For months, a debate has raged in New York as several groups have come out in opposition to the proposal to erect a mosque and Islamic cultural centre near the site of the former Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre. In the wake of a Landmarks Preservation Committee ruling that paved the way for the construction of the new centre, Mayor Bloomberg delivered a stirring speech in defence of civil rights and freedom of religion, and a poignant reminder of the most basic tenets of American liberalism.

The Islamic centre has been opposed by any number of prominent theo-conservatives and Republicans, including Pat Robertson, who has perverted the word and message of Christianity to a near comical extent. He has suggested that the terrorist attacks of September 11^th were a result of homosexuality, paganism and feminism; that several Protestant denominations harbour the spirit of the Antichrist; that former Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon’s stroke was punishment from God for offering land to the Palestinians; and even went so far as to encourage a nuclear attack on the U.S. State Department. And of course who could forget the septuagenarian’s claims that he can lift 2,000 lb with his legs as he tries to move his energy shakes (I swear, I’m not even making this stuff up).

Other notable opponents to the mosque include former notable Sarah Palin, who has apparently taken time away from decrying government contraventions of personal and religious freedoms to encourage government contraventions of personal and religious freedoms.

Sadly, even the Anti Defamation League came out against the proposal for fear that the establishment of a mosque near the site of the attack would cause undue pain for some. The ADL, whose mission is to “secure justice and fair treatment to all,” seems to have fallen short of their lofty goal. If all human and civil rights were subject to the ADL’s new litmus test, civil rights would not exist.

On September 11^th, 2001, America – not Christianity – was attacked. In the course of the attacks and the subsequent war in Afghanistan, thousands of Americans lost their lives. Jews, Christians, Muslims and many others. They were not attacked by Islam. They were attacked by extremists who perverted the word of the Quran. Islam as a whole can no more be held responsible for attacks carried out in their name than can Christianity for the Crusades and other attrocities carried out in the name of Jesus.

There are many places that the peaceful, mainstream word of Islam is needed, including the streets of Baghdad, Kandahar and Khartoum where radicals are having so much success perverting the word of a principally peaceful doctrine. But America is also sorely in need of a reminder that their war is not with Islam, but with a group of Islamic extremists.

If it was the religious and moral freedoms of America that made them the target of the 9/11 attacks, then there is no greater show of resolve than to erect an Islamic centre in the shadows of ground zero. Such a show will demonstrate that no action – no matter how despicable – can undermine American freedoms and that America has room for all people willing to embrace tolerance above all else.

You can read Mayor Bloomberg’s speech in full here.

Soon enough, though, I was taking in equal parts coffee and water in a day. Friends and coworkers used to laugh with incredulity at the oversized latte cup from which I would drink my coffee – preferably dark roast, always black – nearly buckling over in a fit by my third or fourth trip to refill the cup. Yes, I was drinking an inordinate amount of coffee. I was drinking the equivalent of about 12 cups a day, five days a week.

Since then, I’ve cut down my coffee intake substantially, even withdrawing entirely for about a year (after realizing that at only 25 years old I had hypertension and lacked an at-rest heartbeat). But the bill has also climbed since I discovered Americanos (a watered-down espresso shot). Unwilling to spend a couple of hundred dollars on an espresso maker, I had to turn to the professionals. On average, I’ve been spending between $5 and $10 a day on coffee, not including the muffins and carrot cake that I’d often get to go along with it.

That all changed yesterday, when I stopped by the post office to receive the Aerobie Aeropress that I recently ordered. After reading up on the Aeropress from coffee aficionados online, I was convinced that this was the real deal and worth a try. With the Canadian Aeropress distributors charging $32.95 for the machine plus more than $12 for shipping, I turned to eBay where I found one new (in its original packaging and all) for only $20.99USD plus another $11 shipping, bringing the total to about $35CDN.

The contraption is simply two tightly fitting plastic tubes. When the rubber-ended tube is inserted into the larger tube, the smaller one creates pressure that forces the air down, which in turn pushes the water through the coffee grounds, creating a shot of espresso. Because the process takes only 20-30 seconds, the coffee never develops even a hint of bitterness.

Not only did the Aeropress create a lovely and smooth cup of coffee in next to no time with little effort, it even made good on the company’s promise to eliminate grinds at the bottom of the cup (something which can render the last bit of my store-bought coffees undrinkable). At the end of my first cup, I inspected the cup. To my great surprise, I could not find any leftover coffee grounds at all. And cleanup was as easy as advertised as well, with the used grounds easily falling into the trash in the shape of a delicious puck, and the pieces needing only a quick rinse.

