Since my girlfriends left on Sunday, I have done absolutely nothing except sleep, work, and limit my alcohol intake. Maybe it was my clarity of mind. Maybe it was boredom. After all the crazy activity when they were here, my social life has kind of stalled. And the TV star hasn’t called, even though he has my number ;).
Thus, with time on my hands tonight and being literally starved for homemade food, I decided to cook–really cook (at least for me)–for the first time in years. Probably three.
I am tired of scrambled eggs and corn tortillas (my breakfast almost every morning). I am tired of French fries (my lunch more days than not). I am tired of family meals I can’t eat (“Sorry RG, how about some fries?”), so I eat more fries.
I was thumbing through the most recent issue of Food and Wine, which was languishing atop the taller-than-tall stack of industry magazines my GM says he will read someday, mostly to write down good wines for under $15, when I saw it–an easy soup recipe.
Soup. Need it. Not for my soul. Just need it. For every part of my being.
So I showed the recipe to Chef and asked if the daytime sous chef could make it for me. “Sure,” he said. Which could mean tomorrow, or next month.
And a fleeting thought occurred to me: You can cook it yourself. It was a thought I quickly dismissed. I do not cook. My kitchen is the size of a closet, I despise prep, and no one likes anything I cook except Chicken Marbella and a leg of lamb stuffed with garlic and lemon, and I haven’t cooked either of those in what feels like a hundred years.
“Spring Vegetable Soup with Tarragon” was the recipe on page 114 of the April issue. I photocopied it before I left for the day, you know, to give to the sous chef tomorrow. But I also tucked it in my purse.
And while my laundry was working its way through the various cycles at Mr. Fabulous, I wandered over to Whole Foods to kill time. Just so happened, I had the copy of the soup recipe with me in my purse. Just so happened, I found all the ingredients listed in it. Just so happened, I told myself I could do this.
As I write, the too-small pot is simmering and my apartment smells great. I had a couple of cooking-emergency questions that I thought to send to my good friend at Just Cured, but then decided, what the hell, I’ll make it the way that makes sense to me, for better or worse.
I have no idea if I used the right part of the leek. I improvised by using a couple of cups of chicken broth instead of all water. My soup pot is too small. My choice of ladles is a joke, because I don’t own one.
My apartment still smells great.
Tomorrow, I will bring in a taste of my soup for the daytime sous chef to try. Tomorrow, I will share a healthy portion of this soup with my very cool coworker so we don’t have to eat fries, again. Tomorrow, I will wonder only a little about my soup, and then I will worry a lot about tomorrow’s tomorrow.
Tonight, however, I surprised myself and made my soup. And it tastes good, just the way I made it.