I’m fighting a nasty cold right now so I should write about something I love to perk up.
I friggin love noodles.
Whenever I get sick I always want nothing but noodle soup to eat. I’m pretty sure that the consistency of the rice ones that come in Vietnamese Pho soup actually absorb germs, thus curing me.
What is it that makes them so wonderful? I recently tried spaghetti squash as a healthier alternative to pasta. It has the same shape, consistency and once you put sauce on it, it basically tastes the same, but my mouth wasn’t fooled. Maybe because I knew ahead of time that it was a vegetable… maybe not. I really think there is an addictive chemical in noodles that my body responds to. If that is the case then trying to sub in squash is always a useless idea. What is the point? If I want squash I will say so and it will be butternut because that is just tasty. No more of this impostor squash. Imagine if other foods pretended to be something better than what they were. “I’m brownie lettuce, soft and gooey and warm!” Those are three adjectives I do not want my lettuce to be. Stick to what you are good at lettuce– cradling large amounts of dressing.
Back to noodles though… dammit I love them.
Growing up my mother often allowed me to choose my own foods at meals. This was not any form of neglect, I assure you. This decision was the result of a few factors:
- She is the nicest lady on the planet.
- She hates confrontation.
- She thought very highly of my abilities in life and apparently trusted all my choices (this shows a healthy amount of support and encouragement)
So by middle school I had chosen to eat ramen noodles for almost every meal (proof that I was a child prodigy). Those were the most delicious years of my life and often times I look back and tear up because I can no longer reasonably live that way. Being an adult is so lame sometimes.
I had a whole system to maximize the noodle-y goodness. I would wake up a few minutes earlier and start the water boiling right away. This way, once they were all prepared I had the extra time to let them sit so the noodles could absorb all the sodium loaded glory. The noodles would get all fat and mushy– I realize that doesn’t sound appealing, but holy Dumbledore, it is incredible. Those seasoning packets are better than crack (and this coming from a girl who has never tried crack but I just believe it in my soul). I don’t know now if I could choose a favorite flavor but I think if I was forced I would say Oriental. Is that racist?
Isn’t it amazing to think that I would actually set my alarm earlier and think ahead when it came to my noodle planning? I don’t think I ever did my homework earlier than homeroom and that includes major papers and studying for tests. My priorities were brilliant. I think now that I managed to do alright in school because I had super brain power from the noodles. If anyone reading this decides they want to test that theory I am willing to take part in that study.
Noodles really have brought so much joy to my life. Whenever I eat them I feel immediately happy. So what if I lived off them for years as a child? What harm could all that palm oil possibly have done? I mean, yes, I did have cancer a few years ago… but no doctor knows what caused that. That could have been from anything. I could easily say that I got cancer because after middle school I ate less noodles…
Let’s go with that theory; it means more noodles.