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Posts Tagged ‘Food’

Did the ‘short loop’ around the Greenway this morning with the Bride. She walks her rescue dog Maple, and I trudge alongside with my hiking sticks. Bob stayed home which meant the talk wasn’t all medical. In fact, I told her I was making the corn bread tomorrow for the corn bread stuffing and she was surprised I didn’t use a box-mix. She told me about the yummy pumpkin cake with cream cheese and caramel icing she’s going to make and then stopped on the way back to borrow my cake pans. Americans everywhere are thinking, planning, and shopping for food this Thanksgiving week.

Of course Bob and I bake the stuffed turkey every year, and I do the gravy.

What are your favorite, traditional turkey day sides? Do you continue serving the same old same old carbs and veggies your family put on the table fifty years ago? Since we had craftily avoided family gatherings in the past with our original Big Chill Friendsgiving, we stayed in our own gastronomic lanes. Each couple was responsible for one major food group on the harvest table, and like any good commune we all cleaned and cooked equitably. Bob still put the turkey in the oven, but I didn’t get to make cornbread stuffing. There were no surprises, but OTOH there were no surprises. Not even a Turducken!

Later, we were surprised by a Facetime call with our Twin Granddaughters over lunch in LA. It was hilarious! One girl has been particularly verbal, perfecting saying my name – with a mouthfull of banana pancakes and yogurt all over her sweet face – she repeated NANA, NANA, NANA! I’d like to think she recognizes me in my blue glasses on her parents’ small cell phone? Maybe she just loved the pancakes? But I can’t wait to hear her sister call my name in a day or two. They just went to the pediatrician and they are each 17 pounds!

Here are some comfort foods from my childhood Thanksgivings that have not survived the test of time: creamed onions, green bean casserole, even mashed potatoes! What with all the carbs already present, the simple white russet is no longer necessary. The Bride will however make the yummy sweet potato marshmallow casserole, the cranberry relish, and she’ll roast a bunch of vegetables. The Flapper’s crystal dish of tiny pickles has turned into a modern day charcuterie board before the main meal, filled with cheese, salami and yes, pickles.

And maybe it’s because we’re Southern now, the Bride asked me to make my mac and cheese this year! I grate Vermont cheese and make my own bechamel sauce for our family’s original comfort food.

The Grands have a half day of school today so the plan is to pick them up and head to the movies to see “WICKED for Good!” It opened this past weekend and sold $223 Million in box office seats globally. From The Hollywood Reporter: “Wicked: For Good is a needed jolt for the struggling North American box office in particular, which has suffered the worst fall in decades due to a glut of male-skewing pics and a lack of product for females and families. The movie’s better-than-expected performance more than proves the buying power of girls and women; nearly 70 percent of audience were females.”

And we can’t elect a female president because…? Happy Thanksgiving all y’all! I’m grateful to you my readers, and so grateful to be here, a year after my fall, to love on all my grandchildren. Look at these little gobblers!

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It’s day 35 of the Great Government Shutdown. Threatening to be the longest in history, this Senate stalemate hits food assistance programs like SNAP, federal workers including TSA agents, and the general economy. Have you felt its effects yet?

It just so happens the Love Bug’s 8th Grade Washington, DC trip was last week. The teachers had to change up their itinerary since Congress and all the Smithsonian buildings were closed. They managed to visit most of the memorials, including the Vietnam memorial and the Holocaust Museum. Welcome to your nation’s capital, a metaphor for death and dysfunction.

And what was our fearless leader doing? Tearing down the East Wing to build a huge ballroom in his honor. Renovating the Lincoln bathroom with marble and gold. Oh, and throwing a Great Gatsby Halloween themed party at his FL residence; why stay at the White House and try to resolve the shutdown after all?

And speaking of parties with a small “p,” Martha Stewart’s original big book, “Entertaining,” is about to have another moment. It’s being reissued by Penguin Random House 43 years later. Truth be told, I didn’t buy it then, nor did I buy her book, “Weddings.” At the time, I was deep into motherhood, pregnant with the Rocker and living on the edge of a bird sanctuary in the Berkshires. I had given up trying to cook like Julia after almost burning my kitchen down making coq au vin! There was no one I wanted to emulate, except maybe Erma Bombeck.

