It all started with shame. I walked into Paws & Go Market and thought to myself, “Am I really going to do this?” The answer was yes. I made a commitment, and I had to see it through. I was going to try ramen noodles, a delicacy that had never graced my lips before.

Let’s be clear: ramen has its own rich history, and you can find plenty of delicious, good quality ramen. It was not invented by Maruchan. That said, the cup or plastic package of cheap, MSG-saturated, easy-to-make ramen is the one we associate most with broke college students. I decided that I would test out all three flavors available at Paws & Go and crown one the victor.

David Chong | Student Life

If you’ve ever had Maruchan ramen before (which is likely, because you, unlike me, are brave), you probably already know which will win. But I vowed to go into this blindly—the opinions of others would not affect my verdict as an impartial judge.

The experiment was simple: I would prepare each packet of noodle soup and then try them all sequentially, judging them based on quality, flavor, smell and whatever else would strike me.

When preparing the noodles, I choose to go the route of boiling the water in a Keurig upon recommendation from my roommate. The first flavor up: roast beef. Apparently, the flavor only comes from the seasoning packets, and all of the ramen noodles are the same. As I wait for the noodles to completely squish up, I note that the consistency is reminiscent of soggy Frosted Flakes. Not going to lie, it does not look appetizing, and I haven’t even added the seasoning yet. I try a single noodle out of curiosity, and it meets my expectations: not disgusting, but not great. It’s acceptable.

Now that the ramen has squished up, it’s time to add the seasoning. My roommate (a ramen expert) instructs that it is “all about the seasoning to water ratio.” I can’t screw this up. I add a little and taste it and choose to add a bit more. The powder has the same appearance of brown sugar and turns the water a murky brown. The smell of roast beef overpowers the rather mild flavor, which causes me to hesitate before taking a gulp. For that reason, I have to mark roast beef down by a point, even though the taste is quite refined.

After a few minutes, the distinct MSG aftertaste settles in. Now I remember why I have never tried ramen: MSG gives me migraines, and ramen has lots of MSG. But, as I stated earlier, I have committed to this and will endure the consequences. It is simply too important.

Now, onto the chicken flavor. I start the process again, boiling the water in the Keurig. I test a noodle again to make sure it is adequately squishy before I add the seasoning. With the taste of MSG lingering in the back of my throat and a headache just budding, I reluctantly pour in the sulfur-yellow powder. Fortunately, the water does not turn sulfur-yellow or else that would be hard to stomach.

While the smell is not as pungent as the roast beef, the flavor is more present. While the broth of the roast beef was robust, the chicken flavoring is mostly just salt. I don’t have the urge to continue eating this batch like I did with the roast beef. So, I decide it’s time to set the chicken aside in its rightful place as roast beef’s inferior.

At this point, I have got the technique to supreme ramen making pegged. The last flavor offered by Paws & Go is named “oriental.” Upon purchasing, I thought to myself, “Isn’t this not okay anymore?” Not quite sure how Big Ramen is getting away with decidedly offensive names. Social justice implications aside, it is time to try the oriental flavor. The powder’s color and consistency is identical to that of roast beef, and I’ll need some convincing that they are not the same. I let the noodles sop up the dark brown soup before diving in. This one is by far the saltiest. I think it’s pretending to be soy sauce and miserably failing. Yet, I can’t stop myself from eating it! It has an addictive quality to it. The noodles themselves seem to have absorbed the flavor, unlike the others, which just tasted like plain noodles in a flavored broth. It is the only one that appears to be a coherent dish.

In the end, it was a tough call between the roast beef and oriental flavors. Whereas oriental melded the noodles with the broth in a way the others did not, roast beef was mild and lacked the distinctive salty quality. Of course, there is contention on how this should be judged—some, like my roommates, prefer the saltiness. I, on the other hand, find it to be off-putting and distracting from the real flavor. Because of this, roast beef is the winner.

Of course, cup ramen is not just a meal: It is an experience. It is nearly a requirement that you finish the meal feeling worse than you did when you started. So, with a headache, a reaction to MSG and a quiz for which I have not studied, I imagine that I performed the experiment admirably.