The art of layering flavors in Men-Eiji's gyokai-tonkotsu broth
Ramen has moved well beyond its origins as a quick noodle shop meal in Japan, and Australian diners in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane have been quick to embrace the deeper, more contemplative styles coming out of regional Japan. Few bowls illustrate that shift better than the gyokai-tonkotsu broth served at Men-Eiji in Sapporo, a hybrid that pulls together the heavy, collagen-rich comfort of pork bones with the briny, mineral pull of seafood. For Australians used to accessing excellent Japanese food through neighbourhood izakayas and the ramen bars of Chatswood or Fitzroy, this style offers something new: a broth that is engineered in layers, where each sip reveals a different register of flavour.
Men-Eiji is the work of chef Jun Furukawa, whose career has taken him from Sapporo kitchens to international pop-ups, collaborations and a Michelin Bib Gourmand recognition. The restaurant operates two locations in Sapporo: MEN-EIJI Hiragishi BASE and Duck Ramen EIJI, each focused on a slightly different expression of the same broth philosophy. What unites them is the insistence that depth cannot be rushed, and that the difference between a good bowl and a memorable one is the way the flavours are sequenced.
For Australian readers who may never have tasted gyokai-tonkotsu in Sapporo, the broth can feel like an introduction to a more architectural way of thinking about ramen. Where a standard tonkotsu can sometimes read as a single heavy note, gyokai-tonkotsu is built to keep shifting, from pork fat and marrow through to shellfish sweetness and finishing aromatics. Understanding how those layers are constructed makes it easier to appreciate the bowl, and to recognise why the style has captured attention from Tokyo food critics to Melbourne ramen enthusiasts.
The pages that follow walk through that construction in detail, looking at the bones, the seafood, the aromatics and the final seasoning that defines the Men-Eiji bowl. Along the way, there are notes on how the same principles show up in Australian kitchens, and how anyone visiting Sapporo, or recreating the broth at home, can read the layers more confidently.
The two-bone foundation: building depth from pork and sea
A gyokai-tonkotsu broth begins where every great ramen begins, with bones. At Men-Eiji the pork bones are treated with the patience that defines the style: washed, blanched, and then simmered at a controlled temperature for many hours so that collagen breaks down into gelatin and marrow releases its richness. This is not a broth that can be hurried. The pork element provides the body, the fatty mouthfeel and the savoury backbone that Australians familiar with slow-cooked beef dishes or lamb shanks will recognise as the foundation of deep, lingering flavour.
The seafood layer is what turns a tonkotsu into a gyokai-tonkotsu, and it is also the most technically demanding part of the process. Small fish such as niboshi (dried sardines), along with katsuobushi and sometimes kombu or scallop shells, are introduced carefully so that they contribute aroma without dominating. Timing matters. If the seafood is cooked too long it turns bitter and muddy; too briefly and it fails to fully integrate. The result is a broth that carries the ocean as a background hum rather than a shout, complementing the pork rather than fighting it.
Layering at this stage is largely about sequence. The pork bones go in first to build the heavy base, then the seafood elements are added in the latter part of the simmer so their delicate compounds survive. This is similar to how Australian chefs building a chicken or shellfish stock might add herbs and aromatics only in the final hour. For readers interested in how seafood products like surimi explained relate to the imitation crab used in some modern fusion rolls, the comparison is useful: even processed seafood products aim to evoke that ocean sweetness, though in a very different form.
The signature of a well-built gyokai-tonkotsu is balance. The pork should never feel greasy or heavy, and the seafood should never read as fishy. When both bones are treated correctly, they create a broth that is at once rich and bright, capable of supporting toppings without smothering them.
Reading the seafood layer
Seafood in a gyokai-tonkotsu is not simply about adding more flavour. It is about adding a different kind of flavour, one that lifts the broth and gives it complexity. The dried sardines, bonito flakes and aromatic shells used at Men-Eiji contribute glutamates and nucleotides that work in concert with the pork's amino acids. This is the same scientific principle behind why a splash of fish sauce transforms a Vietnamese pho, or why a dash of oyster sauce deepens a stir-fry in a Melbourne家庭 kitchen.
A useful way to think about the seafood layer is in terms of texture and aroma rather than taste alone. The niboshi bring a slightly nutty, toasted character; the katsuobushi adds a smoky, almost meaty umami; the shells, if used, contribute a sweeter marine note that rounds the edges. Each one is restrained, but together they create a chord rather than a single note. Australian diners used to the layered seafood dishes of modern Australian cuisine, from Sydney rock oysters to Tasmanian salmon, will recognise this kind of careful composition.
The cooking window for these ingredients is narrow. A short infusion at lower temperature preserves their delicate aromatics; a long boil drives them out. Men-Eiji's chefs watch this carefully, tasting the broth at intervals and adjusting the heat. This kind of attention is what separates a gyokai-tonkotsu from a generic pork-seafood hybrid, and it is what the Bib Gourmand inspectors responded to when recognising the brand.
Aromatics, oils and the final seasoning
Even a perfect bone-and-seafood base can fall flat without the final layer. At Men-Eiji, that layer is built from aromatics like garlic, ginger and sometimes a touch of onion, along with a carefully seasoned tare and a finishing oil that sits on the surface of the broth. The oil is not there for richness alone. It carries the aromatics to the nose and slows the cooling of the bowl, which matters in Sapporo's cold winters as much as it would in a chilly Melbourne evening.
