As much as chicken soup is lauded as a cure for what ails you, and is perhaps the quintessential comfort food (it even has its own series of books for goodness sake), I’d like to disagree. You see, to me soup is fine when you have the flu and are eating mostly liquids, but when your soul needs soothing, soup is a little too light duty.
I had a severe case of the blahs last week. I felt uninspired, bloated, and a couple of shades of blargh. Holly Golightly would have called it the Mean Reds. Whatever you call it, you know it is not fun. So there I was, prostrate on my couch watching Pride and Prejudice for the 4th time in 3 days when I realized I needed to eat. I had a kitchen full of vegetables and fruits and healthy options but at that moment I wanted none of it. Ten in ‘10 be damned, I wanted biscuits.
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