I don’t know a whiff of psychology and have no meaningful advice to dispense on the key to prolonged happiness, but whenever I’m in a funk, I make soup.
I’ve found there’s something mysteriously therapeutic about the process of roasting off bones with some veg, adding a fistful of woody herbs like thyme or rosemary and slow cooking a fresh broth while you putter around your house. After 2 hours, you can add anything you want, it doesn’t matter, a fresh homemade broth is as impossible to mess up as blinking.
This is an Irish Stew I made last winter. I woke up not feeling it, spent 4 hours eyeing the pot while I drank some cheap pinot and watched football, by 2 o’clock I was back on track.
PS: My favorite place for soup recipes is Saveur Magazine. The Irish Stew is in there somewhere. http://www.saveur.com/tags/soups
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