kassandra-is-lost

Drone footage of the devastation from the Enid, OK. My friend Lori who lives there is safe but she says so many others have lost homes. A whole neighborhood was leveled. Please pray for these people. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Well done Ohio 👏.

Keep calm and carrion 🎨 Rudi Hurzlmeier

#this more of this please! A town full of heroes 👇

People need access to books. Chetham's Library in Manchester is the oldest public library in the UK, having been in continuous use for over 350 years.

The search for missing USF student Nahida Bristy is now focused near the Howard Frankland Bridge, according to the HCSO.🔽 mysuncoast.com/2026/04/24/sea…

The Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office Marine and Dive teams are actively searching near the Howard Frankland Bridge for Nahida Bristy.

You have to ask now if there r on site docs in the ICU at a hospital??? Really??? They can have an ICU being remotely monitored... 👇👇👇

As if nature opened its full palette

Brilliant ideas for your space

Right?

This makes me so nostalgic 😌💕

A powerful tornado struck Enid, Oklahoma, on Thursday evening, April 23, with dramatic video shot at Vance Air Force Base showing its massive size.

The Sydney Opera House illuminated with Gustav Klimt's The Tree of Life.

It's true

More dogs!!! 💜

One winter night in late-1940s Osaka, a man named Momofuku Ando walked past a bombed-out stretch of city and stopped in his tracks. A line of people — 20, 30 deep — stood shivering in the cold outside a makeshift ramen stall. Clouds of steam rose from a single pot. They were waiting, patiently, in the snow, for one bowl of hot noodles. He never forgot it. Ando wasn't a young idealist. By then he was in his late thirties, a Taiwanese-born businessman who had already launched and lost companies in textiles, slide projectors, salt, and charcoal. He had even spent two years in a U.S. military prison over a tax dispute. Life had knocked him around. But that line of shivering people lodged itself somewhere deep. A decade later, at the age of 47, he finally decided to do something about it. He built a small wooden shed behind his house in Ikeda, Osaka. Inside, he set up a homemade laboratory with nothing more than a pot, a pan, and some flour. For an entire year, he worked alone — sleeping four hours a night, taking not a single day off. His goal was strange enough that most dismissed it outright: noodles that could be stored for months, made ready to eat with just hot water. He failed. Over and over. The noodles broke when dried. They turned rancid. They refused to rehydrate properly. Then one evening, he watched his wife Masako cook dinner. She was making tempura — dipping vegetables in batter and lowering them into hot oil. Ando stared at the oil bubbling against the flour coating, and something clicked. The heat was pulling moisture out of the batter almost instantly, leaving behind crisp, dry, shelf-stable strands. That was how you dried a noodle without breaking it. Flash-fry it. On August 25, 1958, at age 48, Ando launched the world's first instant noodles — Chicken Ramen — and priced it at ¥35 a serving. Wholesalers laughed. Fresh noodles cost ¥6. His product was six times more expensive. It was marketed as a luxury, not a poor man's meal. Then people tried it. And it sold so fast that trucks began lining up outside his factory waiting for the next batch to come off the line. The Japanese press called it "magic ramen." Thirteen years later, on a trip to America, Ando watched supermarket executives break his noodles in half, drop them in paper cups, pour hot water over them, and eat them with forks. Chopsticks were unfamiliar. Bowls were inconvenient. So he flew home, assembled a team, and they designed something new: a Styrofoam cup, narrower at the bottom than the top, that held the noodles, contained the heat, and doubled as a bowl. Cup Noodles launched in 1971. Today, the world consumes more than 100 billion servings of instant noodles a year. They have fed astronauts in orbit — Ando's company engineered a special zero-gravity version called Space Ram, which flew aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery in 2005, with Ando watching from Earth at age 95. They have fed earthquake survivors, refugees, night-shift workers, broke college students, and kids home alone after school. They have been eaten on every continent, including Antarctica. Ando kept a motto he'd picked up during those long nights in the shed: "Peace will come to the world when the people have enough to eat." He died in 2007 at 96, reportedly eating Chicken Ramen nearly every day until the end. Sometimes the most ordinary thing in your pantry has the most extraordinary story. And sometimes a man's entire life's work can be traced back to a single moment of watching someone else cook dinner. What's a meal from your childhood that feels ordinary to everyone else — but means something specific to you?