Synchronicity in Soup

Here in the Midwest we have been experiencing unseasonably cool weather for the end of August. Typically we are sweltering in the suffocating heat and humidity, but instead the temps are almost fall like. Yesterday, in honor of the pleasant weather, I had an impulsive longing to make chicken soup with homemade stock and noodles.

I methodically went through all the steps. The fresh whole chicken went into a pot with cut up vegetables and spices. The egg noodles were rolled out and left to dry on a cookie sheet. The stock was strained. The cooked chicken pulled off the bone.







As the stock bubbled, I sat down to check the recipe and noticed I had been tagged in a Facebook post. I pulled it up to see a sweet remembrance from my good friend Peg about her father who unexpectedly passed away twenty five years ago this week. I will never forget her grief-stricken voice when she called me with the news. I could physically feel her aching pain and loss all the way from California. My heart was also broken.

I then realized why I felt the urge to make homemade chicken noodle soup. It was for Peg. She prepares the most wonderful matzo ball soup; I could never recreate that. This soup, though, is my shiksa version of Jewish love. This is our synchronicity. 

After two hours of cutting, chopping, simmering, and salting, I sat down to a comforting bowl of warm devotion. The first spoonful was dedicated to my Peg and her father Buddy. May you always remember your dad is your bedrock, your anchor, your touchstone, and your first true love.



“A man’s daughter is his heart. Just with feet, walking out in the world.” ~Mat Johnson