cold with dipping sauce (tsuke) shows off the silky texture best. If it's your first time, cold dipping makes the noodle itself the star.

"How on earth do I eat something this wide?" — Take a few ribbons at a time, not the whole bowl; slurp with confidence (the airflow actually helps you get it in and cools it); and accept that a little splash is part of the experience. Locals slurp — you should too.

"Is it filling?" — Surprisingly light for how it looks, because it's so thin. A standard bowl is a satisfying lunch, but it won't sit like a heavy plate of noodles — which is part of why it's so easy to love in summer, cold.

What the staff will ask you

To order, just say "Himokawa udon o kudasai" (ひもかわうどんをください) — "Himokawa udon, please."

Where to eat it

• Kiryu city, Gunma — the noodle's home; udon and soba restaurants around the old textile town are the place to eat it, and several are known specifically for extra-wide ribbons.
• Central and eastern Gunma more broadly — Gunma is major wheat country and a noodle-loving prefecture, so you'll find himokawa on menus around the region.
• Kiryu souvenir and local-product shops — dried himokawa is sold to cook at home, a good edible souvenir of the city.

Himokawa's width varies dramatically from shop to shop, and individual restaurants' hours and menus change — check before you go if you're traveling specifically to try the extra-wide ribbons at a particular place.