But back to Martha, Martha, Martha and me. My idea of a perfect dinner party in the 80s was two words: Pot Luck! Usually we’d buy lots of wine and I’d cook one entree – a meat in one form or another. Better yet, Bob would barbeque it. Your guests supply all the rest. Genius! It was a time for farm co-ops and breastfeeding babies on the side of a mountain, not trying to impress others with opulent place settings and marble bathrooms. We feminists looked askance at Martha Stewart, what was she trying to prove?

Betty Friedan had published “The Feminine Mystique” in 1963. The problems she addressed are still rambling around our collective consciousness today.

Looking back, Stewart was bridging the gap between two generations of women. Like my 1966 high school yearbook – the girls with bouffant hair and the long, straight hair crowd. While purporting to glamorize home life, she was simultaneously building an empire and losing her farm and family in Connecticut. It was almost Shakespearian. I must admit feeling sorry for her when she was convicted of insider trading. She didn’t deserve that prison sentence. Men had been trading secrets for years after all.

Still, I admit laughing at satirical articles about her magazine. I’ll always remember a full page layout of the different types of DIRT! Four pictures across and four down of different colors and textures of DIRT… it was just near enough to the truth to catch you thinking it might be real.

And here’s the real dirt on our government shutdown – President Obama’s signature Affordable Care Act happens to be on the line. Yes, Republicans don’t mind starving Americans in order to tank affordable healthcare. Can I repeat that – REPUBLICANS are responsible for this malarkey! Don’t let the smoke and mirrors fool you. Mr T is absolutely tone deaf and would rather watch women swinging on stars in sequins and fringe like it’s the 1920s.

And Martha, bless her heart, (age 84) is also living in denial. She’s fighting reality with all her might. Post-plastic surgery and a Sports Illustrated cover, she is still reinventing herself with Snoop Dog and stating she was the original trad wife! I almost threw up in my mouth when I read that.

Here is my meticulously curated collection of cookbooks; The Silver Palate for pesto and Applewood and Motherpie for carrot cake. And Ina, always Ina! Mostly I use the NYTimes Cooking App! The Flapper would be proud.

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Last night the Pumpkin lit the candles and the Love Bug said the blessing over the round, braided challah that Bob had baked that very afternoon. In Jewish families around the world a New Year has begun; we take stock of our lives, we dip apples in honey. I tried some Sephardic recipes for a change along with an apple cider Bundt cake that miraculously slid out of its fluted pan! Lately my cakes have clung to the sides of my cake pans, so much so that Bob actually lined the bottom of a cake I made for a visiting/Parisian/doctor/friend of the Groom… and then buttered the parchment paper!

It’s rather confounding since I never used to have this problem with my carrot cakes.

And naturally the discussion at the Rosh Hashanah table veered into the ever more confounding and comical – had anyone watched the presser on Tylenol and autism? Our cousin Paul brought us all (including two ER docs and an Attending ICU Intensivist at Vanderbilt) up to date – Mr T couldn’t even pronounce acetaminophen, and he told pregnant women to “tough it out” if they had a fever. Never mind that a high fever in pregnancy increases the risk of birth defects. Never mind that scientists for years have not found any causal link between acetaminophen and autism which is a multifactorial disease with known genetic factors.

“Many of the studies included in the new review “did not necessarily go to the greatest lengths to account for possible confounders,” Dr. Brian Lee, a professor of epidemiology at Drexel University, said, referring to other factors that might explain a potential link. “And the biggest elephant in the room here,” he added, “is genetic confounding, because we know autism, A.D.H.D. and other neurodevelopmental disorders are highly heritable.” https://www.nytimes.com/2025/09/22/health/kennedy-autism-tylenol-trump.html?unlocked_article_code=1.oE8.mzwn.aB4TzcsT3X6l&smid=url-share

Confounding variables may be my favorite phrase for the new year. We have a government touting pseudo-science; so do we have an actual increase in autism, or have we just expanded the definition so much that we have more autism diagnoses – or are we just reporting more as our population increases? It would be unethical to conduct double-blind studies on pregnant women, and so we must try and collect postpartum data which may have a host of differing variables including but not limited to medication, nutrition, addictive substances, living near a Superfund site, and genetic predispositions. Not to mention unintentional selection bias!

