There's nothing so homey as hot soup in a jar.
When I was in college, my grandmother would often send me back to the dorm with a quart of chicken noodle soup, covered with plastic wrap held in place with a rubber band. She rolled and cut her own noodles, boiled a hen for the rich broth and sprinkled in a generous amount of paprika.
What I wouldn't do to taste that soup again! Thanksgiving dinners were always prefaced by soup (usually to fend off starvation as we waited for the turkey), bu it was served on much more humble occasions as well.
My days of rolled egg noodles are gone, but they will always hold a special place in my heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment