The Nozomi shinkansen leaves Tokyo and crosses Honshu at 300 km/h, tunnelling under the Kanmon Strait before surfacing in Hakata. From here, Kyushu opens outward: a rental car, a full tank, and no particular hurry. The island is compact enough to cross in a day but deep enough to absorb a week.

Fukuoka's ramen is built on a broth simmered from pork bones for twelve hours or more until it turns white and opaque with collagen. The noodles are thin and straight. The toppings are restrained: chashu, kikurage, a soft egg. What makes Hakata ramen unmistakable is the kaedama: when you finish the noodles, you order another batch dropped into the remaining broth. Nobody wastes the soup.

Fukuoka is Japan's last city where yatai, the covered street-food stalls, are still a defining part of local life. Along the Naka River and in Nakasu, rows of lit awnings open after dark. You squeeze onto a stool beside strangers, order ramen or yakitori or oden, and the city happens around you. It is the most sociable way to eat in Japan.