Ramen

There is no staple of food held more dearly by inmates than Ramen noodles.  Ramen is the manna of this lost tribe.  Ramen forms the basic food block of any meal.  It is also currency.  Twenty-eight cents each, three put you in the weekly NFL pool.  A trim from the dorm barber?  Five soups.

Lunenburg limits inmates to a max of 40 “soups” per store day.  There are just three choices:  chili, Texas beef and chicken.  And yet, from these three flavors, from these little packages of dried noodles and seasoning packet, come almost every recipe known to inmates.  Ramen is, in sum, the perfect food.

Every pizza crust begins with two packages of crushed, swelled Ramen mixed with one sleeve of crushed saltines.  “Crushed and swelled”?  You ask.  Noodles are not normally eaten like spaghetti, long and tossed.  No, they are crushed, pulverized into small flakes.  You get used to, early on, the sound of Ramen being thrown against the wall and/or the floor.  After the initial “break” the chef continues the delicate work of crushing, always aware that even the slightest over-exertion of pressure will lead the bag to split, spilling thousands of Ramen pieces.

Ramen is an amazing noodle.  Add cups and cups of water, bring noodle chunks and water to a boil in the microwave, then remove and cover and within fifteen minutes those tiny snow flake size bits absorb all the liquid, “swelling” in geometric proportion.  It is rumored in prison circles that the 5 loaves Jesus used to feed 5,000 were actually Ramen loaves, so amazing is their power to expand.

Noodles are then mixed with chili or mackerel, clams, kippers, sausage, refried beans and cheese.  The mixture becomes a spread for crackers, or kept looser, poured over tortilla chips to create a heaping pile of nachos.  Or, men just eat their Ramen concoction straight from their plastic bowls on their beds, headphones on with TV helping pass the time.

Then there are the “wraps” and “truck stops”.  Huge bowls of Ramen and meat, veggies, fish and the like poured into individual flour tortilla wraps, slid into used potato chip bags, then double wrapped in newspaper and placed in the microwave (the paper stops the aluminum lined chip bags from sparking).  The result?  Crispy Ramen burritos.  Or, six tortillas layered in two rows, three each, slightly overlapping and slathered with tub cheese.  Mounds of Ramen composition poured down the middle and then the sides folded up and tightly rolled in newspaper and taped shut.  Twenty minutes in the microwave, twenty minutes to rest and then sliced into thick gooey segments of “truck stop” the supreme Ramen based wrap!

For international cuisine, combine two spoonfuls of melted peanut butter, a Ramen chili soup seasoning pack, mackerel or tuna, chopped jalapeno peppers and pour over rough crushed swelled Ramen.  The result?  Thai food (sort of).

Ramen is amazing.  It is the dietary lifeblood of the inmate population and to a man everyone says the same thing:  “I’m never eating another soup after I get out of here”.

Funny thing.  In my former life, Saturday mornings I’d go for my run, return home and then my younger son and I would begin a “father-son” day of hanging out, running errands, maybe a movie or wiffle ball in the back yard.  Those mornings always started the same way.  My son – not a breakfast food kid – would request grilled cheese with ranch dressing (“for dipping dad!”) and Ramen noodles.  We’d watch cartoons or Sports Center:  me with my coffee, him with milk, grilled cheese and Ramen.

I eat a lot of “naked” Ramen.  Noodles with just seasoning and refried beans.  Almost every bowlful I think about those Saturdays, my son, and my life that was.  And I wish, wish for another day, another bowl of noodles, and my son and me together.