secret ingredients

I don't know what it is, exactly, but communal ramen always tastes better than any other kind of ramen, perhaps better than any other kind of noodle dish.

Maybe it's because ramen was only an occasional food when I was growing up. We'd have to be sick, or having a bad day or something, and my mom would let my dad make ramen for us as a special treat. And my dad is a man who adores ramen, so he'd always go all out. Two packages of normal noodles, one package of rice noodles, three different kinds of seasoning packets, all mixed together and simmering in one big pot. He had some sort of secret sense for cooking it at exactly the right heat level and exactly the length of time for each noodle to be translucent and chewy in the way that Asian noodles should be. (Very "Q"...I don't know the pinyin for it, but it sounds like saying the letter "Q." My mom almost always says it in multiples of three: "Q, Q, Q!") Anyway, it was awesome.

Then I went off to college, spent two years puttering around and being weird and emo and angsty before really finding a solid group of friends. One of my favorite college memories was midnight ramen nights my junior year in the C-house. Someone would be making one package of ramen, and gradually more and more would be added in as people walked by and suddenly felt hungry, too. I remember Adam looking flabbergasted (but amused) when he found himself, Strega Nona-like, cooking two separate pots filled to almost overflowing with ramen. Then Connie was holding a carton of eggs and counting off to make sure everyone would get one, and Sunny was doing her sideways-clicky-crab dance across the kitchen hallway and then pretending it never happened. Once the noodles were done, it was doled out as equally as possible into various bowls, mugs and those ugly plastic dinner plates stolen from the Caf. Someone was always eating straight from the pot, hobo-style. Soy sauce and Sriracha was passed around. No one really ever got enough to be full, but it didn't really matter and everyone left the table satisfied anyway. There was a lot of laughing and good-natured teasing and wearing of pajamas. It was fun.

Today, I often make ramen when I'm homesick (or just plain lazy), but no matter what I do, it never tastes as good as it does at home or at W&M. I don't know if it's b/c I eat from a real bowl now instead of a coffee cup, but there's something about that atmosphere, I think, that makes food taste better and the winter not as cold. I really miss that sometimes.