It’s funny what you turn to when you’re feeling poorly.
The advent of a cool breeze and covered shoes from the back of the cupboard carries many things; red wine, investigations of the slow cooker, and a little touch of sickness.
Last week I lost my voice and was a little sooky. It was time to retreat to bed with a stack of books I’ve read before; I don’t want any sharp edges or surprises. I like to know how the story works out.
It’s also time to turn to food that makes you feel like someone’s constantly patting your head and saying with a sympathetic smile….‘sick tori’.
Logic, fables and Amazon all say chicken soup is good for the soul. In the past I’ve been tempted to request a home delivery of chicken breasts, then poach them in chicken stock with a lemon and some parsley stems before shredding the solid lumps of white flesh into ragged threads and eating them with a huge squeeze more of lemon and an egg whisked through just as it’s simmering. The egg then forms spider web spindles across the top, an extra blessing of protein. But soup isn’t always what you crave when you’re not firing on all cylinders.
For The Hungry One being sick is all about packet jelly and cheap ice cream- a lingering crutch from time spent in hospital with burns as a teenager. He’s now learned not to fall asleep in the sun. For my sister, it’s vegemite toast and tea; there’s even a song that goes with it. For my irrepressible 18mth old niece, the best days always involve ‘pesto oodles’.
I couldn’t agree with this tiny force of nature more. So our fridge is now stocked with an enormous tupperwear of wholemeal penne (bought on a virtuous shopping bout at Wholefoods) slumming about in deli-bought pesto, with little treasure troves of pan fried chicken nuggets and ribbons of wilted red onion.
A bowl of that and a little cheeky glass of wine is enough to make even the sookiest of souls feel better.
I’m back.
