This is a blog post I did a couple years ago. It’s also about my adored Grandma, so thought I’d reblog it alongside today’s new blog.
When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of Grandma’s noodles. There might have been a year or two we didn’t cover the table, night before, with the mess of drying overnight, flipping, flouring, then flouring again our holiday noodles. The damp would come out of hiding with the drying process, and we’d again add just a bit more flour, finally able to cut the perfectly imperfect wide and hearty slabs. The process was a lot of work, and wonderful. But not many years went without the noodle production, that’s for sure.
Grandma would stand, leaning over the table, a bit tall to reach the bowl easily, and carefully with silky hands create the most desirable noodles on the planet. When I was maybe 8 or 9 she let me start helping. She explained it was the size of egg that determined the recipe. Any interesting concoction these days includes at…
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...because healing spreads 