Sometimes I wonder why exactly my life pans out the way it does. (Haha, see? I used a pun that involves the word ‘pan’ because this is cooking blog! Score!) The weirdest things happen, and the late-night ramen adventure is no different.
The order of events happened like this: Tyler and I were getting ready for bed. I realized I hadn’t eaten very much that day, but I decided to tough it out- after all, we were going to sleep, I was tired, I didn’t want to be awake anymore.
Because of the holidays and having been at my parents’ house, suddenly the whole process of staying up until the wee hours of the morning and then sleeping until the crack of dusk had upset the circadian rhythm of my body, and I lay in bed for an hour.
Then began the spooky noises.
Tyler’s house is huge and over 100 years old. Also, none of THREE doors to his bedroom lock, and two of them are basically windows. The scariest of these doors is covered with a blanket and luckily has a shelf in front of it. The second scariest of these doors is somewhat out of view and covered with blinds from the other side. The third scariest door is actually the one we use to get in and out of the room and is a swinging door.
Needless to say, the scary noises began coming from all three directions, progressively beginning with the spare bedroom and making its way around to the swinging door.
At this point, I figured that taking a bendryl was my only source of soporific salvation, so I downed a pink pill and got up.
I also began to realize how intensely hungry I was.
Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of options in the house, and by now it was well past midnight. I went into the living room, turned on the light, turned on the TV, and luckily saw no ghosts, demons, other supernatural entities, and no serial killers or rapists. Also, there were no rabid bunnies out to get me, so I scored major Staying Alive points.
There also weren’t many options for meals. They boiled down (heehee, another food pun) to eggs (even funnier since you can boil eggs!) or ramen (also something you can boil!) I opted for ramen.
Tyler was still asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him. The kitchen is only a few feet from his room, so my late-night-on-benadryl reasoning skills thought that the best course of action was to obtain ramen and cook it in the microwave.
I opened the ramen, and it was extremely noisy. For anyone who has ever made an attempt to be as quiet as possible at 1:30 AM and not awaken other people, I advise heavily to not try to open ramen, because the packaging is composed of the world’s crackliest sounding paper.
Then the Hunt for a Clean Bowl began. I found one in the cabinet and reassured my growling stomach that things were going to be settled soon enough.
But the bowl had obviously been placed under a spell to be used only by gnomes, and the brick of ramen did not fit in it. I was defeated again.
I was extremely irked by this time, so I decided to do what anyone who was basically starving in the middle of the night and trying to keep quiet would do- I decided to eat the Ramen Brick raw.
This was a mistake.
Dear Reader, if you are wondering, I have in my life eaten ramen raw. This was an adventurous and and life-changing experience when I was a teenager, but now as a young adult, I am less capable of bringing myself to do something so treacherous.
The ramen was stale. If you have never had stale ramen or don’t believe that ramen can go stale, I can reassure you now that ramen does indeed go stale.
Using again the late-night brain skills, I made a guess that if you cook stale ramen, the staleness goes away. This seemed logical- if you cook stale bread and make toast, it no longer tastes stale. So the same should apply to noodles.
As quietly as possible, I found the world’s smallest pot, filled it with water, salted it, and put it on the stove to boil the water.
Then the stove started smoking.
The middle of the night, I’m starving, the benadryl is slowing beginning to seep into my brain cells, and suddenly the stove is almost on fire.
I turned the heat down, and the smoking stopped. But this also meant I had to wait longer for the water to boil and for the ramen to cook.
Finally, it was done. I added a bit of cajun seasoning, and then dug in.
Apparently, stale ramen, if cooked, remains stale tasting.
So I dumped out the stale ramen and became less adverse to making noise.
Fortunately, the second time around, the stove didn’t start smoking, the ramen cooked, it wasn’t stale (I took a test bite of the raw brick to make sure), and I was able to salt and season it perfectly. I sat in my benadryl state of mind and watched a few minutes of extremely lame super-late night TV, and then I went to bed, passing out into the bliss of the benadryl brain-state, full of ramen.
Also, I seriously scored well for not awakening Tyler whatsoever, as I found out the next day.