I hope you like my Space Jam inspired title. Oh, yes. That’s right, Space Jam. Takes me back to a happier time, like when Starter Jackets were cool. However, that was also a time when butterfly clips were the hair accessory d’jour and gel pens reigned supreme. I think this was pre-glitter, but I could be wrong. I don’t feel like consulting my angst-ridden preteen journals. I do not think I can handle 10-year old Carolyne at this very moment.
At any rate, let’s talk about soup. Gah! That would have been a much better title than “Soup there it is!” What was I thinking? I could have rewritten the whole song and filmed a music video just for you. Damn. Maybe next time.
So, back to soups, yes? Okay. Well, after I returned from Thanksgiving in the windiest of all cities, I proceeded to get sick. Thanks a lot, immune system. In all actuality, it was a mere head cold, but because I have a dramatic streak, I acted as if I was dying. In fact, I called my mother and told her as such*.
Me: I’m dying! It’s horrible! Okay, I’m not dying. I have a cold, but it’s still horrible.
Mom: You’re weird.
Me: That is not how you talk to a dying woman.
Mom: I stand corrected. You’re very weird.
Me: I suggest we agree to disagree. Moving on, I wish I had soup right now.
*Please note this is a dramatic reinterpretation of what actually happened. I may or may not have previously mentioned I have a flair for dramatics.
Then my mother so rudely went on to talk about the turkey noodle soup she had made from the leftover turkey and cavatelli (sans sauce, fyi). After this torture, I decided to wander to my local Price Chopper to acquire the appropriate ingredients for chicken noodle soup.
Let’s see, ingredients included some chicken broth, an onion, celery (v. important), carrots, noodles, and a rotisserie chicken. I got the idea for the rotisserie chicken from your post about soup. So good. Anne, I don’t know if you remember my aversion to handling meat, but I hate handling meat. It’s disgusting. Not a read. That’s a fact. However, through some sort of heroic force, or maybe I was just sick enough to alter my thought process, I took all the meat off of that rotisserie chicken by myself, and I didn’t cry at all. Not one bit. I did whimper through a good portion of it, but no crying from this kid. Poor roommate Wesley tried to save me from myself, but I made him leave me alone. I told him this was my fight. Sometimes, I don’t understand how the world puts up with me. At any rate, I put all the meat in the soup, and it was wonderful. I froze a quart or two and ate the rest of it throughout the week.
The chicken noodle soup was for lunches and stuff, but what I really wanted on that fine post-Thanksgiving Sunday was grilled cheebs and tomato soup. In an effort to eat less sodium, I have cut out most processed and canned foods. While I just wanted some classic Campbell’s tomato soup, I forced myself to make soup from scratch. I used Michael Chairello’s recipe from the Food Network. I was excited to have the opportunity to use a bay leaf. Former Roommate Ellie left me some, and I haven’t been able to use one yet. Due to my lactose intolerance, I skipped the heavy cream. Overall this recipe was perfectly okay. I appreciate that it only makes about 4 servings, so I can consume it in a reasonable time. The flavor was a little lacking for me. it didn’t really taste like tomatoes, so I added some tomato past to boost the flavor. On Sunday, I thought the whole thing was a little flat. Roommate Wesley said it tasted fine. I couldn’t really taste anything thanks to my head cold. However, a few days later when I finished the last serving of soup, it was great. Perhaps, having conquered my cold allowed me to taste again. It was like I was tasting soup for the first time. (Not really.) Perhaps, the soup’s flavors married and created a better bond for my taste buds. Who knows. I’ll just have to make the soup again when I’m not dying.
Anyway, how have you been? How’s the new jorb? How’s the tree climbing thing going? This weekend I have to get a new phone, and then I’m headed to the City for work.
Luff and stuff,