The Namer entered the home of the creator. Steam clouded the reddish lamplight and it’s warmth enveloped him. He breathed in fresh herbs and spices. His mouth watered.

The creator stood with a bowl cupped in his shaking hands. Was his creation worthy of being named? He watched the Namer carefully as he spun a golden weave and slurped it loudly into his mouth. The mouth of highest regard. The mouth that speaks the names.

The Namer closed his eyes as flavor glazed his palate. He almost forgot who he was for a moment, almost named the thing, “Mmm.” But he regained his poise, shifted his shoulders, and spoke with finality.

“Ramen,” he said.