Seems a bit cliché to say that at times like this comfort food is called for. Because in fact, I am always down with comfort food. But I was, in fact, feeling the need for something simple and comforting, I made chicken noodle soup. It was not my mother’s recipe for chicken soup. I never really liked hers (My paternal grandmother’s was worse—hot water into which she put celery and then showed it a picture of a chicken and god forbid she use salt) unlike most of my mother’s cooking most which I always loved (not bunsteads or salmon loaf, though).

I made my own no-recipe chicken soup and promptly burned the skin off my tongue and scalded the roof of my mouth. So much for comfort.

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