Chicken soup

AH, comfort foods. Which one is your absolute favorite? Me? I can’t decide. There is always chocolate, of course. The nuanced, beguiling and voluptuous yet whimsical quality of chocolate, satisfying in so many different permutations, solid or liquid, cold or hot chocaltiness. Indeed . . . that darkness, that chocolate, sure is comforting.

But then there is macaroni and cheese with its slow warm creamy yellow melty soft pasta and butter heaviness. Mmm. That weighty dish with gravitas indeed is pretty darn satisfying, too. Especially in the winter. Pancakes, too. The heartiness of crisp, butter-fried pancakes with bursts of berries.

I really don’t want to favor one over the other, and leave anything  out. But then there is that soup with a sparkle. Chicken soup . . . oh! that lovely mellow golden soothing crystal clear chicken soup! Chicken with root vegetables and parsley and dill slowly simmering together, prepared with TLC, that steaminess perfuming the whole house with comfort, healing. Shabbos and holidays and nostalgia. Definitely as comfortable as it comes, when it comes to a culinary bowlful of quintessential comfort.

Personally, I have issues with birds. I mean, holding one of those whole chickens in your hands in preparation of a good chicken soup . . . I’m sorry, but it feels like holding a baby. There is too much delineated anatomy going on there for me. Thighs, breasts, legs, a neck. Know what I mean?

And the skin? With those slightly raised dots, you see it on yourself, on your own skin, when you have the shivers. And speaking of the shivers, don’t even get me started on the recipe step when preparing chicken with rice soup, or chicken and noodles or dumplings, when you need to de-skin the bird, remove the bones and cut the chicken up into little pieces. All that chicken carnage? Thank G-d traditional Eastern European chicken soup is prepared by wrapping the chicken and other various vegetables in mesh bags, and the herbs in a bouquet garni, that doesn’t call for that. (Of course, the vegetables and bouquet garnis are harmless).

Which is why I rarely, as in practically never, go near the thing. I just can’t prepare chicken on the bone. It does something to me. Which is weird, because growing up that was one of my kitchen jobs in my childhood home. I helped prepare and cook the chicken for Shabbos.

Somewhere between then and now, a long time ago I stopped.

But I do love some good chicken soup in the winter!

Hmm. Dilemma. I managed to overcome this neurosis of mine a few times, when desperate times called for desperate measures. I simply needed to make that one and only chicken soup, needed to keep warm the old fashioned way with a pair of wool or cashmere socks and a hot bowl of that liquid gold coursing through my veins, spreading warmth through me. Ah, that lingering comfort . . .

NOT that my chicken soup could ever compete with my mother’s. Goes without saying! But chicken soup, all different kinds —  not for nothing is it called “Jewish Penicillin,” this deep liquid gold with tender falling off the bone chicken, sipped and slurped gratefully by a sick person. Can you think of a more restorative dinner in a bowl? And if it won’t cure you, at least it will soothe you.

If you want to know the secrets for the golden yellow color of a good chicken soup, I’ll tell you, if you promise not to laugh. Here is one: chicken feet. Scouts honor! Conventional culinary wisdom says this is the secret.

Drop in those five pronged pointy chicken feet and the soup gets painted yellow. If you prefer a plant or veg based dye there is always the beet, a sprinkle of turmeric or a thread or two of silken saffron, to infuse and spread the goldness.

Personally, I love turmeric and saffron, cheerful and vibrant yellow in chicken with noodles or dumplings, or in chicken soup with rice. But for the traditional chicken soup? It’s too glow-in-the-dark neon yellow and sunglasses-inducing for me. I like my traditional chicken soup natural and mellow and not too yellow.

THIS soup is for everyone, not just for the ill. And as I said,  I love all kinds. Chicken soup with rice — the Iraqi one with cardamom, ginger, turmeric and lemon is unbeatable. And remember Maurice Sendak’s A Book of Months?

In January it is so nice/While slipping on the sliding ice/To sip hot chicken soup with rice/Sipping once, sipping twice/Sipping chicken soup with rice.

Chicken and noodley noodles — chicken with tiny little flour and cream dumplings — yu-um! As far as I am concerned, anything with something as cozy tasting and adorable sounding as dumplings is a scrumptious food fit to be brought to a queen.

Of course there is always the big debate about matzah dumplings, otherwise known as matzah balls or kneidlach. I simply have to use the word dumplings, though. Anyway, the big question always is: floaters or sinkers? Sinkers that hit your soup with a thud and sink straight to the bottom because of their oomph and substantiveness? Or floaters? fluffy, airy, buoyant balls of delight floating and bobbing, almost dancing in your soup?

The first time I tasted “sinkers” I was a guest at someone’s dinner table. I just assumed the hostess did not know how to prepare matzah balls and messed up the recipe. I felt bad for her. I tried my best to be gracious and swallow the tough huge bites of the firm baseball size stuff, out of respect, so as not to  embarrass her.

I have grown up a little since then, and can now enjoy a sinker. But for me? It will always be floaters.

So there you have it, chicken soup for the soul. Some people use chicken soup as a healing metaphor for comforting stories to inspire the soul. But I say chicken soup itself is for the soul.