Feel it creeping in through your shoelace brads, slithering up the sleeves of your coat.

Red noses, numb fingers, steam chasing your car down the freeway, ice hiding in the shadows behind your house. It’s cold out there, folks. Winter settling on the city like dread, saying, “put up your cotton. Pull out your flannel.” “Shelf those Randy Wayne Whites. Break out your Jack London’s.”

Even the sun can’t stand to look at it all for long, poking his head up over the Cascades while you’re just getting to work, burying his face in the Olympics before you’ve left.

Days like these, I find my wife slamming Vitamin D3 tablets, framed in the LED glow of the TV as shows about the Caribbean and Florida flicker across the screen, selected purely because they involve sunlight. Days like these, we all need a pick me up. A little warmth, a pinch of fire, some sunlight in a bowl. Well, here are some places to get it:

Tokyo Ya Ramen: 31507 Pacific Highway S., Federal Way

Tokyo Ya Ramen is smooshed into the same complex as Barnes &Noble and the H Mart on Pacific Highway, and I manage to smoosh myself into Tokyo Ya Ramen at least once a week so, I can smoosh a hot bowl of happiness into my face. The prices are pretty reasonable, the staff is courteous and attentive and the ambience is hip without trying too hard. None of that is important once you’ve sucked some of that ramen back, though. It’s smooth and well balanced, lots of crunchy, tangy, bamboo floating in there, chunks of pork perfectly seasoned adding to the smoke of the broth, chewy noodles and a soft-boiled egg like a white and orange revelation. By the time the soup is gone you’re thinking, “Prices? I’d trade a baby for a bowl of this.” And, “Staff? You mean the magicians who made this stuff and brought it to me?” And, “Ambience? I haven’t looked up in 20 minutes.”

Cho Dang Tofu: 9701 S. Tacoma Way #101, Lakewood

Stumble off a windswept street into Cho Dang Tofu. Let the rhythmic sizzle of rice in a stone bowl or kalbi short ribs on a hot skillet climb all over you like goose bumps. A hint of chili paste hangs in the air. They drop you at your table with your earthy herbal tea, and the world is an OK place to live again.

The Kimbap (small appetizer dishes) are spicy and wild like sterno for your face, and you can toss them back while you wait for the titillating hiss of that Dol Sot Bibimbap to come dancing out of the kitchen. Sauteed vegetables, perfectly seasoned meat and a fried egg, all hanging in a bed of rice that’s been flash crisped on the edges by the stone bowl they brought it out in. Toss that with some gochujang, a Korean chili sauce, and I dare you to have a bad day. It can’t be done. I burn myself on the bowl, every single time I order this stuff because my spacial awareness turns to garbage as soon as I get good food in front of me, and I just grin and bear it like a sadist.

Pho Kim: 33320 Pacific Highway S. #103a, Federal Way

This place is like the front man of a very weird band in its eclectic business park off Pacific Highway. Do a Yelp search of the area directly around Pho Kim and you’ll find Agitpunkt, a late-night Korean joint with a stainless steel bunker door, a place called Comma, Karaoke and a restaurant for which I have been hopelessly searching for weeks, “Intestines on Fire,” a name that hopefully describes the type of food they serve, and not just the effect that it has on your stomach.

I’m sure all of these places are fantastic, and I have every intention of getting to them, but as of yet, every time I pull into that funky lot, I’m drawn into Pho Kim. The pho is tangy and rich and absolutely teeming with all kinds of exciting meat options, all of which are perfectly prepared. You might hear some French music on the speakers — a nod to the major influence that French colonists had on Vietnam). You might find some interesting looking meatballs in your soup.

Just go with it. Hit your broth with some bean sprouts, a squeeze of lime, a splash of house-made chili oil. Order a Vietnamese coffee. Post up by the window and watch the to-go orders stream in through the parking lot. People with 9-5 jobs, who don’t see the sun. People with island shows on their Netflix queues. People who need sunlight in a bowl and know exactly where to get it.