It's a Hell of a Soup

Sometimes when I am in a muddle in my head and in my heart, I cook. Don't ask me what it is, why it is, but it is one of the things that I do. Maybe it is the satisfaction of taking a bunch of disparate elements and combining them to form sustenance for the body and soul. Maybe it was because I could not go out into the studio to make art as I had Alanna, so my cooking became my art.

While I chop and I saute, I think about life, wondering if I will ever find what I am looking for, wondering if my daughter will beat the odds and be OK, and if Alanna will grow up to be a strong and healthy young woman. As I dice the garlic, occasionally smelling my fingers and nibbling on a piece or two, I shrug my shoulders and softly sing to myself "Que sera, sera, Whatever will be, will be; The future's not ours to see..." (I am dating myself from that one, even though it WAS sung in a movie before I was born...but some things are timeless.)

I am a picky gourmet cook. Previous blogs relate my past life of working in a fine French restaurant at the innocent at of 15. Fresh ingredients when at all possible, and the flavor must be prefecto! Many of the times I do not use a cookbook, or I will just glance at the ingredients of a recipe and then create my own version of the meal, but I since I had this beautiful Soup Bible type of cookbook with the most BEAUTIFUL of photos in it, I used one of the recipes for a hearty vegetable soup.

It was most disappointing. Too many onions and leeks, not enough liquid. NO TASTE. Flat. The only thing it had going for it was texture. I stood annoyed with my hands on my hips in front of my soup which took a good hour to make from start to finish.

I HATE when I have to redo some one's recipe, but out comes the magic wand, the vinegar, the Braggs, the organic spices, more liquid, a shake of this and a shake of that and POOF, there I had it, a hearty thick, GIANT pot of soup that had some FLAVOR. A shake of freshly grated Parmesan on top, and we were good to go.

Alanna ate her entire bowl of soup, mesmerized by the myriad of vegetables to be pulled out, examined and tasted. She ate every bit of the broth, and was excited that I had used Butterfly Pasta (no one has told her they are bow ties...)
It was a success.

I smiled, knowing that I made enough to keep everyone going for a few days, I thought about how soothing food can be for one's psyche, and I promptly grabbed the left over mashed potatoes and consumed a bowl. My comfort food.

I am off to dream. I only slept a few hours last night. Too much on my mind, a different bed, and windows that were rattled from the ferocious winds. Cold drafts reaching down to circle me, making me just cool enough to never be warm. In my dreams I hope I find peace...even if only for a while......



Judy V. said…
There is nothing like a soup made from scratch to nourish the soul and feed the ones you love.

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