Surf and Turf Ramen
This is the kind of dish that makes vegetarians question their life choices and makes your wallet cry, but sometimes you need to eat like you're celebrating something even if you're not. Surf and turf was already the most extra thing on every steakhouse menu, so naturally someone had to go and make it even more ridiculous by dumping it over ramen noodles. The filet mignon gets this perfect sear that locks in all that beefy goodness, while the shrimp turn pink and sweet in about thirty seconds flat. That miso-garlic broth is doing overtime, trying to be sophisticated enough for the steak but oceanic enough for the shrimp, and somehow it pulls it off. It's like watching a fancy restaurant have an identity crisis and come out the other side as something completely new. The whole thing is absurdly decadent and probably costs more than most people's grocery budget, but that's exactly the point—sometimes you need food that makes you feel like you're living your best life, even if it's just Tuesday.
Land and sea unite—Beef cradles ocean’s bounty—Broth sings harmony
Let Me Tell You...
I was having one of those days where I felt like treating myself, you know?
Not because anything particularly good had happened, but because sometimes you need to remind yourself that you're worth more than instant mac and cheese and whatever's left in the fridge.
I'd been walking past this fancy butcher shop for weeks, always looking at those beautiful cuts of meat through the window like some kind of carnivorous window shopper.
Finally, I said screw it and walked in, feeling completely out of place among all the marble counters and guys in white coats who looked like they could tell you the exact farm where your steak grew up.
I pointed at the filet mignon like I knew what I was doing, trying not to wince when they told me the price, and grabbed some jumbo shrimp while I was at it because if you're gonna be ridiculous, might as well go all the way.
Back in my kitchen, I felt like I was about to perform surgery or something, handling that beautiful piece of beef like it was made of gold.
The meat was this deep red color with perfect marbling, and I kept thinking about how this cow probably lived better than most people I know.
I sliced it thin against the grain, each piece looking like it belonged in some fancy restaurant, not my crappy apartment kitchen.
The shrimp were these massive things, curved and pink and looking like they'd been swimming in the ocean that morning.
I seasoned everything with salt and pepper, feeling very professional and chef-like, even though I was wearing pajama pants and had probably watched too many cooking shows for my own good.
The searing part was where things got real.
I heated that pan until it was practically screaming, then dropped the beef in and listened to it sizzle like it was angry about being cooked.
The smell hit me immediately - that rich, meaty aroma that makes your mouth water and your neighbors jealous.
Each slice got maybe thirty seconds per side, just enough to get a beautiful brown crust while keeping the inside rare and tender.
The shrimp went next, turning from gray to pink in what felt like seconds, curling up like little question marks in the hot oil.
I was moving fast, trying not to overcook anything, feeling like one of those TV chefs who makes it look effortless while secretly panicking about timing.
When I put it all together - the tender beef and sweet shrimp arranged over the ramen noodles like some kind of protein crown, the rich miso broth carrying all those umami flavors, the green onions scattered on top like confetti - it looked like something you'd pay fifty bucks for at a fancy restaurant.
The first bite was this incredible combination of textures and flavors: the buttery tenderness of the beef, the sweet snap of the shrimp, the rich complexity of the miso broth, all tied together by those chewy ramen noodles.
I sat there eating it slowly, savoring every ridiculous, over-the-top bite, thinking about how sometimes the best meals are the ones that make you feel like you're celebrating life, even if it's just because you decided you were worth celebrating.
Ingredients
- 4 cups beef broth (preferably homemade or low-sodium)
- 2 tablespoons white miso paste
- 1 tablespoon sesame oil
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 4 portions dried ramen noodles (seasoning packets discarded)
- 8 ounces large shrimp, peeled and deveined
- 6 ounces filet mignon or beef tenderloin, thinly sliced against the grain
- 1 tablespoon soy sauce
- 1 tablespoon butter (for finishing the broth)
- 1 teaspoon black pepper
- Kosher salt, to taste
- 3 green onions, thinly sliced (plus more for garnish)
- 1 tablespoon sesame seeds
Preparation
- In a saucepan, bring beef broth to a gentle simmer. Whisk in white miso, soy sauce, sesame oil, and minced garlic. Simmer uncovered for 5–7 minutes to infuse flavors. Swirl in butter and season with black pepper and salt to taste.
- Heat a skillet over medium-high. Season shrimp lightly with salt and pepper. Sear in a bit of oil for 1–2 minutes per side, until pink and just cooked through. Remove and set aside.
- Wipe out skillet and heat until very hot. Season filet mignon with salt and pepper, then flash-sear beef slices for about 30 seconds per side, just until browned but still rare inside. Reserve.
- Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Cook ramen noodles according to package directions; drain well.
- Divide cooked noodles among bowls. Ladle hot miso-garlic broth over noodles.
- Arrange seared beef and shrimp on top. Garnish with green onions, sesame seeds, and desired toppings: crispy garlic chips, microgreens, truffle oil, tobiko, sliced radish, and extra green onions.