If there is no rice, why not eat yakisoba?

Cloudy sky.

The heavy rain that had been falling from morning until noon had already stopped, and through the gaps in the low-hanging, mouse-gray clouds, patches of blue sky were flickering. It was evening. I hurried on my way home.

Tonight's dinner is rice, deep-fried pork bits, salad, and miso soup.

Unfortunately, there was little rice left, and I had only been able to cook 2.5 cups of rice this morning. My husband and two sons each eat about one cup of rice for dinner. 2.5 cups is simply not enough.

It only amounts to about 70% of their usual rice portion, and at this rate, there won't be any rice left for me.

Clutching my growling stomach and glancing at the park streetlights, I hurried to the supermarket.

Should I buy rice now, then wash it, and then cook it? Or not?
As I pedaled my bicycle, I thought about it.

If I did that, dinner would definitely be delayed by about an hour. I was troubled.
I will buy the rice. But should I cook it today?

No, I won't cook it.

“If there is no rice, why not eat yakisoba?”
The Marie Antoinette inside me whispered.

That's impossible. There is no tragic queen inside me.

In the first place, Marie Antoinette doesn't eat rice, nor does she eat yakisoba. Perhaps if it were Jean-Jacques Rousseau, he might confess, 'I was too embarrassed to go to the rice shop for a snack to go with my beer, so when I went to Basokiya to buy yakisoba, I recalled the desperate remark of a certain Madame de Augy-Leon, who said, "Since the peasants have no rice, let them eat yakisoba."'

And so, I bought a yakisoba set that included noodles and powdered sauce, and headed home.

As soon as I got home, I took the pork bits that had been marinating in soy sauce, sake, and garlic powder, and squeezed them into small, ball-shaped clumps with as much force as if they were my parents' killer.

I dusted the small, tightly squeezed pork balls with plenty of potato starch.

Once the pork bits were coated in white powder to the level of a Baka-dono with a face painted stark white, I threw them into the oil without hesitation. The pork bits sizzled as they were fried.

When they were nicely browned, I flipped them over and fried the other side until crispy. Surely these pork bits never dreamed they would be turned into karaage.

I took the crispy fried pork bits out onto a plate. After frying a good twenty or so pork clumps, I wiped the remaining oil from the frying pan with a paper towel.

In parallel, I washed the bean sprouts and chives thoroughly with water and lightly warmed the yakisoba noodles in the microwave. I added sesame oil to the oil-wiped frying pan.

Once the sesame oil was warm, I threw in the bean sprouts and chives and stir-fried them over high heat all at once. As the volume decreased and they were cooked, I added the warmed yakisoba noodles, breaking them apart. I then added garlic powder and grilled them in the pan until they sizzled.

Once the noodles were loosened to some extent and mixed with the bean sprouts and chives, I stopped touching them for a while. The surface where the yakisoba met the frying pan began to sizzle as it grilled.

I firmly resist the urge to touch the noodles here. It is a test of patience. I hold back with all my might, and just when I feel I can't wait any longer, I flip the noodles over to find they have turned perfectly crispy.

I crisp the other side in the same way, and finally, after loosening the whole thing, I sprinkle the included powdered sauce all at once and stir-fry the yakisoba while mixing it well.

Finally, I sear the noodles again until they sizzle, and the yakisoba is ready.

I plate the yakisoba, salad, and deep-fried pork bits.

I pick up some yakisoba with my chopsticks and bring it to my mouth. As I slurp the noodles, I occasionally hit a crispy spot, which makes for a delightful texture. The bean sprouts are crunchy, and the noodles, stir-fried without adding water, retain a pleasant chewiness.

The aroma of the sauce wafts through my nose, whetting my appetite.

With that momentum, I stuff my cheeks with the deep-fried pork bits.
From within the crispy batter, the juices of the pork fat and the sweetness of the Kyushu soy sauce spread out. This, too, fueled my adventurous spirit for food.

As it happened to be my day off from drinking, I had no choice but to reach for sparkling water in front of these dishes that would have gone so well with beer. I moistened my parched throat with the sparkling water.

The rumbling in my stomach, which had refused to settle, gradually calmed down, and I took a breath once I had emptied my plate.

"I'm full. So satisfied."

And I think to myself: Yakisoba is delicious.
However, there is no yakisoba left for tomorrow. I only bought enough yakisoba noodles for today.

A voice inside me says:
"If there is no yakisoba, why not eat rice?"

Now then, what shall I have for dinner?