Chicken Soup for the Nostalgic

One thing about living in Lompoc that I've discovered (to my astonishment) . . . there is no deli here. Most of you might not be at all surprised. But me--who pretty much grew up in L.A.--it never occurred to me that people could exist without life's basics: homemade chicken soup, bagels, blintzes, lox, latkes, borsht, pastrami on rye, and so on.

I was so oblivious I didn't even notice until Passover was upon us. Oy.

That day I bought frozen blintzes, Thomas's bagels, and Kraft lox flavored cream cheese. They were all completely awful. Beyond awful. Way beyond awful.

I progressed through Elizabeth Kubler Ross's stages from denial (oh google, dear google, surely there has to be a deli around here somewhere) to depression (oy vey ist mere) before flirting with acceptance. But then I had a blinding revelation. I--yes me, Gina, the Undomestic Goddess--could make my own Jewish food. Somehow I would learn. And then I remembered that MovieMan (who was WorldTraveler this time last year) bought me a great Jewish Cookbook for Christmas.* Things were looking up.

As Mother's day approached, I thought about my mother and my grandmother and the line of Undomestic Goddesses I am descended from. I craved deli chicken soup with light fluffy matzo balls.

Surprisingly, I do know how to make chicken soup. When my mother was ill and dying from the lung cancer I made her a huge pot of chicken soup every week and she ate it all, even while struggling through chemo. But I didn't know how to make matzo balls. My friend Lisa (who is my cooking guru from across the country) assured me they were easy and with a bit of seltzer, they'd be light and delicate.

So . . . I started with the soup a day in advance. Onions, carrots, celery, lots of garlic, peppercorns, left over bits of chicken that I'd been holding in my freezer and a pack of cheap (but all natural) chicken legs from TJs.


Three hours later it was a rich broth.


I strained out the bones and wellcooked veggies and meat until it was clear, reserving the chicken fat (schmaltz) for my matzo balls.


The next day I decided to add noodles (in retrospect I wish I hadn't--they didn't really improve it), cooked up a carrot, and started to prepare my matzo meal into the stuff of memories.


I watched, I squeed, I made a little dance when I saw my matzo balls take on girth and look like, well, matzo balls!


And then the DH and I sat down for a lovely, nostalgic, hearty, comfort meal and I have another two quarts of the broth in the freezer.

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* yes I realize this is a bit of an contradition, but we're Christmas-Jews in my family.