If you’re looking for me on a Sunday afternoon, check first in the kitchen. Whenever possible that is where I retreat on Sundays to cook- to cook something for Sunday supper that will stretch into the busy week ahead. It’s been so cold this winter that more often than not what I cook is soup- Sunday soup. “Sunday soup?” you ask. Yes- Sunday soup. Sunday soup begins with inspiration, otherwise known as leftovers, from the fridge. Today it was the remains of a small chicken I’d roasted with bacon, leeks, and shallots a few days ago.
I placed the carcass (minus the bacon) into a pot and poured two boxes of chicken broth over it. I know, I know, the broth should be homemade. Well, the best I can do right now is to enhance the boxed stuff with a good hour of simmering with chicken bones. Anyway, once the broth took on a deep honey color, I strained it, salvaged a bit of meat from the bones and threw that back in the pot with the broth, and took a taste, trying to decide what herbs to add. I’d been tempted by fresh dill at the grocery store earlier today, perhaps because it screamed Spring and let’s face it, we are all ready for Spring. But after simmering with the leftover carcass, today’s broth had a decidedly earthy taste and delicate dill wasn’t going to work. I settled on thyme and fresh pepper. After adding a few grinds of pepper and several shakes of thyme, I began chopping- potatoes, carrots, celery, and onion. No rhyme or reason, and no recipe either- that is just what I had on hand. I swept all of that off the wooden cutting board into the pot, added a little salt and walked away. Sunday soup isn’t a precise thing, and it doesn’t require much work or attention. In my mind, whatever goes into that Sunday soup pot just has to figure out a way to coexist with the other ingredients in there. Usually, it works.
We ate soup by the fire tonight, and I just tucked the leftovers into the fridge for another night this week.