My great grandpa passed away when I was pretty young, but my mom would often take me to his house, which my grandparents kept as a weekend getaway. One fall day when I was about 4 or 5, my grandpa told me we were going to make his grandma’s chicken noodle soup - homemade noodles and all! It was warm in the kitchen, and I felt happy to be cooking. He told me about how when he was a kid. He would go to his grandma’s house to escape his unhappy home as often as he could. “I would mow the lawn, and even though she swore she needed glasses, she would point out every blade of grass he missed,” he told me. These were good memories for him, in part because she would often be making soup on those days, and he worked up an appetite mowing. He felt safe there, and these noodles represented comfort and love he didn’t always get at home. He was happy when he told me these stories. He wanted me to be happy too, and to know that my grandparents love me - even though I didn’t have anything to escape. His chuckle filled the room when he taught me how to make these noodles, and told me stories about his grandma Ella. There is no written recipe for these noodles, but they are simple and you can’t really mess them up. Grandpa used to dry them for a few hours, but I kind of prefer the long and messy noodles, buttered and delicious. They taste like home and comfort.