Noodles: My New Favorite Thing!

Father came home from town last week with a surprise—something he never does unless it’s practical. Usually, it’s medicinal herbs or new tools for his work, but this time? He brought me a book.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Father brings books all the time, but they’re usually about ancient spells, alchemy, or something heavy and hard to understand. This one, though, was different. It was a cookbook!

The cookbook is filled with recipes from faraway lands—spices I’ve never heard of, methods that seemed downright strange, and dishes that had me drooling just from the descriptions. But the one that caught my eye immediately was something called noodles.

I’d never even heard of noodles before, but the illustration showed these long, golden strands, twirled around a fork and topped with a rich, saucy glaze. They looked magical.

Making noodles turned out to be more of an adventure than I expected. The recipe called for ingredients we didn’t have in the tower: flour, eggs, and something called “semolina.”

Father, bless him, had brought flour and eggs, but semolina? Not a chance. I decided to make do with what I had and hoped the noodles wouldn’t notice the difference.

The first step was mixing the dough. I cracked the eggs into the flour, just like the recipe said, and started mixing. At first, it felt like I was doing something wrong—it was sticky, messy, and got everywhere. But eventually, it turned into this smooth, golden ball of dough that I couldn’t stop poking.

I let the dough rest (because apparently, dough needs naps?) and then rolled it out as thin as I could manage. Let me tell you, rolling dough is not as easy as it looks in those perfect book illustrations. Mine was lumpy, uneven, and shaped more like a squashed cloud than a perfect circle. But I persevered.

Once the dough was rolled out, the real magic began. I used a knife to slice it into long, thin strips, trying to keep them even. Some were perfect; others were… well, let’s call them “artistic.”

Blizzard, of course, decided this was the perfect moment to “help” by hopping onto the counter. I had to bribe her off with a bit of dough, which she sniffed before deciding it was beneath her.

The recipe said to boil the noodles in salted water for a few minutes, and watching them cook was so satisfying. They went from pale and floppy to golden and springy in no time. I couldn’t resist fishing one out with a fork to taste.

Oh. My. Elethar.

The texture, the warmth, the chewiness—it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before. I was officially in love.

For the sauce, I followed the recipe in the book, which called for butter, garlic, and a handful of herbs from the garden. The smell alone was enough to make my stomach growl. I tossed the noodles in the sauce, and suddenly, I wasn’t just making food—I was making art.

I sat down at the table, Blizzard watching me like a hawk from her spot near the fire. With a fork in hand, I twirled the noodles (or tried to—still mastering that) and took my first real bite.

Heaven. Absolute heaven. The butter, the garlic, the fresh herbs, and the soft, chewy noodles all came together in a way that made me want to cry. How had I lived my whole life without knowing noodles existed?

When Father came back into the kitchen, he raised an eyebrow at the mess I’d made—flour everywhere, dough scraps stuck to the counter, and one very smug-looking Blizzard licking her paw. But when I handed him a plate of noodles, his expression softened.

He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then nodded. “Not bad, Sarra. Not bad at all.”

Coming from Father, that’s practically a standing ovation.

Since that first attempt, I’ve made noodles three more times. I’ve tried different sauces—one with cream and cheese (delicious), one with roasted tomatoes (also delicious), and one with a bit of spice (delicious but fiery). Each time, they’ve turned out better, and I’m pretty sure noodles are officially my new favorite food.

The cookbook has so many other recipes I want to try, but for now, I’m content to keep experimenting with noodles. I even saved some for Blizzard (plain, of course—she doesn’t need garlic). Turns out, even she’s a fan.

So, if you ever find yourself in the tower and I offer you a plate of golden, buttery noodles, know this: they’re made with love, determination, and just a little bit of chaos. And trust me—you’ll want seconds.