Sorry for the long break, guys. I have been sick with a capital-S for the last week. A tiny cold mutated, hulked out, and laid me on my ass for four straight days. I did not sleep, I did not eat – I only coughed. Well, coughed and occasionally vomited. Today is the first day in a week when I have the energy to do something besides sit on the couch, blow my nose, and watch Netflix. I am sick to death of Diet 7-Up. Unfortunately I am currently sans voice, so again forgive me if I ramble, but I can’t talk or express myself in anyway other than typing, or scribbling notes to my husband on a hastily-downloaded chalkboard app. For the first two days I sounded kinda sexy. Now I sound like Gollum whispering around a mouthful of peanut butter.
But I digress – here is what I was working on last week:
I think I’ve previously mentioned that my husband is definitely NOT into food or cooking. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy a good meal or appreciate cooking, it’s just not a priority for him. He’s perfectly content to eat a sandwich for dinner nine nights out of ten and once spoke wistfully of the future, when nutrients and calories might come in pill form. (He’s also a lifelong Randy Travis fan, hence the title.) But after the holiday rush, there’s NOTHING on TV, so we ended up watching “The Mind of a Chef” on Netflix the other night, starring culinary rockstar/badass David Chang, and dear husband’s mind was blown by the depiction of ramen noodles – not as a salt-bomb/dorm-room/eating-so-I-don’t-die kind of meal, but elevated, made with quality ingredients, and actually enjoyed instead of slurped down between classes. And since he doesn’t usually get too enthusiastic about food, once he does I hop right on that bandwagon, envisioning us preparing dinner together like couples in movies and on TV – chopping vegetables, flirting over spices, tasting sauces off large wooden spoons… Yeah, that will never happen.
What I like about Chang is that he’s no food snob – he opens a packet of $.20 Maruchan, sprinkles it with the seasoning packet, and crunches away happily. There’s no shame in loving cheap and convenient food (says this one who lived off buttered noodles for years). But the show then takes us to ramen shops all over Tokyo, where ramen is taken seriously as cuisine – imagine a White Castle burger made with Kobe beef. We all love the slider – no one’s knocking White Castle in my presence – but it can be better, healthier, and prettier in the right hands, as can ramen. Are my hands the right ones? Answer: undecided. This is a multi-part adventure into the world of salty noodle bowls.
Now a confession: I never tried ramen before. I was (and remain to this day) a very picky eater, and as appealing as the price was, a whole pound of pasta was only $.75, and I liked that just fine – no reason to stray from the norm. So my first step was to actually purchase and prepare a packet.
(Chicken Flavor. I shudder to think what is in that. I really do.)
Verdict: It’s fine. I see the appeal – it takes five minutes to make, satisfies my salt-tooth, and is definitely filling. I like noodles. I like broth. I love salt. The nutritional information on the packet reads like a chemistry textbook though. While I’m all for better living through science, there are documented cases of ramen-related illness and even death. I don’t really want to fall in love with something that could potentially kill me – which is probably why I’ve never tried illegal drugs. My Diet Coke consumption alone reveals a dangerously addictive personality. So I think I’ll take a pass on this stuff and move on to something a little fancier.
illdothedisheslater 