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Slurping Away…

When we moved from Singapore to Tokyo, the city was in the throws of winter. The city was blanketed in its first measurable snow in quite some time.

Our family was not equipped for the seasons, having left behind our winter gear in the states. My long blonde hair sun kissed and skin about as tan as it will ever get… A stark contrast to our new home.

Tokyo’s winter was shock to me and my family. Although we new it would be there….

We used socks as gloves and had a little snowball fight outside our new apartment.  I’ll never forget that sock fueled snowball fight. My first memory of our new home. Our newly adopted country. Our second expatriate move.

A new culture for my childhood to explore, absorb and bond with.  The noodle shops quickly became our favorite stomping grounds.  How many bowls of ramen could my brother and I slurp away?  Who could slurp the loudest? And yes this is totally acceptable in Japan.  A noodle shop without slurping is a bad noodle shop… you don’t want to be eating it.

On home leave back to the states, mom had to remind us that slurping was not acceptable in the US.  Mind your American manners…

O how I miss those noodle shops, welcoming me in with their plastic bowls of food….. encouraging you to point and order. Those flavors, those sounds, the smells and the familiar feel of the shops are forever engrained in my mind. The one we went to every Saturday, where baby sister was so coddled by the owners. Treat after treat they would bring her, hold her as my parents ate.  We could only communicate in broken language of the other, but you were family here.

Lucky for me, a new ramen shop has opened in Minneapolis. One with hype around the block.

Within a couple weeks of the opening, we had to check it out.

Ramen Kazama.

I walked in with high expectations.  The way the menu is laid out brought back a familiar feeling. I knew this was going to be good.

We ordered the spicy pork and the chicken.

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The ramen broth here is some of the best. It touched a nerve, a feeling, a memory I haven’t had in a while.

This is the closet ramen to what I remember from Tokyo, that you can find in Minneapolis. You must go here.

When Minneapolis is in its throws of winter, there could be no better cure. It is truly delicious.

 

An Egg = Change

Change.

For some its a difficult word. A difficult process.

Admittedly, I thought I was immune to change. Immune or unaffected. Or perhaps I thought I was “good” at change.

When you move ten times before high school, through five different countries and five different states, change would be your norm. You just assume change comes naturally. What else do you know? You’re a third culture kid, floating in and out of one world to the next. One culture to the next, one friend group to the next, from house to condo, suburb to island to the metropolis of Tokyo.

Change is your uncountable blessing. It propels you forward with hastening speed. Perhaps there wasn’t even time to question whether or not I was comfortable with change.

Now, with change all around me, am I as “good” with it as I once was?

I have yet to answer.

However there are a few changes I am definitely good with!

Like this barn table friend gifted me. (Mom did a great job staining) But who knew my uber modern style would evolve? I swore it wouldn’t 🙂

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And all of a sudden I make eggs? Like frittatas and actually eat them? For so long I had quite the aversion to any egg that wasn’t deviled or poached.Similar Recipe here.

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Are you “good” with change?