Make these Egg Noodles in 4 staggeringly simple steps . . .

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. . . subtitled (by the way) “A Solution to the TOO MANY EGGS Conundrum!” (cymbal crash!)

(And dedicated to Carla, who has heard about this post twenty-two hundred times, at least.)

Hi there, gentle reader! It has been awhile, hasn’t it? (I am still here: busy with spring planting, –though it is nearly July, so actually summer–with pruney fingers and mud between my toes because it is SO soggy here–and also happily busy with kids and grandies and, of course, chickens.)

Speaking of those worthy fowl, a noteworthy fact around here is that my little flock currently produces more eggs than we can use. More, even, than I can give away to family and friends. It’s amazing, really, and a marvelous problem, if you can call it a problem. All this–a wonder!–from providing housing, protection, and a bit of feed for a small flock of hens. Best. Thing. Ever.

Some might be intimidated by this largess. Okay, I’ve been intimidated. I loathe waste, you see. Besides handing a dozen eggs willy-nilly to everybody who happens by the house (even the mailman) I’ve scrambled (harhar) to get a couple of egg customers. But still. The eggs continue to pile up.

Probably you, my dear gentle reader, would face this windfall every day with optimism and zest. Clever you would realize what a blessing it is, and you’d enjoy the finest gently scrambled eggs for breakfast, boiled eggs on your salads, pancakes (which everybody thinks are about the maple syrup but–for keepers of active laying hens–are actually about all the eggs in the batter) and eggs in the other tasty foods also.

But you, like me, may also find yourself wondering what else one can make to use up a dozen eggs. Or two dozen, or even . . . three.

One day you might even wake up pondering this question: Do I possess the ingenuity, the grit . . .  to make my own egg noodles? (And furthermore:) Hmmm.

Your grandma made them. But then, that amazing woman also butchered a chicken and fried it up for dinner when company showed up unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon, tra-la. (With mashed potatoes and gravy, sourdough bread, home-canned green beans, and Neopolitan ice cream for dessert. Oh wait, that was my grandma. But maybe yours, too?)

Moreover, Grandma had no social media on which to trumpet these accomplishments, and she probably didn’t even think of them as anything special. It’s just what she did.

And my grandma made those noodles in this tiny, inefficient kitchen . . . yours too? But what a cutie-pie little kitchen table she had, eh?

Your mom, who grew up in a time inwhich there were no frozen noodles to buy, may also make them. And. There’s nothing that that amazing woman doesn’t do well. Oh wait. That’s my mom. (Yours, also?) Our Grandmas and Moms could do a lot of things. Possibly still can!

And then . . . there’s me/you.

Something has happened . . . whereby the things that Grandma and Mom did without a thought, in fact, with one hand tied behind their backs, while bouncing a baby on one hip (how she did that, with only two hands, is still a puzzlement) and opening a jar of pickled beets with the other without a recipe, even . . . are now considered mysterious, complicated, and things only professionals can attempt.

But let’s refuse to swallow this errant notion that is so popular in this day. Let’s believe instead that we are capable of doing anything we want to do, with a bit of instruction and a little practice.

Let’s start a movement to be as full of grit and determination as our grandmas were. For example, with all these eggs being produced by our fabulous hens, let’s not try it, let’s just do it: we will make fabulous EGG noodles.

Gentle reader. I know you. You know that there is deep satisfaction in making your own that doesn’t come from plunking down a couple bucks at your local Walmart for a bag of the frozen pre-made ones. (Which, word to the wise: taste like poster board. I’ve tried them.) Delight. That’s what we are aiming for, in the humble homemade egg noodle. (And, to be honest: again, using up some of those blasted eggs.)

Those who believe that one needs special equipment or secret knowledge, moreover, to make one’s own egg noodles are the unwitting victims of the conspiracy to force you to buy the tasteless store-bought noodles. Big Noodle, that’s who I reckon is behind it. Big Noodle.

Oh yes. It exists. (graphic by Andhedrew)

Please permit me one little rabbit trail: A quick side note for those near and dear to me (but who shall remain nameless *cough* MACK) that is to say: having waaay too many eggs is, after all, a GOOD thing, Malachi, er, Gentle Reader, though one may occasionally grow weary of eating eggs in their perfect form.

