Puttering and Chicken Soup Philosophy

Puttering around my kitchen is one of my greater joys. By American standards it is tiny, less than a two giant steps in any direction, and under equipped, but it has the things I need most: good knives, spatulas, potato masher, two wooden spoons, 2 ladles (one for serving), stove top, oven, whisk and food processor, the later being the major necessity.

Some of my French friends produce five-star meals with the same or less. Although I don’t claim to be as a good a cook as they are, I can hold my own. None of them who have eaten my cooking have spit it out, and usually have taken seconds.

Today I decided to make chicken soup because of lots of leftovers: the roast chicken from Sunday lunch, the eggplant Catalan, some ginger, and misc. veggies that were in the frigo. Taste testing I find it’s good and will be a once in a lifetime eating experience: this combination will never be duplicated.

As I watched the liquid bubble, I realised there a story about everything on the stove top.
The teapot was given me by cousins as I was about to move to Europe hand carried from their home in Tennessee by my daughter who had visited them.

The casserole was a birthday present from my girlfriend. Usually this brand costs a small fortune. She found it brand new at a vide grenier for 5 Euros. It has held spaghetti sauces, soups, veggies, casseroles that both of us have shared and even more I’ve eaten by myself.

The dish behind the casserole has bittersweet memories. The lovely man I was living with at the time on the Riverway in Boston in an apartment I adored. It was a cold February morning and we wandered into Brookline Village with its almost English feel to one store that featured unusual household kitchen items. We saw it at the same moment and headed for it. As the French say it was a coupe de foudre. No debate was needed to buy it and the six matching bowls.

Sadly, although he was lovely and we loved the bowl, we were not meant to be a loving couple, more my fault than his. His loveliness was demonstrated in letting me keep the bowl. He has disappeared into another life, and I hope he is as happy as I am.

So today is the day that I will write, putter around my kitchen making chicken soup until it is time to run errands, maybe stop at the café, talk to friends and enjoy puttering in a life I’ve chosen and has far exceeded my expectations.