On Simple Lunches and Class…

I am officially tired of the noodle bowls. In an attempt to lay in inexpensive work lunches, and specifically ones that could be prepared via the hot-tap on the office water cooler, I bought a slew of “Simply Asia” noodle bowls from the local Winco.

At first, this was very exciting and I eagerly awaited my lunch to discover what flavor I’d randomly select from the bottom of my file cabinet. Shitake mushroom, garlic ginger, spring onion (not to be confused with autumnal onions, apparently), lemon grass, chili something…etc. Variety and food under $1? Beautiful. A middle-class woman’s dream.

I selected lemon grass and carted it off to the kitchen. After removing the cardboard exterior, knifing the titanium strength external plastic wrap, and carefully peeling back the fragile paper top (but leaving it connected because it is needed to cover the noodles later); I discovered that the loose rice noodles sported another package that included 3 “seasoning” packets. So, in order to partake of “Simply Asia,” one has to open seven separate packaging formations.

One of the packets contained a clear oily liquid that resembled...well...oil. Another held, according to the writing on it, “vegetables,” but they appeared to be shriveled up lawn clippings and I hesitated to add them but did so in the hopes that the hot water would restore their original brilliance. The third packet contained “flavoring” (i.e. colored salt).

After adding all three to my noodles, and wiping portions off of the ingredients off the counter--because apparently it is impossible to open these packets without spillage--I engaged in the hot-tap dance. By that I mean that I had to hold the noodle bowl in such a way that it remained level, with paper top gently arched back, and the hot-tap tab properly pushed in so that the hot-tap could be deployed thus releasing MacDonald’s-coffee-temperature-hot water into my noodle medley to the “fill line” and all over my hand.

The directions indicated that the burning sensation would dissipate with time and also advised that if I let my bowl sit for 3 minutes, it would be ready to eat. Three minutes passed and I excitedly peeled back the top, stirred the meal, and dug in for my first bite.

Helpfully, the directions also indicated that the burning sensation in my mouth would go away after a few days but they said nothing about the creepy texture of the “noodles” (in quotes now because I suspect they are not noodles and are, in fact, reconstituted strips of wax paper), the impact of the industrial strength sodium content, and the “vegetables” that not only resemble but taste like grass clippings.

Yummy. Apparently, “Simply Asia” is more complex than I had given it credit for. I felt mislead. Still, I ate the noodles because I had to because I’d purchased them and god forbid I waste food. And I continued to eat the other noodle bowls, hoping that each new flavor would bring the noodley delight I’d hoped for. They did not. However, in fairness, the shitake mushrooms did not taste like grass clippings but more like small mummified rodent babies.

Today I gagged down my last “Simply Asia” and chased it with a leftover generic Oreo-like cookie from yesterday’s staff meeting. Wow. Is that really as pathetic as it sounds? Do I care so little about myself? Apparently so.

Tomorrow, I bring tuna and something involving goat cheese. I’m worth it.