Hi, clowns!
Guess what?! Tomorrow’s my birthday. (It’s also my mom’s, because we happen to have the same birthday and our family is adorable like that.)
To celebrate, I’m going to take next week off the newsletter. But I’m also giving you guys a 20% off coupon to Food is Stupid that’ll be good until Friday, April 11, just for the hell of it.
That way you guys can catch up on all the archives. They go back over five whole years at this point (I think I’ve passed the 5 1/2 year mark now!), so you’ve got plenty to read over while I, like, finally catch up on our nasty laundry pile. If you all upgrade your subscriptions, that would certainly be life-changing for us, but don’t worry — today’s edition is still free.
As most of you know, I am Korean-American, which is a fact that I am very proud of. And one birthday food that Korean people sometimes eat is noodles, since long thin strands of noodles are said to represent a long life. What’s funny is that despite this, I do not recall a time my family ever ate noodles on one of our birthdays. But we always seem to have cake!
And what serious food writers are supposed to do is deeply examine their own heritages, and write something introspective about their culinary pasts. Then people read those pieces, nod gravely, and hand out James Beard Awards as if they were Red Bull samples.
So really, I am obligated to win a James Beard Award for today’s piece about noodles. But the dark truth is that I just like noodles. Unfortunately, this admission just cost me that James Beard Award.
“But Dannis,” you say, “This does not sound like you. When is the last time you ever just made normal food for the newsletter?”
Oh, don’t you worry. These aren’t any normal noodles. They’re magic noodles. And I do not say this lightly. That is because there is an actual magical ingredient in them.
It all comes down to what’s in this jug.
A few weeks ago, I was out visiting a Polish food truck on the northwest side of Chicago because I’d read an article my friend Mike had written about it.
The food was delicious, so I texted Mike to tell him I had a good time. Then he texted back, saying, “You should go across the street to the Magic Fountain.”
We have a tendency to text each other complete garbage, so I immediately assumed he meant something about the porta-potty just down the way. But it turns out he wasn’t fucking around. Shortly afterwards, he texted me a Wikipedia link to a page titled “Schiller Woods magic water pump.”
The “Magic Fountain” he was talking about was a real thing. Apparently there’s a pump in a public park just outside Chicago that some people believe has actual magical properties. This is easily the greatest thing I have ever learned. In fact, some people liken this hand pump to the Fountain of Youth, while other people just visit it because they claim they like the taste of the water. Ponce de León really missed out by not coming up here to try an Italian beef sandwich.
When I showed Davida the Wikipedia page, she sat on the couch reading through it, muttering, “A nearly identical pump is located about 500 metres north-northwest, also on Forest Preserve land, and draws from the same aquifer, but is shunned by magic pump devotees.”
Then she suggested I make birthday noodles with that water, because she’s actually a much better Asian than I am. Also, she’s not Asian. I felt a sudden sorrow about losing touch with my roots, wrote this sentence, and suddenly a James Beard Award appeared around her neck.
I visited the pump a week later and was greeted by a very long line of people with massive water bottles. I mostly heard Polish being spoken in line, which is about what I’d expected thanks to the Wikipedia article. It had mentioned that Polish Catholics were particularly fond of this thing, because some believed Pope John Paul II blessed it during a 1979 visit to Chicago. (If that actually happened, it wasn’t well-documented.)
But the idea of the pope blessing a specific public park water pump in Chicago is pretty good. Wouldn’t it have been easier to, I don’t know, bless all of Lake Michigan instead? It’s a bigger target, in case you’re off by an inch.
It took me about 20 minutes to get to the front of the line.
When I took this photo, a man got visibly angry at me, probably thinking I was going to be there all day filming a TikTok video or something. Considering he may have been in line to try and live forever, I’m not sure what he was being so impatient about.
The guy insisted on trying to fill my water jug for me, so I just shoved my phone in my pocket, turbo pumped the water myself, and scurried back to my car. If any of you decide to visit Chicago’s rickety fountain of youth, be ready to stand in line, and do not waste any time messing around on your phone when you are at the pump.
I sat in the parking lot with my blessed water, just taking in the moment.
Of course I had to taste it. And honestly? It was not exactly my favorite. I could definitely tell that it came from a well, because it had a bit of a dank taste to it. Just to be sure I wasn’t perhaps being somehow biased about this unusual situation, I took a sip from a separate water bottle that I’d brought with me for the drive. The water in my bottle had come from our Brita pitcher, and the filtered water tasted much cleaner.
I did not feel any healthier, and I did not feel any younger, but hey, I am still about to have a birthday, so I guess I can’t complain that much.
So now that you understand the most important ingredient of my birthday dish, it is time for me to get into the preparation.
I specifically went with a Korean-Polish angle on the noodles. This way I could celebrate my heritage and my birthday, along with the population that truly loves this magic Chicago pump water.
I began by filling a saucepan with magic water to boil the noodles in. Why I did I fill the empty saucepan on the kitchen island? The world may never know.
While the noodle water came to a boil on the stove, I started working on chopping up the garnishes.
