Ramen Noodles

A GIRL CAME THROUGH MY LINE TONIGHT with a stack of Ramen noodles.

Ramen noodles! I thought, “Now there’s something I haven’t had since Clinton was in office!”

I recalled the days when the circumference of our lazy susan was chockablock with Ramen, Campbell’s soup and Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese—”The Cheesiest”—in an assortment of pasta shapes.
I glanced at the price. THIRTY-THREE CENTS?! Thirty-three cents for that pack of Ramen delight, boy-oh-boy do I know what I’m having for dinner…

I punched out and bought a pack. It was “Oriental” flavored, the only flavor my mom used to buy, the only flavor of Ramen I’ve ever known.
I microwaved it for five minutes. I ever-so-carefully strained the dish to just the right water/noodle ratio, then delicately dusted the cuisine with the packet of fine “Oriental” spices the folks at Maruchan so kindly provided with my noodles.
And I ate those suckers, somewhat barbarically. I had to taste it again.
They were, probably, one of the 200 best meals I’ve had since Clinton was in office.

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