Some important thought on the nature of soup
It’s all about the chicken stock. It is the foundation, the bedrock. Everything else depends upon on it. Beware the imitators and the false gods, who come from two places. One, from the supermarket housewives, who raise the golden bouillon idols above their heads in praise. Those pre-packaged, preserved and plastic cubes built in a chemical lab and compacted into neat, tidy shapes like garbage.
Beware also the farmer’s market fanatics. The organic, gluten-free zombie army. Chicken stock is not made by sprinkling soybeans and celery chunks into lukewarm Fiji water. These are false worshipers; chicken noodle soup heretics.
The path to soupy enlightenment is not a rushed one. It must be simmered. Live your lives on low heat, embrace the long wait.
Be not among those who eat before they are hungry. Allow the fragrance to drive you mad.
It is two chicken breasts and bones. Simmered. And simmered. And simmered. With salt. Real salt! Fresh pink rock salt pulled from the deep caverns of the Dead Sea, transported in burlap satchels on the backs of camels and rowed across the Mediterranean to the spice ports of Morocco.
You must build from the bottom. Lay the first bricks. Create the pyramid. Live on low heat.
“Enlightenment must come little by little — otherwise it would overwhelm.” — Idries Shah