My husband John never cooks. Oh he has lots of reasons why, too hard, too tired, that’s woman’s work and he always disappears when there is something to be done in the kitchen other that buying and putting away groceries. Well John came home from the supermarket the other day and shoved a package in my hands after rummaging through his newly purchased groceries. “Shirataki noodles,” he said with pride and grinned at me.
“Shirataki noodles?” I asked, “I have never heard of them before.”
John told me that he had never heard of Shirataki noodles before either, that was till he talked to the lady at the supermarket that was conducting tastings for Shirataki noodles and he thought we should eat some for dinner, he even offered to cook. Who was I to argue, Shirataki noodles were giving me the night off from cooking so I watched while John prepared the noodles.
John removed the Shirataki noodles from the package whilst explaining to me that they are ready-to-eat out of the package which is why they were covered in liquid. He put them to the side in a pot of boiling water to heat them up as he organized the other ingredients.
He cut up garlic and crushed some ginger which he added to a fry pan of spitting olive oil, when the aromas of both filled the air John added the finely diced onion that he had been chopping along with some soy sauce, spinach, tofu and a pinch of salt. This was the flavor he explained as he turned down the heat to simmer for a few moments and added the pot of Shirataki noodles to heat to briefly boil them.
He poured me a glass of red wine and handed it to me as he disappeared into the dining room to set the table for dinner. David, our fourteen year old son came into the kitchen and asked what was for dinner. I picked up the packet and showed him.
“Shirataki noodles,” he read out loud, “are made from Konjac flour, which comes from the roots of the Konjac plant grown in Japan and China,” he pulled a face and asked.”Are they any good Mom?” I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know I haven’t tried them yet, your father says they are good and I get the night off cooking!” I ended with a flourish of the glass and took a long swig of the delicious wine inside.
John returned to check the food and caught David pulling a face at his dish. “Don’t pull a face David, you ought to be a bit more adventurous and try new things,” he chastised him while straining the water from the Shirataki noodles, adding them to the fry pan and mixing them with the other ingredients. David inspected the food.
“But Dad,” he whined, “where is the meat?” John laughed and turned off the heat,” Son we are having tofu with our noodles, a whole new experience, you won’t even miss it. No put this basket of bread on the table and call your sister, we are ready to eat! Another wine,” he asked me. “Yes please,” I replied holding out my glass and he filled it.
John pulled out my large ceramic bowl, I didn’t even know that he knew where it was kept, and emptied the frying pan into it, I must say it smelt very good. “Shall we,” he said inclining his head toward the dining room. “Yes I’m starved,” I replied grabbing my glass and carrying it with me to the dining table where David was already seated.
We started to fill our plates with the delicious smelling noodles when Betty our sixteen year old daughter came into the room and slumped into a chair. She looked at our plates and asked “what are we having?” with a confused look on her face.
“Your father cooked for us,” I replied. “Can I order a pizza,” she asked in her sixteen year old sarcastic voice.
“No.” I said and winked at David and John, “we are having Shirataki noodles,” we chimed together and laughed, getting stuck into our food while she predictable rolled her eyes.
She did eat them and after we polished off the piled bowl of noodles that night and John still uses every excuse not to cook unless I buy Shirataki noodles and then he will play chef for the family.