on a really cold night, I always crave for soup. Usually something more substantial or heart vs the more clear and serous types. But sometimes, even a rich nicely flavored broth can warm the coldest of the nights...

Whenever we'd visit our grandmother over the winter break. The train ride itself was enough to get us kids excited.

But the biggest thrill was always her cooking especially her soups.

she raised her own chicken by today's standard would be called organic and free range but back then it was just the way it was.

I didn't know it back then, but "exterminating" one of those chickens (sorry to all the vegetarians out there) was a big deal but she always would "do away" with one or two of them during our visits.

A lot of times, one of them would be used for stock.

(Vegetarians, cover your eyes here)

She had a big pot that resembled more of a cauldron and the first process was to bring that pot to a boil, then put the whole chicken with feathers et al (insides removed but kept for other things) very quickly into the pot and then taken out and placed on the prep table.

This was where my brother and I would come in(our cousins too if they were around) to pluck the chicken feathers.

after the feathers were pluck, we were sent out to play in the banana tree orchards and the sweet tater fields while she cooked cause by this time of the year, most of those would've been harvested already and the fields would be empty and made great battlefields for us kids.

One time though, she did let me stayed and watch what she did and I really felt special and grown up.

The whole chicken would sit in there while she would prep the veggies and other delicacies. Pork was often another theme because it was cheap.

the bacon back was often used and cooked in salted water with a touch of sugar to raise that stock then watered down later (but that's another soup for another time...)

some floured type flat cakes/breads would also be prepped to go with the soup. One of my very favorite was flour mixed with water and a little bit of oil and sprinkled with scallions. Then it was flattened and fried first til both sides were lighty brown then baked in the clay oven where she would squat over the pit and use a big feather fan to fan the fire with...

when the aroma of the onions mixed with the rising of the flours mixed with the earthy robust smell of the clay comes out, I couldn't help but growl my stomach, always....

as these were being prepared along with other dishes, she would tell me stories and always, on how to be a kind and gentle human being and how to look up to people that were to be positive influences.

I had a cousin that was 10 years ahead of me and he was a top student as well as a well rounded person/athlete. She always mentioned him and had high hopes that one day that I would be like him and I remembered that I wanted to make her proud.

I was a weakling that always coughed and wheezed to the point that one of my biggest fears of visiting grandma was that she would take me to the doctor's...LOL

there's something about that cold kitchen that starts to warm up when the fire gets going and the breads start to bake and the stock begins to boil that melds together and I just wondered that I could sit there forever...

after the stock was raised. The chicken was taken out and chopped and drizzled with some type of sauce and herbs(I am thinking Leeks were heavily involved. LOL) and set aside. The stock was enough to make two different types of soups.

There was always one that was more hearty and the other one more liquefied.

the hearty one, depending on what she had on hand, usually had some type of turnip (raddish) and other veggies. That one gets cooked down with flavorings of a pinch of this and a tad of that and then covered.

The liquefied one was more easy. Spices in, bring to a boil, thicken with corn starch or arrow root and then after brought to a boil again, beaten eggs were dropped in and topped off with a dash of sesame seed oil.

when dinner time came, one would've thought that there was a party even though there would just be the five of us. If the cousins and aunts and uncles were there, it would be just the same gigantic feast.

(Alpho, kinda like my mom cooking for you and Mr. Alpho, eh? LOL She got it from my grandmoi. )

it really made us feel special seeing a full table worth of food. I think that's where my indulgence of foods came from. (by today's standard that would be a waste but hey...*shrug. LOL)

We'd stuff ourselves and talk and laugh and have a great time. In our culture, soups were served last to offer a cleansing of the heavy meals.

I always start with the meaty hearty soups then the liquid soups.

the bite into the hearty soup ate like another small meal and everything in it just blended harmoniously in your mouth. The flavors of all the ingredients rotated inside while a hint of garlic and a hint of onion and a hint of spices along with surprises of unknown veggies were absorbed within the palate. Even after swallowing it. There were often nice surprises of a sweet after taste that seemed to linger on.

by the time we moved onto the liquid soups, we would be pretty full. But the liquid soup did seem to cleanse the fullness out especially when helped with a crunchy yet fluffy onion bread that was first ripped apart by hand then sopped in the soup and finaly melted in the mouth like cotton candy.

The nutty flavor of the sesame seed oil and the smoothness of the eggs along with bread melting in the mouth brought a mellifluous finish to a hearty meal.

In the days when we didn't have heaters and the nights were cold, soups, breads, and laughter really brought a dulcet ambience to all senses that lingered within me til this day even when I sit down with a CAN of Campbell soup...I am reminded that sometimes, it's the memories, that can make the soup taste better....