Today our President will speak to the United Nations. I would not trust anything that came out of his mouth, I am disillusioned and disheartened with Israel and I’m afraid our country is standing on a precipice. Will we be on the wrong side of history? Today God opens the book:  “…each year on this day “all inhabitants of the world pass before G‑d like a flock of sheep,” and it is decreed in the heavenly court “who shall live, and who shall die … who shall be impoverished and who shall be enriched; who shall fall and who shall rise.”

I woke this morning to a welcoming rain. I thought of my beautiful Granddaughter reciting the prayer over the bread, and I can be grateful to have lived through this last year. To witness her BatMitzvah. To light the Yahrzeit candle for my Mother-in-Law and my Brother-in-Law. To welcome twin baby Granddaughters into the world. To set the table with the good china.

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Do you get Mother’s day gifts? We’re a more experiential type of family – gardening, cooking togther, going to a play are all acceptable activities for this holiday in particular. I started the day on Zoom with my siblings and reminded them that i had two mothers; a warm, nurturing, demonstrative mother, and the Flapper. The yin and yang of unconditional love.

The Bride feted me with freshly baked sourdough bagels for breakfast. The Groom delivered scrumptious sandwiches for lunch even though he was on call in the MICU. And for dinner, we all piled into his car and traveled across town for a Mother’s Day celebration with our cousin Peg’s family that couldn’t be beat! It was also her son’s birthday. He was finishing up medical school and about to apply for a residency so we wanted to hear all the gory details! The weather cooperated with sunny blue skies and puffy clouds; “A good day to fly,” Bob said. Like a good pilot, I can expect to hear this several times a month.

It seems Mr T was given a 400 million dollar personal gift this weekend. It did not surprise me to hear that our President of Grift wants to accept a 747 plane from Qatar, even though this is obviously unconstitutional. “All of this would be worrisome to the White House except that, as I’ve written, Trump does not care about national security. “Trump is the only thing he’s interested in,” former National Security Adviser John Bolton told me earlier this year.https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/archive/2025/05/trump-qatar-plane-gift/682785/

What bothers me most about our current president, besides his lack of empathy, is this transparency – his belief that he can get away with anything so why try to hide it. He pivots with impunity. He dares us to try and stop him in the courts, and if a judge opposes him, his sycophants send pizzas to their homes. Hundreds of unsolicited pizzas have been delivered to federal judges in seven states – a sick and dangerous threat that echoes the shooting of U.S. District Judge Esther Salas’s son, Daniel Anderl five years ago.

If that isn’t alarming, if it doesn’t look like we’re sliding into a kleptocracy, well you’re not paying attention. Remember Melania’s coat that read “I really don’t care, do you?” She wore that on her way to visit to an immigrant child detention center no less. I wonder how she celebrates Mother’s Day. This was part of her official post a few days ago on celebrating moms – “I urge you to prioritize your well-being. Nurture yourself, for your strength is the bedrock of a brighter future for our children…”

Happy to hear FLOTUS wants us to care for ourselves since this administration is dismantling many of our social safety nets and aggravating allies. But I had a Pinterest plan to bake a French strawberry cake for our cousin, which ended up being more like a cobbler unfortunately. On Saturday, we got up early and stood in line at the Farmer’s Market waiting for the cow bell to signal its opening – I didn’t want to miss out on the first strawberries of the season!

