Mmmm Mmmm Good

So as a result of being under the weather*-ish (as in, I'm not really sick, but I'm not really NOT sick -- it's a long and kind of yucky story that I'm sure I will tell at some point because, hello, I overshare, but let's get this parenthetical over with, shall we? Good), I've been eating a lot of soup.

I love soup.

I was going to describe soup as a hug that you can eat, but that's a little Hannibal Lecter-level creepy and even though Halloween fast approaches, I'm not entirely comfortable with the people who read my blog (hello there!) thinking that I might be a serial killer. **

So how to describe the soup? Here's what I came up with:

1. It's like the food version of your favorite, warmest sweater.

2. It's like a patch of sunshine on chilly day, but in a spoon.

3. It's like a hot tub full of vegetables for your soul.

That's probably enough. You get the point, right?

The beauty of the soup, at least for my particular soup eating purposes, is two fold. One, it's easy on the digestive system because it's mostly liquid. Liquid tastiness. (This is also how I describe martinis, now that I think about it, but a mostly martini diet seems like a totally bad idea right now.) Easily eaten, hopefully easily digested liquid goodness.

Two: it's warm. I don't know where y'all are at, but it's getting CHILLY up here in New England. There's something about holding a steamy hot mug of soup in my hands that pleases me to no end -- it's like being warmed on the inside AND on the outside, and it makes me incredibly happy.

The only thing about eating all of this soup that does NOT make me happy is this: the best soup -- in the world -- is made in North Carolina.

By my mom.

I don't know how to make this soup. Since I'm pretty sure it involves boiling actual critter bits, I don't think I WANT to know how to make this soup*** because, while I'm comfortable knowing that she's done it and they're in there, I don't want to do it myself. She makes this soup only after roasting a turkey or a chicken, and let me tell you:

It's like magic.

It's all turkey (or chicken) -y and rice-y and onion-y and peppery and good. It makes my tastebuds happy, like they are at tastebud Disneyworld and there's no line at Space Mountain. It makes my heart happy because eating it means I'm with my mom. It makes my soul happy because it is filled with love.

Seriously, y'all.

I'm going to visit my family at Thanksgiving. By then I should TOTALLY be feeling better (otherwise, we will be having a serious problem) but I'm still going to dive spoon first into a bowl of the best soup in the universe.

Until then, some other soupy goodness will just have to do.

*Have you ever described yourself as being over the weather? The minute I typed that, I thought, I've definitely said "I'm SO over this weather" but I've never used it in a health sense. "How are you?"
"Over the weather!" Weird.

**I think I should apologize for this entire post right now. I am so overtired.

***Ew. Also, I should mention that on the suggestion of a medical professional, I'm reintroducing some meats into my diet. Carefully.