Warmest Winter Ever

"class is in session"

“class is in session”

I’m still trying to catch up with the writing assignments of writing 101, I will get there. This assignment is day ten and the goal is to tell about my favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in my memory.

Free free to focus on any aspect of the meal, from the food eaten to the people who were there to the event it marked.

Today’s twist: Tell the story in my own distinct voice.

I can remember coming home from school on an extremely cold winter’s day. Every part of my body is cold, the tips of my fingers and toes feel as though they are frost-bitten. I finally reach the door, turn the key, open the door, I can feel the warmth coming from my house, I was so glad to be home. Even the warmth coming from the heater comforted me. Once I fully enter the house I can smell that aroma and a smile comes upon my face. I was looking forward to this. My mother was a good cook, at least in my opinion, so it is hard for me to choose which food was my favorite, but when she makes chicken and noodle soup (and no it’s not that Campell’s stuff) I can’t think of anything else, I can’t concentrate on doing homework, I only want some of that soup.

My mother made chicken and noodle soup from scratch, well mostly, she did use can mushroom soup, but everything else she used “whole” ingredients. She would boil and season the chicken with a little salt, pepper and Italian seasonings, she would boil the chicken until tender, she would then remove the chicken for the pot set it in a separate plate then add the can mushroom soup add a little more seasonings once the soup is in a smooth consistency she would add the egg noodles when the noodles become andante, she puts the chicken back into the pot allow all the ingredients to blend, sometimes she will add in spinach or fresh herbs like parsley. I can’t really describe the aroma once the chicken is cooked. It’s just the blend of the ingredients, the boiled chicken, the broth, and the herbs. I did not get to see how she really made this soup until I was much older, when my son was a toddler, she taught me how to make this soup. I now make this soup for my son and myself. And my son loves when I make this soup, especially in the depth cold of winter and I enjoy this too.

I just remember feeling happy, enthusiastic whenever she made this soup when I was a child. I would walk into the kitchen, I did not turn the on the television or take my books out to do my homework assignments. The soup would be done by the time I got home from school. I would sit at the yellow and white kitchen table. The table would already be set for two. She would ladle the soup, sit down next to me and we would have dinner.  We would talk, nothing serious, I would tell her about my day at school, what I have to do for homework, the small things and we would enjoy sharing soup and this special time together.


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