I should just accept defeat graciously and stick to baking muffins. This is the unwritten rule in our neighborhood; Les is the Queen of cakes and Kris is the Empress of rosemary bread. And our beautiful Bride, besides baking bagels, raised money for our TN neighbors’ legal representation after a soul deadening week of ICE agents marauding Nashville’s streets in masks. If you would like to help, please contact TN Justice for our Neighbors: https://www.tnjfon.org/

Remember that your grandchildren will ask you what you did during this time. This was us on Peg’s porch with her sons and her 92 year old MIL who had just flown in from California.

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Here is a list of the things I did today:

I took a shower – not an easy task with a broken neck.

The Bride and Bug came to visit with Maple dog.

The Bride left to bring the Pumpkin to band practice – yes he plays guitar.

We talked about Dr King and non-violence and social justice.

We made dumplings for lunch.

I read more of Stanley Tucci’s new book, “What I Ate in One Year,” which starts out in Italy and is the best book and is totally in his voice. I’m afraid I’m in love with another man! And the Bug read a book for her English class.

The Love Bug and I made gingerbread cupcakes with buttercream icing; thanks Pinterest.

I plan on doing my nails when time allows…

The deep freeze has hit Nashville and we are NOT watching the inauguration today. We took down our American flag and hoisted a big “Welcome” flag with my favorite bird, the cardinal. Maybe we’ll go see the movie that Tucci was filming in his book, Conclave, full of cardinals!

Thank you so much for contributing to the families who lost their homes in the California wildfires. I hope you are well and being kind to yourselves today.

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I’ve been accused of falling to avoid cooking for Thanksgiving; it is always said jokingly, and I usually laugh along. But I’m missing the whole chopping and shopping and planning phase because for me it’s all about the sides and the table decor! The Bride’s Virginia in-Laws have already arrived and will be picking up the slack, but she has tasked us with cooking the turkey. There is a cute little Butterball defrosting in our refrigerator, and today we will bake a loaf of corn bread for the stuffing. This is our traditional recipe, classic corn bread stuffing cooked in the bird and not in a casserole dish.

My left hand is pretty free these days, the splint goes on only when I’m outside or around children and dogs. You can barely see the surgery scar. My right hand has to wear the splint all the time for the next three weeks. I’m not supposed to lift anything or exert any force on any one hand – so trying to pull the microwave door open was a mistake. I can push down the seatbelt to unhitch, but I can’t push it in. I feel like Goldilocks, forever looking for that sweet spot between comfort and pain.

My plan is to have Bob chop up all the vegetables for the stuffing the night before and Thanksgiving morning we’ll begin – I will pick parsley and sage in the garden, and I will be able to crumble the bread into the sauteed mirepoix. In fact, this will be hand therapy for me! But Bob will have the heavy lifting; he’ll be brining the bird and assembling the stuffing and getting ole Tom into the oven. Which is fine with me. The Bride is in her happy place baking up a storm of pies and biscuits.

I was invited to see Wicked last weekend with the Bug and I couldn’t resist. Three generations at the movies with candy and it was a marvelous escape, the seats even reclined! Still, it was hard to feel engaged, my head was stuck in its Aspen collar looking straight ahead so I couldn’t gauge the Bug’s reactions. Every now and then I’d throw my splint across her body and I never knew whose hand I was holding. But we all loved it, the costumes, the singing, the fantasy of it all.

I held my box of Goobers with my right hand and carefully picked out one nut at a time with my left – hand therapy with rewards!

On the way home I asked the Bug if she ever felt different. Like Elphaba, did she ever feel the need to defend herself? I said that I always felt different as a child: my last name was different than my foster parents; I had blazing red hair and I wanted black hair; plus I had the whole two mother, two separate families thing. She thought about it for awhile.

“Well Nana, I really don’t feel that different,” the Bug said.

And I felt a calmness seep into the car because we talked about her girl friends and her height and all the tween drama that’s happening. And I understood that this one has a bit of her Grandma Ada’s energy – a willingness to help, a compassionate perspective. It’s almost like the Bride’s yoga study and Ada’s counseling skills found their match in this next generation. I know these are the Wonder Years, and we have high school on the horizon next year, but dear God please keep this child safe.

