I don’t usually make chicken and noodles when it’s still in the 90′s. Or really even the 80′s. It’s been my tradition to make them on the first cool fall day, usually around the beginning of November.
Growing up, I remember my Grammy and Great-Gram only really making them at Thanksgiving and Christmas, or if someone was sick or had a new baby. They are a lot of work – cooking the chicken all day to make stock, mixing the noodles, then rolling, cutting and placing carefully into the boiling pot. Most definitely not an everyday meal.
But yesterday, we all needed a little extra love. Tom was out of town and it was an emotionally difficult day with new news about Papa. We invited Uncle Roger and Mary, and Hanna asked all afternoon if she could make the noodles.
She did, with minimal help and direction from me.
And she turns out to be the most even noodle cutter I’ve ever seen.
I love sharing this tradition with her. I stood at my Great-Gram’s side, watching her carefully cut the dough when I was little as she talked about how her mother made them when they had an old hen that needed to be cooked. In college, Grammy called one day and said it was time to learn. I can’t eat them anymore, and don’t even want to attempt a gluten-free batch, but it’s important that this chain be continued.
I’m not sure if she realized how in demand this would make her, though. She’s already got requests from Uncle Roger and Grandma both to come over and make more.