It is 4:08 AM. I am sitting outside with a bowl of ramen. A real bowl of ramen, made with fresh noodles, lightly boiled in miso-flavored water, with a shoyu broth. Green onions, white pepper, and fish cake garnish. I am eating out of a ceramic bowl, with lacquered chopsticks. I sit on my deck, eating noodles, and slurping broth. I enjoy the feel of the cool air of the early morning hours, the heat of the bowl and the steam coming off the broth. I watch the noodles hang from my chopsticks as I lift them from my bowl. I taste the salt of the shoyu, the buttery flavor of the miso, feel the chewy texture of the fishcake, the bite of the white pepper. I wash this simple feast down with a glass of iced water, and watch the condensation trickle down the sides of the glass when I return it to the table.
It is late here, well beyond the time a normal person would consider having a snack of noodles. But, the early morning hours offer me quiet and solace, with little to care about beyond my bowl of noodles.