Ramen Noodles - Junk Food as Art

Ramen noodles seem to have a bad reputation here in America. Maligned as the food of poor college students and those seeking empty carbs, ramen is looked at merely as warm junk food. The producers of popular ramen, such as Maruchan, don’t help either when they price a block of ramen for less than 40¢ a package. Drop a Kennedy, heat some water, stir and cover. A meal in thirty seconds! As a man who grew up in Japan, however, I know that there is much more to ramen than that. Most American ramen is a disgrace to ramen as I know it.

The Japanese love their ramen. It is a ubiquitous food throughout the country - a Japanese microcosm of the global dominance of McDonald's. That means that, yes, there is the budget-quality stuff available there too, but it is referred to as “the cheap stuff” rather than just “ramen”. What the Japanese usually have in mind when they talk about ramen is the stuff that you find in restaurants. This is my mindset as well. To get good ramen, you go to a restaurant.

Every ramen noodle shop makes their ramen a little bit differently, according to the standards of the target demographic. Average prices for a decent bowl of ramen range from ¥280-¥550 ($2.50-$5), while niche ramen restaurants can charge upwards of ¥980 for a bowl. Prices, of course, also reflect ingredients used, and a good rule of thumb is that the more expensive the bowl, the more meat/higher quality meat is included. Pork is the preferred meat, and it is sliced and placed on top of the noodles. Two or three slices is common, but I have seen as many as six.

The number of different ingredients that can be added to ramen is staggering. Vegetables, seaweed, soy sauce, eggs, meat, fish products, and myriad spices are all fair game. Most common ramen offerings will have a few slices of fatty pork, seaweed, a slice or two of kamaboko (a processed seafood product), and a sliced vegetables.

As I mentioned, a factor in making good ramen is the amount/quality of the toppings ingredients. The variation in noodle texture and quality, however, also contribute to making a good ramen. Some shops hand-make their noodles, which ensures quality at the added expense to the customer. Other places just buy dried blocks of noodles and boil them. These noodles are generally stiffer and harder to chew.

The main part of the ramen that separates the good stuff from the bad, though, is the broth. High-end noodle shops guard their broth recipes like Colonel Sanders guards his herbs and spices. Drinking the broth after finishing the noodles is an integral part of ramen consumption, and is how you tell the good stuff from the ordinary stuff.

I would go so far as to say that a good bowl ramen noodles is an art form. It is junk food, yes, but it is also art. Don’t believe me? Well, America has an equivalent junk-food-turned-art: the barbecue. Thousands of cooks all across the States slave over making the best-tasting sauce to slather onto fatty meats. Sure Arby’s makes a BBQ Roast Beef, but if you wanted a foreigner to get a good taste of “American barbecue,” you would send them to your secret local hole-in-the-wall joint, or maybe to a respected restaurant like Damon’s Grill. They might as well get the good stuff.

And just like there are BBQ fanatics, there are ramen otaku. One of my high school youth group leaders was one - a guy who traveled all over Tokyo in search of good ramen restaurants. That was what he enjoyed doing, and he wouldn’t hesitate to steer you in the direction of a good ramen shop if you were looking for food in the area.

One nation’s junk food is another one’s passion. Just like American chefs pour time and effort into their BBQ creations, so do the Japanese into their ramen dishes. Ramen is more than just a cheap college food, it is an honored national staple. There may not be many ramen restaurants here in America, but I think the arty-junk-food spirit is vibrant here, and it causes me to smile every time I pass a barbecue stand.


_DZ

Constructing A Diabetic Diet on The Cheap

Having Type 1 diabetes means that, not only does my pancreas hate me, but that I have to eat a little differently from most people. Being poor means that I have to shop differently than most people. How, then, do I unify these two situations? How have I learned to deal with my condition and yet still be healthy and also stay within my budget? Well, read on!

