I don’t know if this is a case of life imitating art or the other way around and who gives a shit? I have this writing affliction and if too much time goes by between my sit downs, a creative itch begins to invade my innards. We are in that zone right now and I haven’t wanted to write about what seems to be on everyone’s mind these days, which is the direction this country will or will not be taking. The chorus of voices is already way too large and I have no interest in being just another one. On top of that, we have barely begun the cluster fuck that awaits us all, so I’m in no hurry.
Well, what is Seinfeld to do when he is surrounded by such bigness? You go small, my child. We happen to have caught me in the midst of a milestone culinary moment. I am making a soup today, which probably seems to you like no big deal, but it is huge for me. It is the equivalent of busting a Howard Hughes eccentricity, because I haven’t cooked a meal of any kind for myself for at least four years, not one. Boiling water for coffee or throwing frozen fruit into a blender does not get a single point.
I find myself on the cusp of beginning to prepare the chicken and sausage, vegetable soup, which will come to life in a recently acquired crock pot, a freakin’ crockpot, for God’s sake! Now, to be fair, the lightening bolt actually struck nearly a week ago. My friend, Jim, gave me a couple of sausages he had made. I had no idea what to do with these pork filled, pecker-shaped, smokey-smelling objects. Seemingly, out of nowhere, the electrifying moment struck and I decided at that precise instant to get some eggs and make an omelette. In the film world, this would be considered the coming attraction for the real production of the Greatest Soup Story Ever Told. I was actually able to eat that concoction. My new found confidence was all I needed to launch me on today’s culinary expedition.
It is Sunday and always my favorite day to ride my motorcycle, Flaming Lips, with the Sons of Kauai. The morning started terribly overcast and drizzly, making a decision to cut it short pretty easy. I am battling a damn cold, with a curdling cough and a cotton ball brain floating just above my shoulders. The moment I got back here, I thought about risking it all and going for the soup. I found myself entertained by the prospect of undertaking this challenge and how much fun I could have with it on the writer’s half of my Gemini split personality. The writing pressure was looking for its outlet and this was perfect. It would also take my mind away from how lousy I feel, a kind of creative therapy.
Every meal has to start with some kind of recipe. Mine was procured on the internet, what a shock! I am sharing this with you because I don’t think it is proprietary and I feel good about making it available to the world:
2 cups of chopped chicken (a Costco bird)
Several of Jim’s obscene sausage
2 tablespoons butter
3/4 cup chopped onion(already chopped and in the bag)
1 table spoon minced garlic (store bought)
1 cup chopped celery (had to do that myself)
1 cup diced carrots (diced in the bag)
7 cups chicken brother (in the box)
2 chicken bouillon (good spelling bee word) cubes
Assorted seasoning in a box (Jim gave it to me and have no idea what’s in it)
Bear with me because I am going to make a point at the end of this story, but we have soup to make first. I’ll see you after I have gotten everything into the crockpot, a contraption I have never used before.
Time is so much fun and so inexact. While this is merely the next paragraph for you, it has been around an hour for me, during which time I semi-religiously followed the precise instructions in the above recipe. I can now report we are in the crock pot and the clock is set for six hours, my own version of Mission Impossible. Time is clicking down as we speak, but it is too soon to feel the build of tension, the moment we lift the lid and send in a soup seeking spoon. This heart stopping moment is many hours from now.
When I thought about doing the soup story this morning, The Big Chill came to mind. It is a film about a group of old friends getting together after not seeing each other for fifteen years. The frozen dreams of college kids find themselves under the bright lights of the passage of time. They hang around together in a dialogue heavy story with a fabulous sound track. It was very popular around 1983. I had this cinematic flash of me flying around in the kitchen, making my soup, serenaded by my favorite music, slightly loud for the afternoon decibel etiquette. Music tracked every scene in that film, most all the action taking place in and around the shared house. In today’s film, the only dialogue is this script and all I hear are my favorite sounds, in the familiarity of my private Theater of Larry. At this moment, Ride Em Down, a cut from the Stones new studio album, Blue and Lonesome, is filling all the empty space around me. You find a better soul medicine than music.
You must listen to Leonard Cohen sing Democracy and read the poetry of his words. This is what I am talking about. It immediately followed the Stones and seemed perfectly timed.
The only task remaining in my mission is to taste the soup and report back. This would now make it the perfect time to make my point. We are on the verge of waking in a snow globe world, violently shaken upside down. The falling sharp shards are going to cut many of us, depending upon the color of our skin, what we hold dear and the size of our bank roll. The very first thing to do is to find joy where we can because anger is a poison that only thickens our skin and desensitizes us. Without joy, there is no compassion and without compassion, there is nothing at all.
Well, I just tasted the soup and it is pretty damn good. I started the soup and this story about eight hours ago and I am pleased with the results of both. I end my small day, filled with the joy of making a delicious few days of dinner for myself and sharing it with you, only the words and not the soup. This is how I want to be in the uncertain time ahead. Find the joy in your own soup and keep the world out of your kitchen.