Post #48 – Women’s Memoirs, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
Kendra and I are pleased to publish LaTawnia Gray’s story and recipe that received an honorable mention in our April Memoir Contest–KitchenScraps Category. Congratulations LaTawnia.
MOM’S WINTER NOODLES
LaTawnia Gray
Winter in the Pacific Northwest can get pretty chilly. In fact it can get down right cold. Walking home from school was a miserable time, especially for girls. We weren’t allowed to wear pants to school so we pulled on thick leotards to help us stay warm. I can remember the days we would slog through the snow and slush, clinging to the hope that Mom would have hot chocolate waiting for us.
As soon as my siblings and I burst through the door after school we could tell what dinner was going to be just from the smells emanating from the kitchen. But when we saw homemade noodles draped over every chair in the kitchen we knew it was going to be turkey or chicken soup. There was nothing better to warm us up than anticipating Mom’s homemade soup. Just thinking about her soup makes my mouth water even today.
I would walk into the kitchen and see Mom with flour on her cheeks and in her hair, looking beautiful to me. She would have flour on her apron and spilled flour would be on the floor. She didn’t have a noodle-making machine so cutting noodles by hand was a challenge. But Mom would rise to the occasion and cut those noodles with precision. Of course by the time she was down to the last of the dough to be cut, she might make a couple of extra fat ones. But she tried to stay true to width. They would cook better, she would tell me and my sisters.
While the prepared noodles were drying on the backs of chairs or on the kitchen tables, my sisters and I would cut the carrots, celery and onion to add to the pot. Mom would add her spices and herbs to give the soup flavor. When the meat of the bird was ready to fall off of the bones, Mom would pull the carcass out of the pot and pick the meat off. She would put the turkey or chicken meat back in after she was sure all of the bones were out. When we were ready to eat later, she would remind us to watch out for little bones she might have missed.
There was nothing like the taste of homemade noodles. Of course, sometimes when Mom would make soup, she would use store bought noodles. And we figured those were okay as far as taste was concerned. But by far, the homemade noodles were the best. Packaged noodles and homemade noodles used pretty much the same ingredients, but they just didn’t taste the same. Maybe it was because we knew the Mom’s were made with love.
I loved the times when she would let me help her cut the noodles. The noodles would be cut no more than a quarter of an inch wide. Mom and I didn’t use a ruler; we would ‘eye’ the dough and begin to cut. It helped to have some of Mom’s already cut so I could use them as a measuring tool. When it got down to the last bit of dough, Mom and I would cut some pretty funny looking noodles and later during dinner, Dad would come across one or two of them on his spoon and start laughing.
That was a wonderful time of mother and daughter bonding. I especially enjoyed it when we would do things together such as making noodles or biscuits or even pies. She was so busy with taking care of us kids (there were six of us), doing housework, cooking and just being Mom, that individual time with any of us was all the more special.
There was a feeling of accomplishment after the noodles cooked and we were eating them, each noodle tasted wonderful. The noodles would be just the right consistency with a perfect firmness. They wouldn’t be tough from too much handling of the dough. The way they would feel in our mouths when we chewed them was the best: smooth.
I haven’t made homemade noodles in a long time. But this winter I thought a lot about them and about Mom. Now that I have granddaughters and grandsons, I think I will start teaching them the art of making homemade noodles. And it is an art. It’s one thing to throw together some dough and put it into a machine and let the machine do the work; but it’s completely another when you do it yourself by hand. I hope my grandkids will find joy in cooking and will want to learn more about how to make things from homemade or as we called it, scratch cooking. I think it would make Mom happy to know that something she loved to do would be continued in the family.
Here’s to memories of happy noodle making, Mom.
MOM’S HOMEMADE WINTER NOODLES
3 egg yolks
1 egg
1 tablespoon salt
2 tablespoons cold water
2 cups flour
Beat the yolks and egg until they are light. Beat in the salt and 2 tablespoons cold water. Using your hands, work the flour into the mixture to make a stiff dough. Cut into three equal parts. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise a few minutes.
Dust a board or pastry cloth with flour and roll out one part of the dough as thin as possible. Cover with a dishcloth and let rise for 10 minutes. Repeat with the other two pieces. Sprinkle one sheet of dough very lightly with flour and roll up like a jelly roll. With a sharp knife, cut across the roll into 1/8 inch strips for fine noodles or cut wider for broader noodles.
Open the strips and hang them over a broomstick or chair backs to dry. They are ready to cook when they have lost their surface dampness. Usually about 10 minutes.
Bring a large pot to a boil, don’t forget to add some salt, and drop in the noodles. Boil for 5-10 minutes or until they are tender.
Enjoy creating your own memories.
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