And thank you for not killing me when I slid into the end table! Here is my left hand at occupational therapy… and Happy Thanksgiving All Y’All!

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It was a Saturday like any other weekend day. Bob and I took a very early walk around the greenway before the unbearable heat of the day. Then I jumped in the pool to do my exercises and the Bride joined me with the Grands. Later, I made plans to get together with a friend and was washing up the dinner dishes – which is to say the dishwasher was going as I cleaned my ancient wok. It was nearly 100 degrees in Nashville yesterday. I’d just returned from rinsing and refilling the birdbath with fresh cold water when I stopped to sit down and catch my breath.

Something was amiss on CNN. My muted TV had a video on repeat, red hats and shirts ducking, black suits encircling the speaker like crows with wings outstretched..

The family text chain began almost immidiately, from Cali to TN, we all registered our disbelief. Was it just fireworks, a stunt by a reality TV star gone wrong? How could this be happening, again? Finally, the Rocker sent us an X interview from an ER doc on the scene – it was very real. One person was shot dead, and Mr T was injured, clipped by a bullet to his ear.

We don’t really know much more this morning. It was a 20 year old, with an assault rifle on a roof. I don’t need to know the name of the shooter, or his motivation, as I’ve said countless times before. Like most mass shooters, it was a young man with a gun. The media will interview his friends and his family and they will say he was always different, bullied, shy, didn’t like women… and so on. All the usual tropes. Except this obviously troubled individual lived in the USA where we have 120 guns per 100 people on the street. He lived in a country where the right to bear arms is a given, and no number of school shootings can change that.

We Americans sacrifice our children on the altar of freedom.

I’ve lived through JFK, MLK and RFK’s assasinations. I remember when Reagan was shot – nobody blamed the other party for these horrendous acts of violence. And yet, the Speaker of the House this morning mentions that our President said, “it’s time to put Trump in a bullseye” to some of his donors. FOX news is all about blaming Democratic rhetoric for the assassination attempt yesterday, when in reality, a man with an AR15 can show up anywhere he pleases – at a shopping mall, at a school, at a Vegas concert. He could walk into a church or a synagogue.

What did Mr T say as he was escorted off the stage at his rally, once the Secret Service found his shoes? “FIGHT!”

What are we fighting each other for Mr T? Tell me why hanging your VP seemed like just another option for your followers? Pumping your fist in defiance is noteworthy, but will it help unite our country? Everyone will get behind you now, calling for an end to “political” violence, and the need to tone down our speech. And this is just my humble opinion, but what if you and Joe decided to ban assault weapons forever? Now would be the time to do something magnanimous, something tangible for the people you want to lead.

Who is willing to give up the baby, rather than have it be torn apart?  

 

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We are finally here in Italy, touring the country again with Marco and Claudio, but this time from their home in Viareggio. We awaken to church bells and cafe Americano in the garden. Flowers are blooming amid buzzing Vespas and even the sidewalks are arranged like quilts. A baby girl, Bianca, was born next door the day before we arrived and so her front door is festooned with pink ribbon.

We stroll just a few blocks to the Ligurian Sea where the sand is not too hot, yet. Only the Pumpkin has jumped in the gentle waves. We visit ancient cities and discover small, Bronze Age statues of people in a province of Lucca. Castle walls surround this whole town in Tuscany, as if to say we value every one of our people, not just royalty. Art is everywhere.

Did you know that because of the Spanish Inquisition (1478-1834), Jews brought the tomato to Italy?

Of course we are learning to cook the traditional food. Yesterday we made green lasagna noodles with two different sauces – a Bolognese and a Bechamel. The grands are enjoying the desserts, tiramisu and bignes, like profiteroles only better. Today Bob and I finally ordered a pizza for lunch on the Promenade, but it was like no other with fresh prosciutto and funghi.

If I were to define happiness, it would be now, this time with my whole family. Watching the Bug fill tiny ravioli while the Pumpkin works the dough through a pasta machine. Sitting on the sofa with Pietro, the truffle/rescue dog, and discussing design with Kiki over an Aperol. Walking in the rain with the Bride and Groom, and suddenly the Rocker takes my hand.

