Now that we are a week away from Christmas (CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT?!), I figured it was time to talk to you about noodles. Namely the ones I consumed at Thanksgiving.
SIDE NOTE: Two years ago at Thanksgiving, we had a house-full of homeless seminary students join us for dinner. A then three year-old Noah asked that instead of saying the prayer, could we sing a robust rendition of "Oklahoma." Naturally, we all beamed with pride. But since we didn't want a bunch of seminary students to think they were breaking bread with a family of heathens, we said grace instead.
This year, however, it was just our family and a family friend and his two kiddos. This friend and my brother met when they were nine years-old, playing little league football in Oklahoma. My sister and I were their cheerleaders. A few years later my dad was transferred to Colorado for work. FIVE MONTHS LATER this friend's family was also transferred and they became our neighbors once again.
He is like my other brother.
He has seen me in braces, watched me perform in musicals, endured my obsession with N*SYNC and has eaten countless dinners at my house. He even took me out for pizza during my freshman year of college when I couldn't stand dorm food one more day.
To this day, Sam and him are best friends.
And he also loves noodles.
(Cue "That's What Friends Are For.")
Okay, back to the point.
When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of noodles. I mean, who doesn't, right? This is what our noodles look like:
Don't be scared. It is just flour, eggs, salt and pepper. They are laying out to dry.
These are morsels of heavenly goodness just waiting to be submerged in broth.
I am not going to lie: I am drooling right now. You should make some tonight.
Add them to chicken stock, throw in some shredded chicken and ladle them over mashed potatoes.
Heaven help me.
I would implore, encourage, almost demand that you try these sometime. They are comfort food in a bowl. They warm your soul, improve your health and require stretchy pants. I can't think of a better combo.