Well over a year ago, I made the declaration we would no longer eat canned soup. Between lengthy ingredient lists containing soy, dairy, gluten and copious amounts of salt, I decided to unearth my domestic roots and sweat it out over a 5-gallon stock pot. I'm sure you can guess how long that experiment lasted. But, while I stopped making soup on a regular basis, I still refuse to buy it in a can. We've had no shortage of chili over the past twelve months, but chili isn't what I crave when my nose is dripping, my head's clogged beyond belief and it feels like an extended family of Irishmen is River Dancing on my chest.
Which is exactly how I felt today.
After awaking from a four-hour feverish nap, made worse upon discovering I had a 100lb dog spooning against me, all I wanted was soup. We literally live in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't a can of soup to be found. And, sadly, the solution to my dilemma felt like an early Julia Childs episode, 'first you take a chicken....'. Which is exactly what I did.
The pot was soon full of organic chicken, organic veggies, parsley (which actually turned out to be cilantro-of course) from our meager container garden and rice--I wanted noodles, but figured this was already about a $20 bowl of soup, and wasn't about to add another $5 of gluten-free pasta to the mix.
And then, I dosed off again. I awoke to the smell of cinnamon. Seems in my feverish, famished state, I'd brilliantly put a cinnamon doughnut in the oven. Boy did it taste good. This is no time to examine the hypocrisy of keeping frozen pastries on hand, but not canned soup.
Once my steaming salvation was ready, I inhaled bowl after bowl, and it was worth the effort. Even better? When I mustered the energy to shuffle up the garage to put the left-overs in the freezer, I discovered soup. Lots and lots of frozen, homemade soup.
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