Remembering Ramen

When my parents first split up, my dad moved into a tiny apartment that I would visit every Thursday and Friday. My mom was a health freak at the time so I counted on those two days a week to have my favorite foods. My favorite meal my dad could make for me was ramen noodles from the packet. It was simple, but I thought it was a five star dinner delivered to me by the hands of a chef. The few times I tried to make it as a kid I would either add too much water or burn it and my dad would have to come running to the rescue. When the soup was ready, we would settle in front of the movie we had picked out at the RedBox with the steaming bowls in our palms. The soup would be so hot that I would blow on it to cool it for what felt like hours. My dad on the other hand would scarf it down, steaming hot. I always wondered how he didn’t burn the roof of his mouth while I would burn my fingertips from touching the spoon that bathed in the hot liquid. I would take in deep breaths of the salty scent and the steam in the air as the opening credits began. The noodles softly twirled around my fork as I tried to twist them up into my mouth. The soup broth splashed on my face as I slugged down curly noodles one after the next. The small bowl of soup was packed with sodium and I loved every second of it, slurping up every last bit. My mom would have a heart attack if she could see me taking such great joy in such an unhealthy meal. Eventually, she did find out and the great ramen rumble was over. I didn’t have ramen for years until I began attending college in 2017. Now, I like to spruce it up with a little bit of seaweed, garlic powder and soy sauce. However, I’ll never forget those nights of sitting in front of the tv with a hot bowl of ramen and my dad.