If you measure a food trend’s hotness by the length of the line stretching down the block — and in San Francisco, you should — soba is having its moment. Since the debut of Soba Dining Sora last year in Japantown, a block from Sobakatsu, which opened in 2024, both buckwheat specialists have drawn steady crowds. On Yelp, diners trade wait times like badges of honor: an hour in the rain, nearly two on a weekend.
So, if you’re going to wait, which soba is worth your time?
Soba Sora, which has 55 seats, opened with enough hype to justify stanchions that wrap around the corner. You almost expect to find a soba bouncer at the door. But time it right — my friend and I arrived at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday — and you can avoid the wait altogether.
Each diner who steps over the threshold is announced with the theatrical bang of a drum. The full-service restaurant, in a clean-lined but impersonal space, comes with percussive-level history. It’s the first U.S. Soba Sora from Sasala Dining Group, whose roots in Hasuda, Japan, date to 1885; the company began making soba in 1919. The San Francisco location is run by fourth-generation restaurateur Masao Kuribara, who also opened Hinodeya Ramen Bar across the way in 2016.
Soba Sora’s menu includes soba, tempura, and
Japanese small plates.
Soba Sora is a full-service restaurant with 55 seats.
Diners can order both cold and hot soba.
Sobakatsu is, in many ways, the opposite. It gives Tokyo vibes: Eleven seats are tightly packed into the former Kiss Seafood space. Owners Shuichi Nihira and Yoshihiro Shinoda aren’t soba-lineage heirs; they’re just two dudes who met working in Japantown and decided San Francisco needed to move on from its ramen obsession. (Nihira also owns Belly Good Cafe in the Japantown mall, where you can get an ice cream crepe made into a cute bear.) At Sobakatsu, you order on a tablet while the two-man team works inches away in a steamy, flour-dusted, open kitchen.
Both shops make naturally gluten-free soba using specialized machines and claim bragging rights because their noodles contain 100% buckwheat flour, which is more fickle to work with than when it’s mixed with wheat. Sobakatsu sources stone-milled organic buckwheat from Maine-based Aurora Mills & Farm. Sora imports its buckwheat from Japan.
This is where the similarities end.
Shuichi Nihira prepares a bowl of soba at Sobakatsu. | Source: Amanda Andrade-Rhoades/The Standard
The tiny 11-seat restaurant specializes in freshly made buckwheat noodles. | Source: Amanda Andrade-Rhoades/The Standard
At both restaurants, I ordered two traditional preparations to compare and contrast: zarusoba, cold soba with tempura ($20 at Sobakatsu; $26 at Soba Sora), and kamo nanban, a rich duck soup with leeks and soba ($25 at Sobakatsu; $24 at Soba Sora). Cold soba is a better indicator of the quality of a noodle, because it won’t break down as it does in hot broth. (It’s also fun to dip the cold noodles into the traditional dashi-and-soy sauce.)
At Soba Sora, I was surprised to find that, even cold, the nutty noodles broke easily — to the point that they were hard to pick up. At Sobakatsu, the noodles had the slippery, chewy resilience that makes soba so addictive. Sora’s tempura was lighter and more refined; Sobakatsu’s seems more rustic and homespun. Both yuzu-brightened soups were very good, but I would say that Sora’s more tender slices of duck breast were better.
Let’s face it, though: You’re lining up for the soba. And Sobakatsu is the one worth the investment. Yes, with roughly a fifth of Sora’s seats, you’re far more likely to be standing on the sidewalk, so bring an energy bar to tide you over. The reward is noodles with the proper, slurpable chew — the kind that makes the wait feel hard-won but victorious.