Every time I go to the supermarket I have to be selective in what I buy, for three reasons. First, what I eat translates directly to how much insulin I have to use. Since I have to pay for insulin, what kind of food I buy directly affects how much money I spend on medication. I want to spend as little money on medication as possible, so I have to watch what I buy. Carbohydrates(complex sugars) are the main thing that I take into consideration when buying food. The less carbs the better. Secondly, I have to consider what I can afford. Some foods might be healthier (i.e. require less insulin) than others, but if they are really expensive, I haven’t really saved any money. Third, I have to buy stuff that I like and that will fill me up. Sure, eggs and veggies are good for me, but my entire diet cannot consist of just those. I have to have a well-rounded diet.

So, what then do I eat? Here are some of the foods in my diet.

• Rice. My parents were gracious enough to give me a rice cooker, and rice is a staple in my diet. It is rather high in carbohydrates, but it is so versatile as a food that I prefer it over other high-carb foods such as pasta, potatoes and bread.
• Eggs. I go through at least a dozen eggs a week. I go to Target or Cub and buy eggs by the two-and-a-half-dozen. Eggs are great because I can fry them, scramble them, mix them with cheese or salsa, and eat them raw over rice. Eggs have next to no carbs, so I can throw down as many as I want. A five-egg omelet for breakfast is not uncommon.
• Bread. I buy one type of bread - Country Hearth Cracked Wheat. At 15g of carbs per slice, it is the healthiest bread I could find. On top of that, it is cheap and tastes pretty good.
• Cereal. I buy boring cereal like Cheerios, Rice Chex, Honey Bunches of Oats, or SpecialK. Once you start eating these cereals exclusively, the they start to taste really good and even make other cereals that have sugar taste way too sweet. I am a fan of granola, but granola typically has over 40g of carbs per serving, while the cereals mentioned about have less than 23g per serving.
• Milk. I buy whole milk because I don’t enjoy my milk tasting like water. Whole milk doesn’t have any more carbs than 2% or skim(gross), and like all milk can be used for pouring over cereal and mixing with eggs.
• Canned Soup. Chicken noodle soup (or some variant) is always stocked in my cupboard. It only has 9g of carbs per can, so I usually have a bowl of soup for lunch. Also, chicken noodle soup is so healthy that it is routinely eaten by sick people. I’m not sick, so it should be really good for me!
• Cottage Cheese. At a mere 5g carbs in a serving, this is another healthy food that fills me up.
• Yogurt. I buy Dannon plain yogurt, because boring, plain yogurt has half the carbs (about 12) per serving of any flavored yogurt. Five packets of Splenda make 32oz. plain yogurt deliciously yummy.
• Carrots, bananas, and apples. I eat all of these plain, to get my servings of fruits and vegetables. I buy carrots by the bag, and just pull one out and start crunching on it when I want some veggie goodness. Bananas are awesome because not only can I eat them plain, but I can cut them up in cereal or slice them for a peanut-butter-banana-sandwich.
• Crystal Light. I used to drink this stuff all the time, until I found out that not only was the generic Target equivalent cheaper, but also tasted way better. I make it by the gallon in empty milk jugs, and sometimes drink over a half-gallon of it a day.


Other things I buy to eat: Canned tuna, orange juice, soy sauce, shredded cheese, sliced cheese (mozzarella), butter, peanut butter, sugar-free jelly, instant ramen(high in carbs but tasty), macaroni, fresh shiitake mushrooms(not cheap but very tasty), canned peas and green beans, peanuts, bacon.

That is pretty my whole grocery list, which equals out to about $150 a month for food. I eat well, stay healthy, and save money, all at the same time! You’ll notice that apart from the bacon, i eat very little meat. This has nothing to do with me not liking meat and everything to do with a) the price of meat and b) the fact that more greenhouse gasses are emitted by the met industry from the raising, slaughtering, producing, and transporting of meat than from all the cars in the US combined.