Consider the improbable (but not impossible) scenario . . . say the Father of the thirteen-year-old scion of the family, mentioned above (who does, in fact, loudly request meat at meals often: the son, not the father) falls ill (the father, not the son, although either situation would be a pain, frankly) probably from being forced to do menial farm work by his farm-crazed wife, and say he wasn’t able to work his day job for a time, thus not toting home the towering piles of money that pay for the toilet paper and the electricity and the real estate taxes and the curly mousse and the duct tape and the MEAT that the opinionated scion, er family requires, not to mention other various sundries?

Well then, the very particular-yet-growing-like-a-weed-and-therefore-shouldn’t-be-quite-so-particular young squire would not go hungry. Ever. Because: too many eggs. And. Eggs are filling, rich in protein, and can be used in everything from hearty main dishes to the sweetest desserts. They are pretty incredible, are they not?

Aaaand so, we return to the subject of the decorous piles of fresh pastured eggs on our countertop, and the making of the noodles. (End of rabbit trail.)

If you like to get your hands into dough, to use a rolling pin and a pizza cutter (and who doesn’t?), you’re nearly there already. Any two-year-old could make noodles with the skill that she already has in her Play Doh playtime. Here’s the cool thing about homemade noodles that is totally applicable in this discussion, and which I WILL bring up when my prepubescent son shows up (again) at dinnertime (as he does so often). Two cool things, actually:

Cool thing number one: Homemade noodles are quite tasty SERVED. WITH. MEAT. 🙂 (second triumphant cymbal crash of this post!)

Cool thing number two: Homemade noodles freeze very well. Not every season in life is egg-heavy, don’tcha know. It’s a comfort to have these noodles in the freezer for the egg-lean seasons that will come with windchills and bitter north winds.

(*One more thing . . I just obtained some homemade noodles from a small shop, and they are superbly tasty. Small-batch noodles made by a pasta artisan, are wonderful and not to be included in the Big Noodle conspiracy mentioned above. That’s this blog’s Official Stand on that matter.)

So, after all this–here’s my recipe–actually, my Mom’s recipe. (My Mom is like God, in so many ways, and I hope I’m not being disrespectful in saying that, but everything she makes is good. Very, very good.)

You see: “For everything God is created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, including Elna Young’s homemade noodles . . .” (I Timothy 4:4)

Of course, if one must get particular, you are going to create them. Starting . . .

. . . NOW! (a final cymbal crash)

Here’s all that you’ll need (see how easy, already?)

3. Sing a little. Be happy. Take a walk out in the sunshine. Watch the birds. Hang out the laundry. Something. (For Pete’s sake, don’t just stand there.) After this productive and/or restful break, pull out your rolling pin (if you need an upgrade, this is the one I use every day). Cut the dough in quarters. Roll out one quarter to a rectangle that is approximately 14 x 8 inches; it will not be quite paper thin. (Noodles do get plumper as you cook them, and *pro tip* thick noodles are also very nice.) Sprinkle dough surface lightly with a bit more flour, flip over, and sprinkle more flour on the other side. Transfer big pancake to a tea towel and repeat with three other chunks of dough. Let your big pancakes of dough rest for about thirty minutes.

4. Pull out your sharpest knife. Roll up a pancake of dough like a jelly-roll, starting from the short side (or you can use a pizza cutter and cut the big pancakes as-is, as I’ve done in the photos). Cut the noodles to the width you prefer. Unroll each slice onto the tea towel, sprinkle with a bit more flour, and allow to stand until noodles are completely dry–depending on the humidity, this might take several hours.

When your homemade noodles are dried and firm enough to handle, you can drop them into your pot of simmering soup (or boiling water) for 5 to 7 minutes or until tender. Allow about 1/2 cup dried noodles per serving. (Note: the cooking time will vary considerably, depending on flour, humidity, phase of the moon, etc., so test for doneness.)

Other ideas for what to do with your fabulous homemade egg noodles will be coming up in a blog post (third cymbal crash!), since this one is already getting a little long in the tooth.

And here’s the printable version of this recipe:

Hey there, if you’ve made it all the way to the end of this rambling post, you may want to read more from my pen/er/keyboard. Why not sign up for my email list (in the little box up to the right, underneath my mug shot)? That way you won’t miss a post, and I won’t pester you more than I need to, I promise!

Thanks for popping in!

*hugs*

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