And Bob, forever mi amore, celebrating today our 45th Wedding Anniversary by doing laundry and caring for me. This cold I brought with me has turned into an infection. It’s OK. It’s life, I guess even this virus wants to survive in this beautiful country.

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Someone at the Seder table asked the Groom about the outbreak of bird flu, aka H5N1 Avian Influenza, in cattle. He had just finished his shift as an attending physician on the Intensive Care Unit at his hospital. He was still seeing patients recovering from severe post-Covid complications. My brave, Intensivist son-in-law was about to dig into my specialty Passover brisket when he put down his fork, looked up and said, “Don’t ask.”

Despite the fear of another pandemic on the horizon, and the growth of anti-Semitism on college campuses, our family’s Seder went off without a hitch! The Bride delivered her traditional matzoh ball soup, the Bug chopped up a delicious charoset, and cousin Peg made all the yummy veggie fixings, with a broken toe no less. The little Emperor never left my side since he knows I’m a soft touch. Listening to the Bug read the Four Questions – Why is this night different from other nights? etc – in Hebrew – made my heart melt.

Lately, I cannot shake the feeling that this time is NOT very different to other times. SCOTUS news may be all about Mr T, and his so-called immunity case, but I’ve heard enough about the disgraced ex-president. The Supremes are also looking at the state of Idaho and exactly how physicians may practice their craft. Remember when I wrote about EMTALA? https://mountainmornings.net/2024/01/09/emtala/ It’s an Emergency Medicine cardinal rule that no one may be turned away from a hospital’s ER.

If SCOTUS strikes down EMTALA, because of the Dobbs decision on abortion, we will all return to the ‘good ole days’ of doctors refusing to treat patients for any number of reasons – like the wrong insurance… When Bob first started out in this field, clerks at the front door of an ER could toe-tag a patient, one who may be critical, to be transferred to a public hospital. Triage by socio-economic standing.

If EMTALA is struck down, ER docs would lose their license and end up in jail should they happen to save a pregnant woman’s life but lose the developing fetus in the process. Yes, once we women had no bodily autonomy at all. We had to use clothes hangers, or hire stealth nurses if we were lucky; or, if we could afford it we’d fly to another country. Today red states are passing trafficking laws under the guise of trafficking minors for commercial sex, like TN Section 39-13-309 in order to prosecute anyone trying to cross states’ borders for an abortion. Who will be (or was) the first woman to die because of these horrendous laws?

If this sounds dystopian, it’s because it is. But back to the other question at the Seder table, the one about bird flu. Who will be the first person to die of H5N1? The USDA has found the virus in milk but it is not monitoring it for some reason. Is it spreading via milking machines? Nearly 40% of cows in the Texas panhandle tested positive. Are they testing the water supplies? Nope, I guess we’re just waiting for the next pandemic to show up in Emergency Rooms.

“The C.D.C. says it is monitoring data from emergency rooms for any signs of an outbreak. By the time enough people are sick enough to be noticed in emergency rooms, it is almost certainly too late to prevent one.”The C.D.C. says it is monitoring data from emergency rooms for any signs of an outbreak. By the time enough people are sick enough to be noticed in emergency rooms, it is almost certainly too late to prevent one. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/24/opinion/bird-flu-cow-outbreak.html

I had to read that twice. So my daughter, and all her Emergency Medicine colleagues, may be prosecuted for doing their jobs and will be on the frontlines of the next epidemic. It will certainly be too late for prevention. Bob’s brother nearly died from Swine Flu. Have we learned nothing from history? There will always be threats to our liberty. There will always be a Pharaoh and plagues, and questions. But next year, will we still be a democracy?

This is us, two writers and a doctor, prepping for the Seder.

