Dear friends and readers,
Every summer, my family makes cold noodles. It has been an unspoken tradition in our family ever since I can remember.
I am typing this from a new purchased Walmart (very uncomfortable) couch from my parents house. I was digging around my parents’ fridge for snacks, and I found a big tupperware of cold thin-cut wheat noodles very obviously meant for cold noodles.
That might have inspired me to write this, but I digress.
When I was little, I remember that my grandma would make the same type of thin-cut wheat noodles, and pile them up on a big plate. Everyone would pick their portions, and then we would all add our toppings and sauces of choice. The crowd favorite was always peanut-butter sauce; my sister always rushed to the kitchen to prepare a dilution of peanut butter and warm water ahead of eating. My grandpa had a love for preserved chili that he lovingly joked that he’d add it in my plate when I’m not looking. I didn’t liked a heavy sauce, so I would just mix some soy sauce into my noodles and call it. My mom would always be worried if I’m eating too much salt from the soy sauce, but I was always picky about eating messy food, so she usually just let me be.
When we moved to the U.S. and my mom started being the main chef of my life, we started eating other kinds of cold noodles too.
Since we had a Hmart right next to our house, my mom started making Korean naengmyeon (냉면) at times. I was somewhat picky with it during my childhood, and never tried it then. My mom would make scallion-oil noodles (葱油拌面) instead for me when she made naengmyeon (냉면). Now, I have found naengmyeon (냉면) to be one of the most important things in my life (albeit right now I’m suffering from not being able to find naengmyeon (냉면) broth packets in the Hmart freezer aisle).
Later in life, I also discovered kong-guksu (콩국수), naengmyeon (냉면) ‘s cousin in form. Instead of buckwheat noodles and a savory clear broth, kong-guksu (콩국수) changes it up by using wheat noodles and a soymilk peanut dipping broth instead. As I am a true soy boy, I naturally picked that up.
When we’d come home for college, we ate zaru soba (ざる蕎麦) occasionally too. Instead of piling them all on a big plate like my grandma, my mom would just let the soba (蕎麦) noodles soak in a big glass bowl filled with ice and water. We’d make our dipping sauces with tsuyu (つゆ) and wasabi (ワサビ), and happily slurp away while chomping down on parboiled and chilled baby octopus.
These are the memories that led me to order zaru soba (ざる蕎麦) at Ootoya (大戸屋), New York. It was a hot and humid day, and it was on the day of the pride parade as well. A friend that we were supposed to meet up recommended the place, and after I had been wading in an incredible thick layer of sweaty parade go-ers at Washington Square Park, cold noodles was just what I was craving.
Ootoya (大戸屋) didn’t offer a set-meal for zaru soba (ざる蕎麦), but I managed to cobble one together by adding a side order of sapporo beer (札幌ビール), agedashi tofu (揚げ出し豆腐), korokke (コロッケ), and miso soup (味噌汁), which are also frequent visitors at my mom’s table.
I took my time mixing the tsuyu (つゆ), green onions (ネギ) and wasabi (ワサビ). This is the most important part of the soba eating experience; you need to get the tsuyu (つゆ) exactly to your liking. I like it with a quite a bit of a zingy flavor, so I always use as much green onions as possible, and enough wasabi (ワサビ) to give me a kick (but not an aneurysm).
It’s a humble dish in comparison to the other things I could have ordered. There was no flair, just a nice cool stream of earthly flavored noodles, dressed with a sweet umami tsuyu (つゆ), with a kick at the end. At that moment though, I was simply the happiest I could be.
I should make more cold noodles at home, before summer slips away.
Signed and posted,
Cheers,
Jeff