This post, it is shite and I am a mess. Disclaimer.

Okay, kittens. My mom reads this blog (sometimes maybe), and she does not approve of swearing, but get on this train with me: sometimes that is what a person has to do to remain person-shaped. Swear, I mean. Not get on trains with me. Depending on whether or not you have the world’s coffee reserves in your control and you’re trying to ban me from coffee forever.

Oh god I have David Bowie on a Pandora station in the background and apparently I’ve never heard the version of “Space Oddity” with David Bowie droning creepily in the middle and it almost gave me a fucking heart attack because it sounds like a horde of giant bees has found your hiding place behind the cabinets, or something. Sheesh. Did not need that.

My brain hates me lately. Straight up. Whatever chemical soup it’s floating in has turned into death sludge, and that is making everything approximately nine thousand times harder to deal with. I mean, I know that this is just kind of what happens every few weeks or months or when a lot of stressful things are happening in my life (first week of classes, new job, so on), but somehow I always forget how incredibly soul-meltingly awful it is! So today I went to have dinner at Mom’s (chicken stew my aunt made) and started crying into the stew pot instead of washing it at the end.

I think it’s because, like, we ate a shit-ton of stew after my dad died. It’s weird, but almost the only thing I remember from my home life all through high school is endless bowls of endless permutations of turkey soup until finally, out of desperation and because the human parts of my brain were starting to come back online, I started to take an interest in cooking, instead of just bitching about whatever we were eating.

I don’t know. Food, man. It’s. Yep.

Anyway, some years later, I was ill with a cold or something, and Mom made me chicken soup that was actually chicken soup, not just a slightly different type of turkey soup, and it was really good. So this is a kind of recipe for that. (Not promising I’m not, like, sobbing gently into the washing machine, because I’ve at least moved on to other chores, but at least the blog gets updated.)

  1. What the shit do you put in soup? Onions and celery and garlic? Wait shit no that is like step four.
  2. Get a roast chicken from Wal*Mart or some shit. Whole Foods, Albertsons, I don’t care. This is food for when you’re sick. Anyway if you’re the person who roasts their own chickens you are reading the wrong damn blog.
  3. Take all the meat off it. Allll the meat. Even the weird creepy parts at the back that serve as an uncomfortable reminder that you’re eating something that used to be alive. If you’re considering vegetarianism, this would be a great time to consider it some more.
  4. I mean, don’t go through with it, since you just bought and partially dismembered a roasted chicken, but keep on thinking, you philosophy major, you. Consider the ethics as you sneak scraps out of the bowl. You’re just like me, kid. Let’s get coffee and be pretentious about environmentalism sometime.
  5. Boil the bones. For a while. Like two hours? Until you get bored of worrying about whether or not you’re going to somehow explode your house by having your stove on for that long. This is a good place for things like a chopped-up onion, a bunch of mashed or minced cloves of garlic, some salt, some rosemary, some chopped-up celery, some cumin, and whatever the hell seasonings you want to go. Because it’s stock. Which should taste like something.
  6. My washing machine is making super safe noises right now. Just, really encouraging fast smacking sounds. It’s eleven o’clock, so you know I’m super considerate of my roommate, who just got home from work and probs wants to kill me because she’s trying to sleep. My b, hon. I did not consider this at all before I started, and that’s before you were even here, anyway.
  7. what am i doing. right. soup.
  8. So to get the bones out, you can either be really coordinated and do the whole bit with a strainer and pouring it into another container, or you can just…get a slotted spoon and hope for the best. I am going to leave it up to you fine folks to figure out what I recommend.
  9. Soup is pretty easy, so at this point you pretty much just turn up the heat under the stock, throw shit in it, and wait.
  10. Suggestions! Chicken, obviously. Carrots. Green onions. Hot sauce (always). Grapefruit juice (trust me, especially if you’re making this because you have a cold, but if you’re iffy on spicy food then be careful, because the citric acid makes everything burn a little bit more). Lime juice. Black beans, maybe. Maybe not. It’s pretty good to keep stuff like this simple.
  11. Noodles go last. Check on the carrots; throw the noodles in when the carrots are almost but not quite as cooked as you want them to be. Or rice, if you’re a rice person. I usually am but not this time.
  12. No, not this time.
  13. Someone bring me something a dead Russian wrote when he was drunk and bitter, I need to blink uncomprehending at an ancient tome. Not Anna Karenina. I’d probably empathize with that too damn much.
  14. Soup, y’all. Gives you lots of time to think.

I’ll try to write something less incredibly depressed tomorrow but I make no promises.