Saturday, November 21, 2015

My Son the Ramen Monster

Ramen is a Japanese noodle dish that you can get for 600 yen in Kyoto, or twice that in Boston, which really should be rectified because the two cities are sister cities, but I digress. Ramen's essential ramen-ness is in its broth and noodles. If you would like to watch a very Japanese (read: wonderful and weird) movie about ramen, I recommend Tampopo, where the heroine goes to great lengths to spy on the secret broth ingredients of her would-be competitors. There's also an episode of Golden Boy where he works at a ramen shop and learns how to make noodles, but it's rather pervy so let's keep that in your "maybe?" pile.

Anyway, the point is that ramen is delicious and your bowl must be emptied, broth and all, to show respect for the chef. When I lived in Kyoto, I watched any number of sarariman just pound those giant bowls like it ain't no thang, and so I learned to completely finish off my ramen. Also, apparently in Japan it is super bad to ask for a doggie bag, because you're expected to eat everything you ordered. This was back in '05, you understand, but I doubt Japanese society has changed too much. Well, we'll find out when I take my mom on her Japan tour, after I win the lottery, obviously. Again, I digress.

The real point of that rambling preamble is to reveal that my son is a ramen monster. HE WILL NOT STOP UNTIL HE HAS ALL THE RAMEN. I first found out that he even liked ramen during a routine lunch stop at H Mart, when I placed some noodles from my bowl in front of him. He likes pasta, so I figured, hey, wheat noodles are wheat noodles. 

On that day, he ate half my bowl of ramen and demanded more. (This is including the pork, because he needs his protein, and the vegetables, because he really likes greens.)

So from that point forward, I would order an extra serving of noodles just for him. And all was well with the world.

But earlier today, I got my ramen order from Bon Me, and I'd never eaten there before, so I didn't know if they did extra noodles. I had to share my bowl with a bottomless pit. :(

Here is Hubby trying to keep pace with the Ramen Monster:

Which begs the question: is this how Hubby feels when I polish off a giant bowl of ramen? Does he wonder where it all goes? 

These are rhetorical questions; the answer is of course yes. So the family now has two ramen monsters, is what I am saying. 

TL;DR: Junior eats just like mommy.

This post brought to you by homebrewed mead and stovetop popcorn!

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