Learning to Cook My Mother’s Noodles

Sunday afternoon

I finally asked Mum to teach me how she makes the noodles I loved as a child. I expected a recipe. Instead, she said things like “a little soy sauce” and “cook it until it smells right.” This was not very helpful.

I followed her around the kitchen with my phone, stopping her each time she reached for an ingredient. She rolled her eyes when I measured the vinegar, but she waited. The best moment was when the garlic hit the hot oil. The smell was exactly the smell of coming home from school, dropping my bag by the door, and knowing dinner was nearly ready.

My first bowl was too salty. Mum added a spoonful of hot water and told me not to make that face. The noodles were not quite the same as hers, but they were close enough to bring back our old kitchen with the green table and the noisy fan.

I wrote down every amount before I washed the dishes. Mum says I will not need the notes after making it ten times. She is probably right, but I am keeping them anyway.