Debby Does…

It’s a pretty gloomy day here, as I get myself moving, slowly. The coming forecast seems to hold a lot of days like this. I suppose that is the price we pay for pending spring. My daffodils sure think so.

Yesterday, I felt, as my mom would have said, really punky—just not “myself.” My joints ached, my head ached, and I was the kind of tired that makes you nauseous. We had just ended a long road trip, and I think my 53 year old body resented it. I couldn’t seem to get it together and found myself completely unproductive.

But then my friend Karen mentioned this white chicken chili she had made on Sunday and it got me thinking about something really important.

Soup.

My history with soup is a spotty one. My mom was a busy working lady as I grew up, so generally our soup came out of a can or, even better, a box with powder and dry noodles. In college, I embraced my hotpot and Cuppa Soup packets, especially when I was feeling homesick or just plain old sick.

Though I had a rich history with stew—a ridiculously good beef one that my grandpop made with filet and all kinds of roasted veggies; one with chicken and dumplings; and a Lebanese stew called Loubiah (spellings vary) with lamb, onions, green beens, and tomatoes (yuck) that I picked out of the mix—homemade soup was not often on the menu.

After my mom retired, she started dabbling in soup, especially to cut down on sodium in canned varieties of cream of chicken and its ilk. Jim and I were the lucky recipients of these experiments. The winners were surely her cream of mushroom and a velvety potato soup that made my colleagues drool at the faculty room lunch table. Sometimes she even added lobster to that potato soup! Heavenly! She spoiled us.

Jim and I decided that soup making was something we wanted to get into. We started with a silky chicken tortilla (still a favorite), added French onion with all the melty gruyere, a surprisingly tasty lemony spinach and tortellini variety, and, then, one chilly day, a caramelized ginger chicken soup. Holy shit that was good.

Soup has restorative powers. I’m convinced of it.

Yesterday, all I could think of was how much I wanted soup. I just wanted it in a quick time frame, which can be a challenge when developing flavors. With a couple of ingredients grabbed from the grocery, we were in business. Jim made my every soup dream come true.

Sunny Anderson’s Hot and Sour Soup with Steamed (okay mine were pan fried) Veggie Dumplings.

This stuff is fire. The minute I started slurping it down, my body came back to life. The ginger, the garlic, the chicken broth, and sprouty mushroom add- ins made my sinuses sing and my lips tingle. It was as though I had not been under the weather at all. I was a new person! Even better, Jim made it and did the clean up. My job was just to suck down the soup and heavenly dumplings.

Gosh, I love dumplings.

I order soup a lot when I go out, though I stick to things I know. I am a bit of a picky eater at times, but I am always down for the lobster bisque, the French onion (especially at the Olde Mill Street Pub in Mays Landing, NJ), a chicken pastina, a cream of wild mushroom, and a New England Clam Chowder. Can we talk about the chowder at Sweet Amalia’s in Newfield, NJ? Holy freaking moly. Manna from the gods!

Every time I eat soup, I feel better. I feel loved and cared for, as though each ingredient, each stir, and each ladle of that steaming hot medicine was made just for me, just to make me whole again. It’s almost like my mom is right there.

Ahhh, soup! Make some! Have some!

Need a recipe? Ask in the comments and ye shall receive!