In today’s episode, Dark_Sage attempts to create the mythical Japanese dish “ramen”. Translated into English, ramen is “cheap noodles shoved in a bowl with fish juice and a suicidal amount of sodium”.
Like any true weeaboo, I have a collection of ramen stored up in hopes that as I sleep, their mystical energies will constantly rejuvenate my nindo – my ninja way.
Yet sometimes even food must be consumed. Of my glorious options, I decided on the famous “196 kcal” brand. Mostly because it was pretty and pink.
Still, an impasse awaited. As I do not speak the language of the sakura, I needed to contact my nihongo pal, puddi-san, to get him to translate the cooking instructions for me.
After being thoroughly riced by booms, puddi’s reply sparked a glimmer of hope in me, only for his follow-through to thoroughly drench my kokoro (heart) in misery.
puddi-san knew that giving up the secret of his people to a baka gaijin (read: sexy American) would be met with the full fury of Yamata no Orochi-sama, so he let me down as politely as possible.
Yet much like Harvey Weinstein, I’m not one to take no for answer. I realized it was up to me and my powers of deduction to determine what the fuck I was supposed to do with this labyrinthine entree.
Scouring the ramen package for clues, I determined my first course of action was acquiring fresh ingredients, in keeping with the farm-to-table theme that has made ramen the sensation it is today.
Only problem? As a Minnesotan, no Asian grocers even exist in the state. Recalling my time in Tōkyō fondly, as I am wont to do, I suddenly remembered we had a genuine Japanese establishment dwelling within our cosmopolitan town’s borders.
Once my pilgrimage to the global culinary mecca of McDonald’s was complete, I returned home for the next step in my journey — deciphering the moon runes etched on my bowl of ramen.
Luckily, I had a secret instruction manual to work off of, and strong backtracing skills from my experience with women on 4chan.
For those facing a similar situation, I suppose I can share the steps:
Step 1: Drench the ramen in tea.
Americans don’t drink tea, but we do have beer, so I went with that instead.
Step 2: Place the ramen in the microwave
Step 3: Microwave the ramen for three arrows
Unsure why the ramen was so steadfastly promoting Abenomics, I instead decided to interpret the signs as a metaphor for time and nuked that shit for three minutes.
With the noodles a consistency somewhere between incomplete tapioca and soggy glop, the base of the ramen was completed. Recalling the original words of Leonardo da Vinci, “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together“, I then painstakingly created the Mona Lisa of ramen out of my 4-dollar McChicken.
Praying to the legendary Maru-chan, I prepared to eatadakimasu my heart out. And how good was it?