This Is How You Make Ramyeon
In 1958, Momofuku Ando had a revolutionary thought: during a time of hunger following World War II, he believed that “peace would come to the world when the people have enough to eat.” His invention, instant ramen, quickly became a staple, but the weight of this humble meal varies depending on where it lands. A few years later, in 1961, Shin Choon-ho adapted the concept into what is now Ramyeon in Korea. Both men saw hunger and responded with invention, and then humanity did what it always does; it ran with it.
A product designed to feed nations has become countless things to countless people. In Korea, ramyeon fills glossy aisles in convenience stores and supermarkets, ready to take you home after a long day of work. Just add hot water and a simple sachet of salt, sugar, and sometimes freeze-dried meat chunks or fish cakes (Thanks to NASA scientists who insisted astronauts needed steak in space) toss it all in with the noodles and a few minutes later you are eating the stuff of dreams.
In South Africa, we called them 2 minute noodles (because they take 2 minutes to make, get it?). In the Philippines, Lucky Me! Pancit Canton (chili-mansi flavour preferred). Everyone has a version, almost like everyone has an opinion, or more importantly a perspective.
I was never strict with myself as a teenager, but there is only one way to make 2 minute noodles. You toss the slightly crunched packet of chicken flavoured maggie’s noodles and the flavour packet into a microwave safe bowl (whatever that means) and top it up with boiling water, then into the microwave for 2 minutes. Then you blow on the broth and eat the whole lot in one go. You could have 2 packets at once if you had a R5 coin. I had heard of people who made the noodles on the stove top but this seemed ridiculous to me, why complicate a food invented to be convenient. Why make dishes? I guess some people just need things to be harder than they need to be, I am some people.
In my twenties, I elevated the ritual of noodles, as I did with many of my staple food choices back then.. I started tossing out half the broth after cooking and replacing it with mayonnaise, that ever present mother sauce. The result was a creamy but not thick as chowder noodle delicacy that could have quickly become a problem if it were not for the skyrocketing noodle prices. What was once the meal served to fill us between meals, was now equal in price to pasta but with less variety. The creamy noodle dish thus became a full meal. During a particularly rough patch in my late 20s when I was living on a friend's sofa, I offered to make her some noodles “my way” and she has had her noodles the same way ever since. Well, last I heard at least. Mayonnaise does it again.
In my 30s I started omitting the broth entirely, I toss the noodles into a plastic container and top it up with boiling water then close the lid. I often go for a shower at this point, when I am done I drain the water and then mix in the flavour sachet and an egg, sometimes a bit of chilli oil. This new version reflects not just my changing preference and disdain for soup (not you sinigang), but also the environment I am in. I have a fairly large collection of ramyeon sauce sachets, as the ramyeon packs in Korea often come with not just a little bag of flavourful salt but also a sauce of some kind, I have yet to figure out how to use them. Rest assured they will not be used to make ramyeon.
When I am in the Philippines my preferred brand is Lucky Me! Pancit Canton. The chilimansi one is often the only thing flying back in my carry on with me. I like to eat Pancit Canton right after I return to Korea from a visit in the Philippines, it helps me pretend I’m still there in the provinces, watching the dogs play outside, seeing the banana tree shake its leaves out of our bedroom window as my mother in law cooks lunch. Those are some of my favourite memories, the silence of being allowed to take up space has saved me in more ways than I can count.
To flip the script, when my partner is in Korea we obviously have to have some ramyeon, but this leads to debate that will never be resolved. He defends his opinion that omitting the broth is sacrilegious, whereas I follow the reverence of my conviction entirely. Broth is not necessary. Soup is not food. A difference in opinion, but unfortunately I am good at playing 30 seconds so being wrong is not something I like being.
Acceptance is a curve, mathematically speaking. It's not a direct linear move from point a to b. Not for me personally, because I want to know why. This penchant for arguing and pushing back has cost me many things in my life thus far, friendships, time with my family and most importantly it cost me countless hours of my own peace. I was begging for the space to exist and refusing everyone else the same thing - even if I convinced myself that I was being helpful.
On my recent trip back home to South Africa I decided I had to show my partner the bar I spent my 20s exploring. We walked into Xaixai and to my surprise (and slight shame) the manager remembered me well. We sat down, had a few drinks and then took an uber back to our airbnb in Pretoria (the luxury of going home!). On the drive back Jon was talking to the uber driver and I allowed myself the privilege of sitting back and listening, a wonderful new thing I’ve taught myself to do; listen. He was recalling his day to the driver who was enthusiastically asking questions (a foreigner in your uber is a big deal). I realised in his recollection that we both had the same day, but experienced them entirely differently. I also for some reason did not feel the urge to interject as a younger me would have, because for some reason, perhaps it was the holiday haze or the buzz from the castle lite, I felt my body accept that fact. My version is not the only version, my answers are not the only answers. A ridiculous place to realise this, but that's how this works.
I had spent years in frustration, stubborn about beliefs I held so close to my chest I could not show you where they ended and I began. I thought that my way was the right way, because it worked for me. Naturally it should work for everyone else then, right? I’m good at trivia, I have the answers! But the truth is, my way doesn’t have to be the only way, perspective isn’t universal and arguing isn’t a sign of intelligence, it's a sign of stubbornness.
The 2 weeks in South Africa were incredible, I can’t recall the last time I spent this much time with my family without anyone fighting, no shouting, no gossip (okay some gossip but we are siblings what are we supposed to do). The tides have turned in my world, and I believe in the lives of my loved ones as well. None of us are where we thought we would be, and isn’t that scary as shit and hopeful as heck.
As a side note, I need to get my hands on some kelp, because I have an idea for a South African influenced Sinigang called Dwarskersbos Sinigang Sop that has kept me up for a week now.
The truth of the matter is that growth is uncomfortable, unless you are a baby (teething not included). But the most important lesson to learn from growing is that everyone is doing it, and your way is yours for a reason. It's okay to listen, it's okay to disagree, and it's okay to play another round of uno right after because it's never that serious. We have so much life to live, it's better to close your eyes in the uber and listen to someone else experiencing the same day, from a different perspective.
It's okay to make two bowls of ramyeon, one with broth and one without. Because we are gonna eat them together.
Ramyeon, in its simplicity and multiplicity, has taught me the same lesson. A single packet, prepared differently in thousands of kitchens across the world, is still valid, still nourishing. The broth may be omitted, the flavour sachet may be mixed at different times, proteins may come and go, and yet the essence remains. The act of cooking, sharing, eating, and adapting is what matters.
The noodles are the same; the ways they are made are countless. So it is with people. So it is with understanding.