_DZ

Recapping Christmas of last year and being thankful

I have a lot to be thankful for this Christmas. I suppose I had a lot to be thankful last Christmas though, too. I guess the underlying lesson is that Christmas helps me realize things I am thankful for.

Last Christmas started with me posting this early in the morning. I was alone, as the family I lived with was away in the southwest United States visiting relatives and my own family was enjoying a mild-weathered Christmas in Japan. I had an entire house to myself, and I was planning a rather laid-back Christmas day. I had opened presents with my family via iChat video conference the night before (Christmas morning their time), and with no presents to open or parties to go to on actual Christmas Day, I had a lot of free time.

The day started with the usual breakfast and dressing, and then I decided to take a nice long Christmas drive in my sports car. (I probably am still one of the few who drives alone for the sole pleasure of driving.) I walked out to my car only to find that I had left the headlights on for the past day or so (I didn’t have to work on Christmas Eve, so I stayed in) and my battery was dead. Undaunted I pulled out keys to one of the family cars and pulled it near to jump-start my Nissan. A successful jump later and I was on my way, cruising merrily along the Pennsylvania countryside. Then my car started choking. And bucking. And coughing. And flashing the dash lights. and then it died. I sighed. I had no idea where I was.

I got out of my car and walked around, trying to find the nearest intersection so I could phone my friend Shanan who was still in town and tell her where I was. I couldn’t find an intersection, so I decided to hang out outside my car and read a book until someone drove past whom I could hail. I kept a collapsable chair in my trunk (the colored kind that you get at Wal-mart), so I set that up, took out my copy of David Bowie’s biography by David Buckley, and started reading.

I hadn’t gotten far when a white Silverado crew cab pulled up next to me and asked me if everything was OK. I motioned to my open hood and asked if they had jumper cables. They did, and soon I was jumped and running. I drove maybe a block, however, before my car exhibited the same symptoms and promptly died once again. What a great Christmas so far!

Undaunted, I decided to call my friend Kirah, who I thought lived somewhere nearby. After a brief conversation during which I attempted to describe my whereabouts, she told me that she and her dad would be willing to drive out and find me. Yay for generous friends!

They arrived in their white GMC Sierra sooner than they thought they would (apparently I really had no idea where I was and described somewhere much farther away) and I was jumped once again. We let both cars run for awhile to make sure my car charged sufficiently this time, and soon I was driving, with Kirah riding shotgun, to her house. Her dad thought that my alternator had gone, but since no garage was open on Christmas, was going to allow me to park my car at their house.

Once at their house, they decided that it would be only proper to have me join them for their Christmas dinner. I was taken aback, self-conscious, and incredibly grateful all at the same time. Taken aback at the sudden change in my afternoon plans, grateful for their generosity, and incredibly self-conscious because I had dressed for a morning drive, not for a family Christmas dinner. I was wearing ratty jeans, sneakers, and a threadbare sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. The sweatshirt was blue with cows on it, and it was worn over a white long-sleeve pajama shirt. I could not possibly have been any more underdressed.

I ended up staying at their house for the rest of the day, enjoying a incredibly tasty meal, fellowship over games afterwards, and meeting many engaging people related to Kirah in one way or another. I’m sure I apologized for my appearance on the hour, but Kirah kept assuring me that it was OK, even though I didn’t believe her. She was even willing to drive me home (a ten minute drive away) very late at night after the party was all over. It was indeed a Christmas that I did not expect.

As I sat in my room and reflected on the day, I listed things that I was thankful for. I was thankful that my car only needed a new alternator. I was thankful that I had broken down near Kirah’s house instead of somewhere far away. I was thankful for mild weather that I could sit outside in. For good food. For fellowship. For warmth indoors as the temperature outside dropped. For friends. All the things that I usually took for granted were suddenly brought to light. Heck, that in itself was enough to be thankful for.




_DZ

Narrative of this years Christmas experience coming soon!