The tare is where the chef's signature lives. At Men-Eiji it leans on soy sauce and other fermented elements, balanced so that saltiness sharpens the broth rather than overwhelming it. A heavy-handed tare can ruin the delicate seafood notes established earlier; a careful one makes them sing. This is the same principle Australian chefs apply when finishing a curry or a braise: the final seasoning is what determines whether the dish feels complete.
Garlic and ginger, when used, are often bloomed in oil before being added to the broth. This transforms their raw pungency into something rounder and sweeter. In the finished bowl, these aromatics arrive at the top of the sip, before the broth's deeper notes settle in. The sequence is deliberate: aroma first, then richness, then the long, savoury finish.
Why this broth resonates with Australian palates
Australia has long been a market that appreciates layered, umami-rich flavours, from the Italian slow-cooks of Carlton to the dumplings of Haymarket and the ramen bars that have proliferated across the eastern capitals. Gyokai-tonkotsu fits comfortably into that landscape because it offers something familiar—deep, slow-cooked comfort—while introducing a new dimension through its seafood component. For diners who already enjoy miso-marinated fish, anchovy-based sauces or shellfish-rich pastas, the broth feels like a natural extension rather than a leap.
The multicultural nature of Australian food culture also helps. In cities like Sydney and Brisbane, Japanese, Chinese and Southeast Asian cuisines are part of the everyday dining vocabulary. A bowl of gyokai-tonkotsu sits comfortably alongside a Thai boat noodle or a Cantonese wonton noodle soup, and many Australians recognise the technique of layering broths from these neighbouring traditions. That cross-cultural fluency makes Men-Eiji's approach accessible, even to diners who have never been to Sapporo.
There is also a growing interest in provenance and craft within the Australian market. Consumers increasingly want to know where their food comes from, how it is made and who is behind it. Jun Furukawa's story, from Sapporo kitchens to international pop-ups and a Michelin Bib Gourmand, gives the brand a narrative that resonates with Australian diners who value authenticity and craftsmanship. That narrative is supported by the two Sapporo locations, which serve as both restaurant and reference point for the style.
Tasting the bowl: how to read each layer
Tasting a gyokai-tonkotsu properly is a skill worth developing, and it begins before the first sip. Lift the bowl gently to the nose and inhale. A well-built Men-Eiji broth should offer aroma before flavour: a blend of pork richness and something cleaner, almost briny. If the seafood layer is working, there will be a faint oceanic note beneath the heavier aromas. If it is absent, the broth will read as a standard tonkotsu.
On the palate, the broth should move through stages. The first impression is usually the richness of the pork: fat, gelatin, deep savouriness. Then, as the sip sits on the tongue, the seafood notes should emerge, lifting and lengthening the flavour. Finally, the tare and aromatics provide a clean, slightly salty finish that invites the next bite of noodle. When all three stages are present, the bowl feels complete. When one is missing, it feels flat.
Noodles matter too. Men-Eiji pairs the broth with noodles chosen for texture and bite, designed to carry the liquid without dissolving. Toppings, whether duck at the EIJI location or chashu at Hiragishi BASE, should complement the broth rather than compete with it. In a true gyokai-tonkotsu, nothing is added that does not earn its place.
| Broth component | Primary role | Typical flavour contribution | Risk if mishandled |
|---|---|---|---|
| Pork bones | Body and richness | Collagen, marrow, deep savouriness | Greasy, heavy, muddy texture |
| Niboshi (dried sardines) | Umami backbone | Toasted, nutty, oceanic | Bitterness if over-cooked |
| Katsuobushi | Aroma and complexity | Smoky, meaty umami | Fishiness if boiled too long |
| Aromatics (garlic, ginger) | Lift and fragrance | Sweetness, warmth, brightness | Raw pungency if under-cooked |
| Tare and finishing oil | Seasoning and finish | Salt, fragrance, mouthfeel | Over-salting, oily separation |
Practical ways to approach a gyokai-tonkotsu bowl with confidence:
- Arrive hungry but not starving; a clear palate reads the layers more accurately.
- Sip the broth alone before lifting any noodles, to register the pork-to-seafood balance.
- Pay attention to aroma before flavour; the nose often catches what the tongue misses.
- Eat the toppings and noodles together in measured bites, so the broth remains the guide.
- Compare both Sapporo locations if possible, noting how the same base supports different toppings.
- Try recreating the experience at home, using a careful recipe to build the layers step by step.
The broth at Men-Eiji is best understood as a piece of architecture: a foundation of pork bones, a structural layer of seafood, a finish of aromatics and tare, and a roof of oil that holds the heat and aroma in place. Each part is necessary, and each part is calibrated. When they work together, the result is one of the more distinctive bowls available in contemporary ramen, and a strong reason to plan a Sapporo visit around either MEN-EIJI Hiragishi BASE or Duck Ramen EIJI. For those who want to begin the journey from their own kitchen in Australia, a careful guide to recreate the broth offers a practical starting point, and the brand's founder remains a reliable reference for anyone serious about understanding what makes the style work.