The Flavor of Nostalgia [and a recipe for Chicken Noodle Soup]
There's something magical about a bowl of soup that carries more than just nourishment; it holds memories, warmth, and the unspoken language of love. I've always believed this, but the sentiment took on a deeper meaning when I began making soup the way my grandmother used to.
My grandmother, whom we lovingly called 'Grammy', had a ritual that was as predictable as it was cherished. Her visits were like whirlwinds – we called them “drive-bys.” No sooner had we heard her car in the driveway than she was already through the door, moving with purpose towards the kitchen. Her arms were laden with goodies, but it was the homemade soup, carefully wrapped in a plastic container inside a bag, that made my heart leap. “How’s my favorite grand-daughter?” she’d ask, her voice ringing with warmth as I rushed to squeeze her tight. We were all her favorites, all eleven of us. It wasn't just a greeting; it was an affirmation of our bond, a reminder of the countless times her soups had been a comfort and a celebration.
If I hold my breath and sit quite still I can recall how she smelled, a mix of her home - of the food cooking on the stove, of something floral, and the faint fumes of moth balls. I can feel her arms, in mine, cool and soft and wrinkled. There was something comforting about the loose skin under her upper arms; I'd grab and squish it playfully, something my son now does to me, calling it ‘squish’. These small, tender moments form the mosaic of my memories of her.
Grammy was a whirlwind of practicality and tradition. She infused love into everything – her soups, her preserves, her plants, her presents, and the warm cups of tea she’d make me whenever I visited. She was the embodiment of home, something that I yearned for. Her questions about sticky buns from Stauffer's, the local grocer – "now, are you the one who liked the walnuts, or is that your brother?" – were more than just about preferences. They were her way of saying she remembered, she cared.
In moments of reflection, I can almost hear her voice, clear and distinct, like a telephone operator from a bygone era. When my brother and I bickered, her humor and wisdom were our guides. Her playful threat, “where do you want the lump?” could defuse any tension with just a twinkle in her eye.
As time has passed, the absence of Grammy has grown more profound. The clarity with which I remember her often makes it hard to believe she's gone. I yearn to know more about her life, the woman she was before I was born, the stories left untold. I want to know how she navigated motherhood, did it bring her the joy it brings me? I want to know how we were similar - her strength and gentleness woven with hard-working hands and etched in my heart.
Now, as I stand in my kitchen, stirring a pot of soup just like she used to make, I am transported back to those days. Each ingredient, each stir, feels like a conversation with her. I want to carry forward her legacy one day, to be the kind of grandmother she was – filled with love, practical wisdom, and the magical ability to turn simple ingredients into something extraordinary.
Soup season isn't just a time for warm dishes; it's a season of reflection, of connection, and of passing on traditions that bind us through generations. As the soup simmers, I smile and a lump forms in my throat thinking of Grammy. I miss her so. In this simple act, I find a profound connection to her and a way to keep her memory alive, one bowl of soup at a time.
Regrettably, I don't have any of my grandmother's soup recipes. I'm not even sure if she followed any or simply created them with whatever she had in her pantry. What I do vividly recall is the comforting taste of her chicken noodle soup, always rich in broth with egg noodles, and seasoned simply with salt and pepper.
Chicken Noodle Soup
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1 tablespoon minced garlic
3 stalks celery, chopped
3 medium carrots, chopped
3 cups cooked, shredded chicken (I tend to use rotisserie)
7 cups chicken broth
2 cups cooked egg noodles
1 tablespoon whole grain Dijon mustard (my own secret ingredient)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/4 cup finely chopped parsley
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Boil water in a small saucepan and cook half a bag of egg noodles aldente.
While the pasta cooks, heat oil in a large Dutch oven or pot over medium heat. Saute onions, stirring until tender, about 5 minutes.
Add garlic and cook, stirring for 1 minute. Add celery and carrots, cooking and stirring until tender, about 5 minutes.
Add chicken, broth, mustard, salt, pepper and parsley. Stir and reduce heat to low.
Let simmer until ready to serve. Place noodles in bowl first and pour soup over top. Add a crusty warmed bread and a cold day and you have yourself the flavors of nostalgia.
Serving size leaves leftovers which are even better the next day.
