When you are a competent old man who lives alone, you can eat what you want for breakfast. This morning I had noodles, or rather noodle soup, a favorite of mine for colder weather. Broth with scallions snipped into it and slippery udon noodles. I swirl an egg into it as my wife had shown me. The steaming soup warms the kitchen. She's been gone five years now. Died in her chair while re-reading a Hardy novel, Jude the Obscure, possibly one of the more depressing novels ever written. That bright and busy woman loved dark stories. Noodles for breakfast has become a favorite of mine, except when t