Noodle Elitist

I am of German and Irish descent. If you would put me against pictures of my Irish great grandmother, you'd think it was me dressed up funny. I suppose that is why I identify with the irish side more. That, and they seem to be the fighters. My german grandmother seemed to be a victim....

What I did get from the german side of my family was my elitist noodle attitude. I can't help it. Really, I can't. The problem is... I'm right! I make better noodles then about anyone else I know... actually, my mom and I make great noodles and everyone else's are crap.

I started my noodle apprenticeship as a small child. It was my job to lightly toss the noodles to make sure that none were sticking together. If they had clumped then I was to separate them. This went on for years and years. Eventually I was allowed to cut the noodles but only if mom was pushed for time. Even then I don't think I was ever told that I did it right. I rolled a few times. I was never allowed to roll to completion. Mom was never happy with my rolling job "You need to roll that dough until you can read a newspaper through it!"

Well, now I have more weight to put behind my rolling pin. I have a lot more muscle in my arms and, in general, more ooomph! While you may not in reality be able to read a newspaper through my dough, you can certainly tell there is print on the page! My noodles are rich and eggy and thin enough to take on the flavors of the broth. They are, in a word... excellent.

The thick, pasty, floury, under cooked noodle is the bane of the world! Those who dare should cry out against it. It should be stamped out whenever it is encountered... or at least, fed to the dog. The dog doesn't seem to care. The dog isn't a noodle elitist.

Louie