How many of us waltz into the kitchen, our tummies rumbling and angry, just to open cupboard after cupboard to end up empty-handed in search of food? Well, it happened to me… again… when I was sick and groggy… and the results, let me say, weren’t pretty.
At the beginning of my journey I found some delicious strawberries that I sliced and devoured in no time. I don’t know about you, but raw fruit and vegetables do not fill the endless pit called my stomach. So, back to square one. I dragged my heels into the kitchen, opened up the fridge for the thirteenth time and, deciding to quell my cold, chose to make soup with the big bag of not-quite-bad-just-yet broccoli.
Broccoli! Soup! SOOOOUP! I was excited. And scared. And a little bit delirious. And very very hungry.
So here I go, cutting the broccoli and bringing out the rest of the ingredients only to find out that the things that make soup layered and full of depth were slightly rotten or nonexistent in our kitchen. The poor heads of garlic were sprouting green shoots and turning funny colors while the onions, hoarding together for mere survival, were soft and unappetizing.
At this point I had gone too far. What would I have done with 3 cups of chopped florets? Give them to fat Max the cat? No, this soup had to be made with or without the things that make it delicious. If you can’t tell already, this is where it all started to go wrong.
In a big-ass pot, I tried to saute the broccoli. Or maybe I sauteed something else, my memory isn’t too clear on this one as I tend to block out horrific things. Anyway, a bunch of damn broccoli started to cook in the pan. At this point I tore through the kitchen wearing my fuzzy red bathrobe with used tissues hanging out of the pockets looking for some stock. Vegetable stock, animal stock, human stock – at that point anything would’ve done the job.
After pouring boiling hot water over petrified cubes of concentrated matter, I added that liquid to the mess of broccoli in the pot. To add to my frustration, after seeing that our immersion blender was dirty and not wanting to clean it, I grabbed a potato masher and started going at it. Those broccolis had no chance… Poor, poor broccoli.
Next, in order to thicken the soup I made a roux. ‘Made’ being the operative word. Unfortunately, the only fat I had on hand was Becel and in my haze of sickness, I think I added about a cup of the plastic yellow sludge to the few tablespoons of flour in the pan. Please note: don’t ever use a cup of Becel for anything. ANYTHING. That shit is unnatural and if you aren’t on death’s door like I was, prepare yourself for that journey.
After the roux was mixed into the big pot, the soup did thicken. Hey, I thought, this is going pretty well! Poor naive Alanna… please, please never cook while sick again. Whatever that concoction came out to be, it was not good. It tasted like straight up Becel. No broccoli flavour was left. Just good ol’ Becel. Mmmm, mmm, mmm. What sick person doesn’t want their already sensitive mouth coated with some man-made fat? Exhausted, I threw it in a container to take to my parent’s place. Hey, I didn’t want it to go to waste even if it tasted like monkey-sack rubbed dirty socks.
Now, after failure, what does everyone do? DRINK! I swung that fridge door open, took out some Grapefruit Pellegrino, and poured it into 2oz. of gin. Tanqueray, to be exact. Had to finish the bottle otherwise I would’ve tried my Christmas bottle of Spirit Bear Gin, produced locally in Kelowna. After momentarily downing a few sips and forgetting what I was in the kitchen for, I remembered that I still needed to eat something!
When times get tough, the stomach’ll settle for anything. And anything was some suspicious looking cooked chicken breast. Only God knows how long that meat had sat in the fridge. Figuring I was already sick, I wasn’t really taking a chance at food poisoning… So I grabbed a couple slices of multigrain, the aforementioned super-dead chicken, some about-to-go-bad grape tomatoes and lettuce, and a wad of hummus to make, surprisingly, one of the tastiest sandwiches my tongue has ever had the pleasure of touching. That was a damn good sandwich! My mission was accomplished!
Slinking back onto the couch to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race, I devoured that sandwich and treated myself to one more alcoholic drink. Man, after that whole three hour debacle to find something to eat for supper, I definitely deserved it.