Is There Anything Better Than a Plate of Buttery Egg Noodles?

Is There Anything Better Than a Plate of Buttery Egg Noodles?

Old-school egg noodles are a cinch to make, utterly unchic and all the more lovable for it. You can use the dried kind from the supermarket, or you can try this easy recipe for fresh, hand-rolled noodles. Either will work nicely in the Stroganoff and haluski recipes also provided

By Matthew Kronsberg in the Wall Street Journal

ALMOST ANY PARENT of a finicky kid has been there. You’re in a restaurant with proper, adult, interesting food. You’ve ordered diver scallops aptly plated with a bright sea-buckthorn emulsion; the kitchen was good enough to bring your young charge a plate of buttered egg noodles. Your scallops are faultless, sweet and saline. And yet your eyes keep wandering to the monochrome tangle on your child’s plate. You take one bite—just to make sure the food’s not too hot. And then you take another. Because the truth is, few things in this world are as satisfying as a simple plate of noodles—by which I mean the thoroughly unglamorous, vaguely Mitteleuropean, flat egg noodles found on kitchen tables and supermarket shelves from Krakow to Milwaukee.

Recipes

 “I get at least one order a night for egg noodles with butter for a kid, and I do often see the parents picking at the bowl,” said chef Bonnie Morales, whose Portland, Ore., restaurant, Kachka, has garnered national attention for its menu of zakuski—Russian drinking food. Of the egg noodles beneath Kachka’s Stroganoff, Ms. Morales said, “There’s nothing particularly special about them, and that’s kind of what makes them special. We make almost everything else from scratch, in-house; for the things that we have to bring in, we use the best distributors and are really particular about stuff. But literally once a week I have to go to the Cash & Carry to buy these egg noodles. I’ve tried more artisanal brands and producers, and it just doesn’t do the same thing—it’s too precious.”

At a time when every ingredient seems to come with its own narrative arc, the unencumbered ingenuousness of the egg noodle is its greatest strength. For instance, when Trevett Hooper, chef and owner of Legume in Pittsburgh, put a Hungarian-style chicken paprikash on his menu this past summer, the only question regarding its accompaniment was “What width of noodle?” And even that felt like a low-stakes decision. “It was such a relief,” said Mr. Hooper. “There wasn’t the same kind of rigidity you find with Italian food. I felt more free to make that dish.”

So far, egg noodles have remained unburdened by the sort of pedantry that’s accrued around pasta and even ramen. Comfort is the only expectation one brings to the table, and on that front these humble noodles always deliver.