There’s a very specific kind of hunger I get.
Not the kind that asks for a feast.
Not the kind that wants to spend hours in the kitchen either.
It’s the kind that sits quietly in my chest and says—
feed me… but don’t make it complicated.
I don’t want instant noodles.
Not the dry, crunchy kind that feels like giving up halfway.
But I also don’t want effort.
So I reach for something in between—
a pack of fresh yakisoba noodles, soft and waiting, with just enough help to get me started…
and just enough room to make it my own.
I start gathering ingredients and putting them in my favorite basket.
Onions, whatever vegetables available or frozen, and protein. Always protein.
I don’t overthink or overcomplicate this dish.
I heat the pan and add a little oil.
When it’s hot and ready, I add the onions and saute until the color and scent feel right. I then add the protein. On this particular day, it’s thinly sliced beef kissed with soy sauce and mirin.
I then add the other vegetables when the beef has reached that brown shade that’s not fully cooked, but not raw anymore either.
This phase is fast as I’m stir frying everything, so I keep mixing.
When the vegetables look crunchy, I add the noodles then about half a cup of water just to steam them. I also add the seasoning packet that came with the noodles.
I let the noodles cook for a while. When they’re all broken up, that means they’re ready for mixing with the other ingredients. I do this and then taste.
I adjust the seasoning to my liking. I put different seasonings depending on my mood. Salt? Soy sauce? Pepper? A touch of sugar? You decide.
When everything is perfect, I plate it and pour some katsuobushi on top.
The dancing flakes are mesmerizing. I always spend a few minutes just watching them sway to an inaudible tune that only they can hear.
I remember first seeing this dish many, many years ago and I was fascinated as the waiter brought it to our table. I remember thinking, “what is that and why is it dancing?” I spent a few minutes watching the flakes until they stopped dancing before getting some to put on my plate.
Now, I can recreate that scene and remember the feeling every time I cook yakisoba.
By the time it’s done, the kitchen smells like I tried harder than I actually did.
The noodles are glossy, tangled with bits of everything I felt like adding— nothing measured, nothing forced.
It’s not instant.
But it’s not effort either.
It’s that quiet middle space…
where you still get to take care of yourself without needing to give too much away.
And somehow—
that’s always enough.
---
Lady E
P. S.
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