Japan's three great udon, and the fight for third place

Japan has a soft spot for threes. There are the three great views (Nihon Sankei, 日本三景), the three great gardens, three great this and three great that, and, inevitably, the three great udon (Nihon san-dai udon, 日本三大うどん).

No authority hands these lists down. They take shape in guidebooks, on television and on souvenir boxes, repeated until they feel official. That's part of the fun. With udon, two names almost never get left out. The third slot is where people start to argue, and I think that argument is one of the best excuses in Japan to travel for lunch.

The two everyone agrees on

Sanuki udon from Kagawa Prefecture, on the island of Shikoku, is the heavyweight. Thick, glossy and famously springy, it's the udon most people picture, and the one that turned a small prefecture into a destination for noodle lovers. Its prized texture has a name, koshi (コシ), a firm bite that pushes back. It has an article of its own.

Inaniwa udon from Akita Prefecture, in the north of Honshu, is almost its opposite. The noodles are thin and slightly flat, stretched by hand and then dried in a slow, careful process that leaves them smooth and silky. Where Sanuki udon bounces, Inaniwa udon glides. It's often eaten cold with a dipping sauce, which shows off that polished surface, and boxed bundles of the dried noodles are a classic gift.

I love how different the pair are. If you were told they were the same food, you might not believe it until you'd tasted both. One is about muscle, the other about poise.

The fight for third place

Here the lists split. Depending on who's counting, the third great udon is usually one of these.

Mizusawa udon comes from Gunma Prefecture, from the area around Mizusawa Temple near the hot-spring town of Ikaho. The story usually told is that it began as food for visitors to the temple. The noodles are firm, and they're typically eaten cold with a soy-based or sesame dipping sauce.

Kishimen is Nagoya's flat, wide ribbon of a noodle, thin enough to cook quickly and usually served hot in a soy and dashi broth under a heap of bonito flakes. It's udon reshaped entirely, and Nagoya is rightly proud of it. Read more in our kishimen article.

Gotō udon comes from the Gotō Islands off Nagasaki, in western Kyushu. It's thin and hand-stretched, and makers traditionally use camellia oil as they stretch the dough. A well-known way to eat it is jigoku-daki (地獄炊き, "hell's pot"): noodles lifted straight from a bubbling pot and dipped into a sauce, often one made with dried flying fish (ago, あご).

So which is the real number three? I don't think there's an answer, and I'm not sure there should be. Mizusawa has its temple history, kishimen has a whole city behind it, and Gotō has an island's worth of craft. Each list tells you as much about the person writing it as about the noodles.

Softer roads: Ise and Hakata

Not every regional udon is chasing koshi. Some of Japan's best-loved bowls go deliberately the other way.

Ise udon comes from Ise in Mie Prefecture and may be the softest noodle you'll ever eat. Thick noodles are boiled for a long time until they're pillowy, then served with only a little dark, rich, soy-based sauce, more glaze than soup. Ise is home to Ise Grand Shrine, and a popular explanation is that soft noodles, quick to serve, suited the crowds of pilgrims. Take that as tradition rather than recorded history.

Hakata udon, from Fukuoka in northern Kyushu, is soft too, though less extreme. It comes in a light, clear broth, and a favourite topping is gobō-ten (ごぼう天), strips of burdock root fried in tempura batter. The city is better known abroad for tonkotsu ramen, but it has its own claim on noodle history: a Zen temple in Hakata is often credited as one of the places where noodle-making arrived from China. Like most noodle origin stories, that's best enjoyed as lore.

I think soft udon is underrated by anyone who has only ever heard the word koshi. On a cold evening, or at the end of a long day, a noodle that asks nothing of you can be exactly right.

How to taste your way through

You don't need to cross the whole country to start.

• Begin with the contrast. Sanuki and Inaniwa side by side will teach you more about udon than any description. Dried Inaniwa is widely sold, so you can try it far from Akita.
• Order cold first. Chilled noodles show their texture more honestly than hot ones.
• Judge each style on its own terms. Ise udon isn't overcooked; it's meant to be like that.
• Look for the local topping. Burdock in Hakata, bonito flakes on kishimen, tempura in Kagawa: the extras often tell you as much as the noodle does.
• Use the map. Search for udon to see which regional styles are near you.

The real pleasure of a top-three list isn't settling it. It's that every disputed slot is an invitation to go somewhere new and taste the argument for yourself.