Feels like home

It’s pretty simple to make, but it’s definitely not good for you. As with anything you cook, it takes patience and precision. You chop the bacon into small, even pieces, and fry it in the pan. As you hear it sizzle and pop and the oil jumps up, threatening to burn your forearms, prepare onions for sauteing. Cook them in the leftover bacon grease, letting those flavors mix in a cacophony of sound. Add flour to start a roux, the fancy part of the soup that people always burn, then the stock. When you pour the stock in, it’ll make a harsh sound, scalding your pot as it adjusts to the heat. You’ll then add milk and potatoes, simmering until the potatoes are soft and fluffy. When this happens, you stir in as much cheese as you can get your hands on, sour cream, bacon, and spices.

Ladling it into a bowl will create a cloud of fragrant steam that will make your mouth water. It feels creamy, smooth, and warm. It’s perfect to share with friends, family, or enjoy on the couch with a movie. It reminds me of my dad — my mom says we’re the same, even down to our choice in soup.

I love to cook, so it’s only right I choose something that’s almost mindless to make. But maybe I should have chosen pozole, the red kind, the one my mom spends hours preparing for the night before, meticulously cutting the pieces of pork to be just the right size. She yells at me for cutting the cabbage too long, and I think she’s crazy until I start trying to slurp cabbage that’s way too long to fit in one bite.

I take it back.

That’s my favorite. Just because of the memories. It’s made for holidays, birthdays, parties, and after-parties filled with family you rarely see — a cure for hangovers I’ve yet to experience, and my choice over menudo any day.