Spoonful of Love (chicken soup)
No matter how cool the soup becomes from the blowing,
the spoon itself still burns.
one develops the technique of sipping the broth
from the extensively blown upon spoonful
without actually touching the spoon itself
It wouldn't be an issue except that the soup is so good
that you can't possibly wait long enough for it to cool.
You see, chicken soup is as close to love as a food gets!
Whenever I start to feel lonely and unloved
all I have to do is make myself a pot of chicken soup.
Everybody makes it differently . . . my Italian friend
Gino makes his with rice, beans, garlic, and Italian spices like
basil, oregano sage and thyme . . . Peter, my Hungarian friend
adds galuska (small dumplings) hot Paprika and serves it
with a dollop of sour cream . . .
I make mine with diced carrots, a little onion, and handmade
pepper noodles (the ones my grandma taught me how to make)
plus rosemary, thyme, marjoram, saffron, and lavender . . .
all day long the soup simmers and fills the house with
the aroma of love. The noodles go in last . . .
By the time it's finished cooking . . . none can wait more
everyone knows how it's going to taste
the bowls are filled, chunky stuff first, then topped with
that steaming broth, salt is passed, giant spoons stir
and are too soon dipped. . . that's when the blowing begins.