When I was little, two of my favorite foods were my grandmother’s chicken noodle soup, and her homemade chocolate fudge. I often had tonsillitis, and soup was the only thing I could eat. It was soothing. In a pinch, I would settle for Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup and the chocolate or peanut butter fudge sold at state fairs. But it was Monna’s recipes I loved best. To this day, a good bowl of chicken noodle soup makes me feel wrapped in a blanket of love. Even if I have to make it myself.

It’s no wonder, then, that my mother asked her mother to share the recipes. And Lord knows, she tried. Over the phone, Monna listed the ingredients for soup: a whole chicken, water, salt, noodles. Nothing too difficult about that, right?

My mother’s first attempt at soup-making turned out tasting like hot water with chunks of chicken thrown in for texture. We salted it and salted it and salted it - we probably poured half a container of Morton’s salt into that pot of soup just to make it edible. What could have gone wrong? How hard is it to boil a chicken, cut it up, and add some noodles? My mother got on the phone and called Monna. “What am I doing wrong?” she asked. They went over the instructions again, one step at a time. “I did all that--wait, what did you say about chicken broth?”

My grandmother had neglected to mention something about a can of College Inn chicken broth. I’m sure good Jewish mothers everwhere will cringe at our family recipe, but making our own soup stock never came into it. Neither did chickens’ feet. And if you promise not to stick your nose up in the air about that, here’s the real recipe:

one whole chicken (rinsed well to the tune of “Singin’ in the Rain”)

salt

3 - 4 14.5-oz. cans of chicken broth (do not use 100% fat free or low sodium, unless you’re on a weird diet and under a doctor’s orders)

medium, crinkly egg noodles (the wide kind tend to get soggy)

1) Rub some salt over the whole chicken and add a pinch of salt to the body cavity.

2) Put chicken in a large pot, breast up (like it’s doing the backstroke).

3) Add cold water (just enough to cover chicken, for modesty’s sake).

4) Bring water to a boil.

5) Skim off any foam that rises to the surface of the water, and discard the foam into an old coffee can. If you rinsed the chicken really well, there may not be much to skim; if you did not sing all of “Singin’ in the Rain” while rinsing, you may need a larger coffee can.

6) Reduce heat and simmer chicken for 45 minutes to an hour.

7) Remove chicken from water and place on a plate. Let cool, or you’ll burn your fingers.

8) Add canned chicken broth to the water, cover the pot, and bring it to a simmer.

9) When the chicken is cool enough to handle, cut all the meat off the bones (being careful not to break the wishbone - set that aside for later) and tear meat into bite-sized chunks. Discard skin, fat, bones, and other inedibles.

10) Return chicken chunks to the pot and bring to a boil.

Add egg noodles and boil for seven minutes (or until they are al dente - cooked but still firm), then remove pot from heat.

11) Serve with tossed salad and French bread.

Bonus: When the wishbone has dried completely, choose one person you love to share it with. Make your wishes, then pull the wishbone apart. If you’ve chosen your friend wisely, you’ll both get your wishes - otherwise, the winner is the person left holding the longer piece of bone. The loser gets to throw the bones in the trash.

If you thought you were going to get a recipe for chocolate fudge out of this newsletter, I’m sorry to say I’ll have to disappoint you. I have no clue how to make fudge. I have watched my grandmother make it; I have even helped her, “testing” the chocolate by rolling it into a ball in a glass of water. But the success of fudge-making seems to hinge as much on the convergence of the perfect barometric pressure, humidity, atmospheric heat, and magical influences as it does on ingredients and directions.

Once again, my mother tried to make fudge, following Monna’s instructions. (She double-checked and triple-checked that she had every ingredient and every step covered.) Unfortunately, the weather was too humid, too warm, too highly pressured, or the pixie dust was old - in any case, it turned out to be the best chocolate soup we ever scooped out of a pan with a spoon. It wasn’t fudge, but it was delicious.

I’m sad to say that my mother - perfectionist that she was - never did overcome the humiliation to pass on the recipe for chocolate fudge soup. You’ll just have to experiment in your own kitchen, making fudge, until you get it wrong.

Puditat wrote:

Jessie, what a fabulous editorial. Those chuckles have set me off on a great start to the day. I'm going to make my husband read it - when he gets out of bed, that is.

Kenzie wrote:

Thanks for the reminder about one reason I don't miss Texas. I had forgotten about how many guys spit at the traffic lights.

Vivian wrote:

Ooooo, gross! You never fail to surprise me, Jessie my girl.

windac wrote:

Being the mother of 3 boys (and one of those would be my husband), this issue hit home! Thanks for the giggle so early in the morning!!

The Milkman wrote:

As a male, and although I can't speak for all of us, I think your editorial is completely unfair to the part of my gender that does not live below the Mason-Dixon line or in Texas. I've never spat, tested the velocity of, or aimed taste-bud induced liquid at anyone. Spitting is absolutely, positively, despicable behavior that I don't condone or participate in.

I hope in your next newsletter you talk about the non-sugar and spice that side of the human species that you belong to do... like nagging, complaining and hiding the remote.

Silver is 2 to the 5th Power wrote:

I was in a restroom stall one time and someone had written:

"The capitol of Canada is Ottawa."

Bathroom graffiti should be educational like that far more often.