Somewhere, my Osakan ex-coworker's heart is making the sound of ultimate suffering. The .99 dried noodles you get in the grocery store are not ramen, you guys.

This is like hearing someone say they don't like Parmagiano-Reggiano because they don't like the stuff in the green can. It's comparing apples to pine needles.

But it says so right on the packaging!

Not that I don't eat ramen, but I'm aware that I'm one culinary step above eating salted cardboard when I do.

Oh, I'm right there with you. I just really like the texture.

But I've never had the real ones! So all I know is I like what's called ramen in the little plastic-wrapped packs.

Seriously, all of you fly to New York right now and I will have Yoshie take you out for real Japanese ramen TONIGHT. Or better yet, let's all fly to Osaka and eat ramen there.

I like this plan. Where do we keep our private jet?

I'm afraid if we go to Japan, I will not be able to eat anything but sushi. ALL OF THE SUSHI.

I could eat some ramen right now.

In completely different news, this video is gut-wrenching. A woman who took a picture of herself every day for a year, during a horrible year in her life. The transformation is incredible and heart-breaking. (Some of the images might be disturbing, or triggery for abuse, I guess? Just a warning.)

Instead of having really for real ramen, or delicious fake ramen (look, it's noodle soup, even if it's cheap and substandard noodle soup it's pretty good), I am making myself something out of the four things that the handy dandy Still Tasty app says are the most past their best by date in my kitchen (that I haven't already been inspired to toss due to mold or whatever) - a tortilla, tomato paste, garlic cloves, and muenster cheese.

That settles it, I'm going to the ramen bar on 57th St for lunch tomorrow. YOU ARE ALL INVITED TO JOIN ME.