The first rule of the serious ramen hunter: look everywhere, even in places that don’t look like ramen shops. This is how, in January, I found myself inhaling noodles at a cluster of tables shoved into the center of a bagel shop in Long Island City, Queens.

This was Mu Ramen, Joshua and Heidy Smookler’s floating restaurant, which has already sailed on from the bagel shop and is now docking in various locations, some of them evidently without permits, until it establishes a permanent mooring in the neighborhood later this year. Mr. Smookler does the cooking. He worked in Per Se’s kitchen, and his ramen, which hews to tradition, shows a Kelleresque level of fussing over details. The bamboo is fresh and sweetly crisp; the spoons are ceramic; the tables are set with pots of fermented mustard greens with chile flakes and habaneros, Mu’s take on a traditional mix-in from Hakata, Japan, that few New York shops offer.

Mu’s cloudy tonkotsu broth, simmered with pork bones for most of a day, stopped me cold. It had the body of old-fashioned, cream-on-top milk from a tiny dairy. Of course it clings to the thin, straight, firm noodles, which do a little jitterbug as you reel them into your mouth. (Boil ramen noodles too long and they won’t even slow dance.) Mu’s other ramen was spicy miso, with fatter noodles that were even more animated, and a broth that was just as lush, with a hint of sweetness and a lingering burn. The rumors were true: this movable ramen shop was already near the top in a very competitive field.

Ten years ago, when you told New Yorkers you were going to eat Japanese noodles, nearly everyone pictured soba. When you say it now, half your friends will ask which ramen-ya is your favorite and the other half will be in line in front of you.