Cure the Cold Soup

I've had a killer headcold for the past few days and I made or ordered up really spicy food two days in a row to try and shock it out of my system. This was the first recipe I made: Mussels and Scollops in Lemongrass Curry Broth. HOLY BEJEBUS this was good. It was the perfect amount of mussels with a couple bay scallops in there as a break, the noodles were toothsome, and we sopped up the broth with hunks of ciabetta.

I made a little shy of three servings of this four-serving recipe and Evan and I were sated and stuffed. Although the recipe says fifteen minutes, it was closer to 30 since I needed to scrub my mussels. I had bought them at Whole Foods that morning and the nice boys actually went in the back to get me the ones that had been delivered 20 minutes ago. If anyone knows a good fishmonger nearby please let me know. My definition of a good fishmonger is one that will scrub mussels for me multiple times (even though they only cost a couple bucks) and know that eventually I will splurge and buy some sushi grade tuna or Maine Lobsters.

I was momentarily excited because I thought I had a winner for Auntie JoJo and her Young Man. They are our absolute favorite people to host but as far as my personal cooking repertoire, the worst to cook for. She can't eat any dairy, prefers to not eat poultry, and he is a Forgiving Vegetarian (ie: he's not going to throw a fit if there's a touch of chicken stock in that otherwise veggie soup, God bless him). JoJo's Young Man has become the new beneficiary of the little pans of Gruyere Mac-n-cheese I make whenever I make a big batch. I used to throw them in the freezer and whenever Mister Fuzzy, the husband of Auntie Katy (the other half of the Dairy Intolerant Twins) would visit, I'd slip it to him and he'd take it home and gorge on that sweet, sweet cheese while Katy ate a salad or fish or whatever sad thing the dairy allergic eat.

But then -- WAAAH-WOOOH, as Oscar would croon to me, I remembered: no mussels for Auntie JoJo. BOO. People in SoCal: I am taking applications for people who are ready to share this meal with us. Let me know. I guess you could just make it yourself but what's the fun in that?

The next night: too lazy to make dinner (keep in mind that I am deathly ill and have the kind of head cold that makes one feel that one had a couple of whiskeys, neat) we ordered sparingly from our local Thai place. A big bowl of tom yung gum cleared out my sinuses for a bit, but the next morning I still woke up with a stuffed up nose and a perpetual sneeze always behind my nose.

So it's time to bring out the big guns. My Cure the Cold Soup. I've developed the recipe (well, it's not really a recipe, more of a series of suggestions with food involved) over the past 20 years. I posted this picture on Facebook and a couple of folks have asked me for my recipe.

Yes, I do post a lot of pictures of my stove on Facebook. This happens for two reasons: I really love to cook and I hope that I'm pretty good at it (and I don't have any freelance work and I will take my kudos where they come) and also I like to thank the folks (NTodd) who gave us expensive, useful pots and pans for our wedding. We use them every day and we really do think of you when we use them.

So, Cure the Cold Soup. I developed the recipe when I lived in Northampton, MA. I tweaked it in NYC. I refined it in Westchester, and perfected it in Northern NJ. And now I've lightened it in California.

First: the stock.
Take all the verging on dead veggies in your crisper. For this one, I had half a bag of questionable baby carrots, a couple elderly half-onions, the stems of my most recent bunch of parsely, and the chopped-off tops and ends of all the celery in the fridge. Toss in all those chicken bones you've been saving in the freezer, or if you're like me and your freezer is full of Trader Joe's food, toss in a couple of bone-on chicken breasts. (You could certainly use wings and legs and thighs, which are cheaper and result in a better stock. But my sweetie is not a fan of dark meat, so we use the bone-on breasts. Bone-on breasts! Tee-hee!) No matter what you use, strimp the skin off beforehand. You will not find a bigger fan of crispy chicken skin than me (okay, my beloved mother-in-law gives me a run for my money) but fat and skin does not help a stock. Get rid of it when it's easy to.

Most importantly: roughly chop up three-four heads of garlic (papers and all) and toss them in with a few Parmesan rinds, which you can get dirt cheap at Whole Foods. Just ask them for some rinds and they will be happy to slice them off and sell them to you for 2 or 3 bucks a pound. The three rinds that I put in this stock cost less than $1.50 and transformed it. It's worth the expense.

Barely cover the whole lot with cold water, bring to boil. Lower the heat to a simmer, cover (with a crack open) and simmer for a good hour or two. DO NOT STIR. Let it be. If you are using a couple pieces of chicken, remove them when they are done, about 30 minutes or so. And then let it be.

When the cheese rinds are gummy and the garlic is soft, position a strainer over a bowl. Dump the whole lot in and use a wooden spoon to cram as much liquid out of the muck as you can. Be sure to smash all those garlic gloves into the stock.

Return the stock to the pot. Taste it. If it's not chickeny enough, toss in some Better than Boullion or some Knopf powdered bouillon. Those are the best I've found that don't leave a chemical aftertaste.

If you didn't use chicken in the stock making, put in a couple boneless chicken breasts. Simmer until mostly done and remove. Chop them up when they are cool enough to handle.

Throw in a couple chopped carrots. A minute later, a couple chopped spuds (unskinned red potatoes are the best but use whatever you have). A moment later, a few sliced celery stalks. When they are about five minutes away from being done, put in some cheese tortellini. We like the tricolored ones from Costco. Four minutes later, add in the shredded chicken from the stock or the chicken breasts you cooked in the stock.

Heat it all up and add a full bunch of fresh dill, chopped. (Not the stems.) Taste, correct the seasoning -- salt, pepper, you might need a bit more bouillon dissolved in hot water. The difficult bit is timing the soup so that you still have a minute or two to correct the seasoning before everything is cooked.

The chicken, the garlic and the dill all end up as a magical elixir that knocks any cold on its bottom. It's a day later and I have emerged out of my head fog. The kids won't eat the soup, but I can pluck out hunks of chicken, carrots and tortellini, position them inches away from each other on a plate, and 1 out of 3 of my kids will eat it. That's a pretty good ratio for us.

Try the soup. It's good stuff.