When we were young

It's eerie how bad childhood memories can remain vivid in our minds years after they occur. In my case they are not really bad in the nefarious, "I tore both arms off all my sister's Barbies", type of memories. Mine tend to be more of a spectatorly nature. One event I remember all too clearly.

I couldn't have been older than five years of age the first time I remember being at CAJ, the school from where I would graduate twelve years down the road. My family had driven in for some event, and I decided to spend some time by myself, wandering the playground. It was a very large playground at the time, for I was small. There were two slides; one for people younger than I, and the other bigger one for the bigger kids. Both slides were painted blue with gold steps, made of metal, and very old. A mother was playing with her very young daughter (most likely 2 or 3), and decided to take her over to the slides. For some reason I was near the slides, and for some other unknown reason I volunteered to stand by the side of the slide in case the little girl fell. Out of kindness the mother accepted my "help" and took her daughter to the top of the slide and let her go. I was standing on the left side of the slide.

Before the girl had even made it half way down she lost her balance, teetered, tottered, and plunged over the side rail of the slide - the left rail. She plummeted a good six feet before landing face-down of the ground about a meter and a half in front of where I was standing. There was nothing I could do but be shocked and look confused.

How could I let this happen?

Her mother of course rushed over and picked up her bawling daughter. That image of the little girl, crying her eyes out, gravel and dirt ringing her open mouth, is a permanent snapshot in my head. The mother hustled off to care for her child, and I left to wander the playground.

Looking back now, I see, of course, that there was nothing at all I could do. Even my volunteering to look out for the child's safety was a useless and empty gesture. I was five; what could I possibly have done? Let her land on me?

Still, the event haunts me as a situation where I could have done something more. Maybe it serves as a motivation to get involved now. Maybe what I couldn't have done then, I can make up for now.




Who knows why we keep the memories we do?

Junior Printer Extraordinaire

I suppose that previous post deserves some background. I can't just randomly post something and expect you to know that I have to cope with ink and grease collaborating in attempts to soil my pale skin on a daily basis.

On May 21st I began work at a small Christian printing company, henceforth referred to as NLL. I work in a three story building, in particular with the huge printing presses on the ground floor. The floor is home to four presses. I don't want to bore you with technical details, so I will refer to the presses as A, B, K, and T. I work on K, which can print in two colors. Basically my job is to take the printed paper off the machine, bundle it into neat little packages, and place it on a wooden palate. When the machine is not running, I am in charge of cleaning the ink off the machine's rollers. Printing machines are home to a host of rollers of all sizes (but only one shape, round). This is what I do for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.

Most of the time I work with a Nigerian guy named Gbenga Damola Mosaku, or, as he prefers to be called (and as his bling around his neck so boldly reinforces) 'G'. This dude is unbelievable. He was a semi-pro/pro boxer for 18 years and is unbelievably ripped. I'm talking like a perfect triangle torso. He does pushups when there are lulls in work. He has scars all over, most noticeably above his nose (which is to be expected) and, get this, in his left cornea. If that's not hardcore, I don't know what is. He used to be a street merchant before he took up printing (and by 'took up' I mean 'started last December'), and has that impeccable sense of style that goes along with being a black man who traded fashion accessories for a living. He's working extra hard to support his wife and two kids because he wants his wife to be able to stay at home and be a good mom. I really admire him for that.

NLL is too far away from my house to commute every day. Luckily, the third floor houses dorm rooms which are available for tenancy should a employee require such quarters. There are about nine rooms, and I fill one of them. I am the youngest person staying in the company dorms by at least 20 years. It's all a bunch of old guys. My dorm room is quite nice, and I find the time by myself relaxing. With my work being on the first floor and my room on the third, I find myself perpetually drawn to the comforts of a sit-back-and relax lifestyle.

Last week I did not once venture outdoors.

Here are some iSight-quality pics of my room. Enjoy.