In preparation for the husband's surgery, I reminded him that he will need to keep something in his stomach to avoid any side effects from pain meds. Crazy me, I asked what he might want us to have on hand.
"Patsy would've brought me matzo ball soup."
Yes, she would have. It would've been on our front porch before we returned home.
They had a very cantankerous relationship so it cracks me up that he wants her soup. Of course, I don't know how to make it. I can make chicken noodle soup or chicken and dumplings. I can make a mean chicken pot pie.
I called her husband. "Did you save any of Patsy's recipes?" Of course not, they were all in her head. I called her daughter. She talked me through it but ultimately, she is as clueless as we all are -- add this to taste, season to taste, etc.
I made the soup. It's not as good as Patsy's but we're enjoying it.
I used to make meals for her too. The last thing I made her was chicken enchiladas.
Food connects us all.
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2 comments:
It's the thought (and effort) that counts.
Matzo Ball soup was one of the choices at Cafe Patachou today but I chose the tomato artichoke. Next time I will get Matzo Ball. Hope Dan is polishing his clubs for tomorrow. Patsy
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