November 24, 2013 § 2 Comments
Today, I don’t think the temperature is supposed to rise above 45 degrees, maybe less. I heard the weatherman on the radio say tonight’s low is 26. Winter, it would seem, has arrived and all at once. Just the day for making soup, I thought when I woke up. After the trip to the grocery store that took me out in the chill, I was even more convinced.
What you see there is a Paleo Buffalo Chicken Soup. I am no adherent to a paleo diet nor do I feel that I truly know what that would encompass. The recipe was gifted to me by the internet as I searched for something else, I’m sure. I was intrigued by the idea of it at first and then the ease with which I could make it. It wasn’t what I typically gravitate toward in a soup: creamy with potatoes and bacon or tomatoey with black beans or hearty and cumin-spiked like chili. The cup of hot sauce may have been its siren song and my undoing. (Incidentally, it’ll clear your head if the cold-weather crud has you all congested.) Overall, I’m pleased with how it turned out, two bowls later.
I’ve written this before, but I was struck again today by just how much I like to cook. Not all the time and not all things, mind you. But, on a day like today, when I have the time and nothing pressing to attend to, it’s a soothing ritual. Busying myself with the chopping, the boiling, the spicing quiets my overly analytical and introspective mind. Being in the kitchen with a list to follow and a job to do somehow clears away thoughts and questions that hound and allows me a respite. Feeding oneself requires a singular focus.
Eating and enjoying do, too.