An ode to Wai Wai
because we haven’t had an ode in a while
What do you revert to when you need food, quickly? For me it’s typically been something fast and easy like pasta with as little or much as I have to hand, or bread with cheese and perhaps the contents of one of the many jars of assorted preserves that populate my fridge.
Living in Nepal, I’ve also been inducted into the joys of Wai Wai. One of Nepal’s biggest instant noodle brands, that I’ve even seen on shelves in other countries, it has become synonymous, in Nepal, with instant noodles themselves, Even when you’re buying, eating or referring to another brand, they’re all just Wai Wai. And of such brands there are many: Rara, Rum Pum and 2 PM are just a few that spring to mind; repetitive and/or rhyming names seem to be particularly popular. Package sizes are smaller than Korean or Japanese noodles, just perfect for when one isn’t hungry for a full-fledged meal and particularly ideal when something’s needed after a night out on the town.
They are eaten everywhere and at all times; mostly cooked, of course, but also enjoyed as a dry crunchy snack: open the packet, sprinkle the noodles with the included ‘tasting powder’—aka MSG and secret seasonings—then crunch it all up, still in the package, for a quick on-the-go snack. I’ve often passed children walking home from school in their color-coordinated uniforms consuming Wai Wai in this form with apparent relish.
The first time I remember really enjoying a bowl of Wai Wai was in a tiny eatery that served as a sort of makeshift canteen for the government office I happened to be visiting. It was made as a simple soup, topped with a smattering of raw chopped onions. Some fresh danya (cilantro/coriander) may have been involved. It was a long time ago.
It’s how I still make it now, give or take an egg if I’m in the mood and occasionally the odd bit of greens or a veggie if I should happen to have some around.
Most times, though, I go basic. After all, I’m making it because I’m too tired to cook myself a real meal or, sometimes, just because I’m craving that particular proprietary MSG blend. There are myriad flavors: I tend to favor the original, though I also enjoy the chicken pizza, which tastes nothing like either of those things, in case you were wondering.
It’s so easy: a little bit of water brought to the boil, then in goes the small brick of crinkled noodles and all the included additions, namely that aforementioned tasting powder, some gloopy onion-flavored oil, and in my case some but not all of the chilli powder packet. This last time, I tossed in a few scraps picked from a rotisserie chicken and some slices of cabbage I had in the fridge.
The constant for me seems to be that, like the bowl in that small, dark eatery all those years ago, I sprinkle my bowl with raw, diced onions. I suppose one could boil them for a bit, but I prefer them like this. The heat mellows the onions ever so slightly, but they still retain a crunch and a zing, and somehow finding one swimming in a spoon of broth just makes it all better.
I’m hungry again as I type this.