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This has been the winter for strengthening one of my super powers – SOUP! During the pandemic, while Bob honed in on his sourdough bread, I discovered a delicious Asparagus Vegetable Soup recipe courtesy of Jamie Oliver https://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/vegetables-recipes/creamy-asparagus-soup-with-a-poached-egg-on-toast/. I don’t do the egg on top nonsense btw. Now, due to unforeseen circumstances, I’ve been experimenting with more healthy and hearty soups. My take on these liquid elixirs is usually thick, like a stew.

But I’d rather not label these gastronomic efforts; or maybe I should just call everything I make in one big pot “chowder”? Thinking chowder was meant only for fish stews, I went in search of its meaning and yes, it’s mostly fish, but not always – https://www.foodandwine.com/soup/chowder/chowder

The problem with Bob is he’s not happy when I whip out the immersion blender. He likes a chunky soup, he wants to identify the vegetables. Maybe it’s just that we still have all our teeth? I did manage to win him over with a beautiful, cauliflower soup from the New York Times: Creamy Cauliflower Soup with Rosemary Olive Oil! https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1020764-creamy-cauliflower-soup-with-rosemary-olive-oil that surprisingly has no cream whatsoever!

I’m probably best known for the soup I deliver to new moms and friends recovering from an illness. We have a cousin who was in need of some Jewish penicillin, so last week I taught his wife, Peg, how to make it, Reform Jewish Style. When I was in the middle of converting to Judaism, the rabbi arranged a cooking class for me. You guessed it – Real Chicken Soup! No matzah balls, no noodles or rice, just the basics. I’ve never felt so professional as I passed on my secret recipe to Peg in her new kitchen! She was a delightful sous chef, while also archiving the lesson for all eternity.

I brought my Starbucks apron and we traded tidbits of of gossip, chopping away, slowly perfuming the air with chicken fat. Maybe the world needs the next Southern Jewish French Irish Julia Child? My cousin is also a writer, a prolific expository health journalist, for major digital and print news outlets. In fact, she already has a cookbook… and I might have major writer-envy… but in a good way. I’m so happy Peg and her husband moved right across the river.

The Bride’s famous Sweet Potato Soup was recently discussed in detail here https://mountainmornings.net/2024/01/24/gray-swan-events/ and it continues to be a favorite in my winter soup rotation. Don’t despair if you don’t have any V8 on hand, you can substitute a can of fire-roasted tomatoes. I love the dollop of peanut butter you add at the end. This might be my favorite soup of 2023, and next on the list?

I’d like to try my hand at Pasta e Fagioli, a classic Italian pasta and bean soup. The Flapper used to make this all the time. I asked my brother and sister if they remembered a favorite soup from their childhood, and they both said Pea Soup. They like to remind me that their early years were much harder than mine. After our Year of Living Dangerously, Kay told me she had to do all of the housework, including cooking, while our mother was “… lying on the couch in the kitchen.” Jim told me if they had a ham to eat during the week, they could count on pea soup made with the bone that weekend.

They had no TV in 1949, and the radio was stuck in a big box in the front parlor, so the Flapper read aloud poems from a little red book, “A Thousand and One Poems.” Kay has all these poems stored away in her brain that she can recite at will. Just ask her! Occasionally a nurse would visit the kitchen in Scranton, trying to stretch out the Flapper’s legs, while I imagine my Mother screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs. Poetry and cursing in motion.

Making soup has become my antidote to cursing the media for leading every story with you know who. What about calling anorexia “terminal” so that patients can enter hospice? “In Colorado, a state where medical aid in dying is legal, [patients] would also be eligible for MAID (medical aid in dying) drugs…” https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2024/02/26/terminal-anorexia-mental-illness-diagnosis/

What about Alabama calling embryos “babies”? “In a recent court case over embryos accidentally destroyed at a fertility clinic, the Alabama Supreme Court ruled under state law that all embryos are “children”. However, the global medical and scientific consensus on when reproductive cells become human life says otherwise.”

https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20240226-what-is-an-embryo-global-medical-definition-of-personhood-ivf-ruling

Ooof. I’ll continue making soup to calm my Novemberphobia.

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