In bouts of desperation, I sometimes question whether I should have taken that first sip, because like Neo in "The Matrix," contemplating the blue or red pill, once you dig in, there's no going back. His ramen has had the perverse effect of ruining ramen for me from a number of prominent joints around the city, because all it takes is one slurp from their bowls to notice all that's lacking. The broth tastes muddy and unfocused. The noodles clump together. The abundant toppings overwhelm the soup. The heavy-handed spice obliterates all the other flavors. (By the way, one of life's great pleasures is asking Satinover to describe in loving detail all the flaws of a bowl of ramen he doesn't like, but you'll have to ask him personally.)