There’s something about these two words that brings back a flood of memories for me. My grandmother. She passed away about 10 years ago now, and I think of her often.
She and my grandfather lived about 10 miles from us growing up, and we’d see them nearly every Sunday. When we’d visit her house, she’d typically make chicken and noodles. Now, we’re not talking about the stuff out of the can here. She’d make noodles from scratch, while the chicken roasted in the oven.
I remember my grandmother showing me what to do: combine flour, salt and lard (yes, lard.) Then put some flour out on a cool, flat surface; roll out the dough and cut it into strips. Then boil ‘em.
That’s how I remember it anyway.
(I may have been too busy to notice much else as I’d have my hand in the cookie jar digging for a sugared variety.)