I made soup today to make the house smell familiar again. Familiar like unadulterated by worry /
I was gone for two weeks (race and creative writing conference in Montana, then a roadtrip all the way to Louisiana and back) and came back to a house besieged under a thin film of abandonment.
Yes, musty, but, also, I think I’m about to kick up a lot of changes with my life, and I have neglected somehow to fully grasp the consequences.
I bought a whole chicken, butchered it into pieces, and made soup, all the while clutching my middle, something inside me throbbing with pain, me walking slightly bowlegged like I’m not actually walking around, I’m not actually real, I’m not actually trying to cook a thing to cure something inside me:
- Slice lots and lots of ginger (I used two palm-sized ones)
- Lightly fry ginger in some oil for 5-10 mins
- Add rice wine (about 1-2 cups) (I used up the last of mom’s homemade one which is red, hence the red-tinged picture) (I need to ask mom how to make red rice wine) (Pretty sure this was from a bottle she fedex-ed me probably 1-2 years ago) (otherwise any chinese cooking wine/rice wine/wine wine would do)
- Add in all the meat, fry them around and around for a while (picture below taken at this stage)
- Add in hot water to fill up pot
- Simmer for 30-40 mins
- Season with soy sauce, salt, whatnot
- Eat with rice or noodle
- House is purified with smell of ginger and chicken fat
How do you say it.
Ginger red wine chicken soup (or drunken chicken soup) sets me right again like a hug from the inside.
Again and again.