One of them was this premium pickled mushroom mix I picked up at the Polish grocery store by us. I didn’t think too much of the jar when I put it in my basket, but when I got home, I peeked at the price tag on top and rubbed my eyes. I’d paid $21 for these mushrooms and somehow hadn’t noticed. I guess they were serious about the premium part.
Then, of course, I’d have to add some kimchi in too.
That’s because kimchi is obviously something that Polish people are famous for eating.
I thought a bit of meat couldn’t hurt, so I also got some kielbasa from the Polish grocery store to go with my $21 mushrooms, not that I’m mad at myself or anything.
The sausage you can get from a major supermarket is one thing, but actual kielbasa will change your life. This shit is so good no matter how you eat it. Cold, grilled, simmered in soup, it’s just awesome on a whole different level.
Once the magic water had come to a boil, I cooked off some rice noodles.
They only take about five minutes to finish, so once they were done I rinsed them off and put them to the side.
Now it was time for the soup part.
So here’s a cool Korean cooking shortcut: If you don’t want to make your own anchovy broth, which is the basis for a lot of Korean soups, you can buy these useful individually-wrapped soup tablets. They’re pretty much like bouillon cubes, but better.
They also resemble large chewable vitamins, but I’m not sure you’d really want to eat one.
Or you could try one and get back to me.
Once the soup tablet was dissolved in even more hot magic water, I added a spoonful of kimchi and a bunch of fresh sauerkraut to put some extra flavor into the magic water noodle broth.
What’s interesting is that sauerkraut is sort of like Polish kimchi, when you think about it. Wait. Are Korean people and Polish people related? Did the magic water unlock a revelation in my mind?
It was finally time for me to build my bowl.
I laid the rice noodles down in the center, then got the piping hot broth ready.
I ladled just enough magic water kimchi and sauerkraut broth around the noodles to reach halfway up the pile, then I started adding garnishes.
I layered some kielbasa on top, along with the very slippery and expensive pickled mushrooms, as well as some extra diced kimchi.
Then to get some more Korean flavors involved, I added some spinach along with some bean sprout banchan on top.
And to finish the whole thing off, I put half a soft boiled egg on the pile (which I nearly dropped on the floor by accident), and garnished it with some sesame seeds and green onion.
Of course, I had to pour myself another glass of magic water to wash it all down, except this time it was in a proper vessel, which was a metal chalice.
What, do you not have a metal chalice just laying around at home? Also, did I not tell you guys I am in possession of the Holy Grail? Silly me. Getting ahold of it was nothing like Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade, I’ll tell you that much. Hey. Wait a second. Computer, enhance the image.
Does my Holy Grail say “Pepsi” on it?
Shit. That can’t be right. I always took Jesus as more of a humble RC Cola man, myself. The guy at the flea market must have lied to me! That, or perhaps Pepsi is the One True Brand.
Anyway, you guys can now admire my handiwork as the gang struggled to get a proper view.
And, well.
The noodles were as good as they looked. The broth was nice, light, and nearly pickled-tasting thanks to the sauerkraut and the kimchi. Then the kielbasa gave the otherwise light bowl some heft, and the veggies ran the gamut between fresh, crunchy, and vinegary. I also didn’t fuck up the soft boiled egg for once in my life. It even peeled just fine. All of those ingredients definitely steamrolled any funny taste that was originally in the magic water, that’s for sure.
Listen. It’s my birthday treat. I can’t always be trying to culinarily punch myself in the balls. Every now and then things turn out okay, which barely makes up for the time things devolve into flavor chaos.
By the way, magic water in a Pepsi-branded metal chalice actually tastes pretty good.
The fact that you’re drinking from a metal cup actually masks the slightly metallic taste of the well water, since your brain says, “Obviously this water is supposed to taste like metal, since you’re drinking from a metal cup. Even a child would understand this.”
Magic water from a metal cup also makes for a great palate cleanser, just in time for some birthday cake, too. I think I’m going to go smash our glasses out in the alley and replace them all with chalices instead. And maybe next time (and there will be a next time) I visit the Schiller Woods magic water pump, I’ll just bring ours and drink out of it right there, on the spot, as everyone in line stares at me.
“What?” I’ll say. “We’re all here for the same reason. You guys should really try cooking with it.”
In all of my years as a food writer, this is the first time I’ve ever cooked with a magic ingredient. Incredible.
Speaking of magic, if you liked today’s edition of Food is Stupid, why not spread this magic around too? Despite being the greatest food newsletter in all of history, sharing also does wonders for it, and clicking on that little heart button helps too:
And don’t forget the coupon. I won’t be annoying about it, just reminding you it’s there.
Okay — just a reminder I’m going to take it easy next week as a gift to myself. As always, I love you all, and I’ll hop back into your inboxes before you know it.
Next week you're making a cross between Flintstones chewables and those anchovy stock tabs, right? RIGHT?!?!?
The fact that you haven't eaten one of those anchovy stock tablets yet is kind of surprising. Don't let us down! And happy birthday!