"Longevity noodles, huh." Heath rolled up his sleeves. To be honest, he rarely made them, and customers who ordered longevity noodles at his food truck were few and far between. So far, at least, he had never served them to a customer. Longevity noodles were essentially a bowl of noodles made from a single strand. Naturally, that strand could not break, and the portion had to be right. The idea was basically to finish it in one mouthful, neither too little nor too much, which did take some skill. But as Heath saw it, the hardest part of making longevity noodles was making the noodle itself. After all, most noodles sold on the market were short varieties, such as dried noodles or noodles for soup. Occasionally, there were udon and pasta for sale, but those did not meet his requirements either. What Heath needed was a very ordinary dried noodle, only a very long one.
So buying it was not an option; he could only make it himself. The good news was that Heath knew how. After all, longevity noodles were not particularly difficult food for him to make. They just required some time and concentration. Other than that, they were not much trouble.
"But, Director, I wanted to ask: do all the inmates in the prison want longevity noodles?" Something occurred to Heath, and he could not help asking. After all, longevity noodles were usually eaten by the birthday celebrant. In other words, people only ate them on their birthdays; the rest of the time, they ate very ordinary noodle dishes. Even eating them on a birthday was simply a way of seeking good luck, just as people liked auspicious words. Someone who opened by wishing others a long life and so on was always more welcome than someone