It isn’t so much the soup itself that provides solace – though its warming properties and savory sustenance do provide physical comfort – it is the act of making the soup that renders it a practice of peace. When done correctly, a good soup isn’t created instantly – it takes time and care and time and practice and time. Soup is all about time. So are dreary fall mornings when the rain won’t let up, and overcast days are all that’s in the forecast for the next few days.
Soup has a certain magic to it as well – the way a big pot of plain water can transform into something wondrous with some carrots, celery and onion. A holy trinity indeed. Add a few pieces of chicken (bones and skin for glory), some salt and pepper, and a trio of bay leaves, and you’ve got yourself a perfect fall meal. A slow boil for an hour or so, or maybe more if you like it falling off the bones like I do, and that’s all it takes. As it gently works to extract the flavor and fat from the chicken, and the magic of the bay leaves permeates the liquid as it grows more golden in color, a simple chicken soup takes shape.
The pocket of time in which it comes together can be used to read or write a blog post or simply ruminate on the passing of fall. I topped it with some fresh cilantro because that’s my business. Like so and like that.