Where most products promise more than they can possibly hope to deliver, the Aeropress works exactly as advertised. I was so impressed, in fact, that I went ahead and ordered another so that I can keep one at home and one in the office!

If you like your coffee but don’t like the high prices or just want a hassle-free espresso maker that doesn’t occupy too much real estate at your desk or on your counter, I would highly recommend looking into the Aeropress.

The affable Hage seems at home in his restaurant now. A large LCD television has been installed in the corner; his website which promises online ordering and eventually deliveries looks to be about ready; and on Friday he seemed barely able to contain his excitement as he showed off the newly installed granite counter tops encircling the restaurant.

If it sounds like I’m familiar with his operation it’s because I’ve become something of a regular. It has gotten to the point that when a new staff member (I was also there enjoying a falafel when she was being interviewed and subsequently hired) was confused about the location of take-out plates, I pointed out the appropriate cabinet to her. As I said, I’ve spent a lot of time there. But it’s a difficult place to resist, particularly for someone who has been lamenting the lack of falafel in this town for more than three years now.

Hage’s personality is a big part of it, as well. His excitement and enthusiasm are undeniable and makes the big man seem the perfect host, right at home behind the counter or wandering out front to chat up his customers as he can often be found doing.

In talking with him, he makes no secret of his feelings for some of the negative comments to which he’s been subjected in online message boards and blogs. He feels much of the criticism is unwarranted and takes particular pain at the suggestion that his food and restaurant are not authentic. His protesting makes abundantly clear to all who listen to him that he’s more than just a businessman concerned about the ill effects of negative reviews on his bottom line. He’s clearly passionate about food and about sharing his culture with Victorians. To question its authenticity is to question his own.

Like all restaurants, there are some bumps along the way as Beirut Express establishes itself. Those hurdles are only made to seem larger when presenting a foreign food to a customer base that thinks they know what to expect. Many Victorians, for instance, don’t understand the gulf between Greek and Middle Eastern foods and expect to find tzaziki on their shawarmas and falafels and the thicker, buttery pitas that typify Greek offerings like gyros.

For the record, as someone who has eaten falafels everywhere from Ottawa to Winnipeg to Vancouver to the Harvard campus (yep, you read that one right) to a little hole-in-the-wall stand in Jerusalem’s old city, I can vouch for the food’s authenticity. And it’s come a long way since my first visit, which showed infinite promise but clear signs of the challenges the new spot was facing. The meat for the shawarmas is much juicier – a result of the staff gaining familiarity with the process and the equipment, no doubt. And they’ve added toppings, as well, with my favorite being the very traditional pickled turnips (it sounds strange, perhaps, but it truly makes the dish). They’ve also gotten much faster in preparing orders and the prices have come down. Hage said that he just felt bad that customers were paying so much once taxes were included. So he lowered his prices. I also had the opportunity to sample some delicious baklava that should be making its way to the restaurant’s menu soon.

If you’re looking for a quick bite in downtown Victoria and are looking for something a little out of the ordinary, stop in at Beirut Express with an open mind. Try the shawarma. Or better yet, try the falafel with pickled turnips and hot sauce.

So with another coworker turning 34 on Bastille Day, I was now facing the same self-inflicted challenge: how would I recognize this milestone while remembering that this particular coworker – while a tremendous fan of food – has no great affinity for most birthday cakes. I considered making the Rebar carrot cake, but couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the project. After taking some time to mull it over, I settled on croquembouche. For those unfamiliar with it, croquembouche is simply a mountain of cream puffs. This, I reasoned, would not only serve as a suitable challenge for my own abilities (given that I had only made cream puffs once with a friend, under the expert eyes of Lora Lonnesbery at Creating Occasions and had never made the pastry cream that the puffs would be filled with), but would be an impressive feat and would appropriately recognize the birthday boy’s French blood and the French holiday with which he shared the day.

I will not share the recipes here, as they came from Lora. There’s lots of recipes for both choux and pastry cream available. If you’re interested in Lora’s own recipes and learning from her years of experience at the Fairmont Empress, I would encourage you to get in touch with her directly and to enroll in her choux class. It was certainly money well spent.

I made the pastry cream Monday night and then made the choux, baked the cream puffs, filled them with Lora’s vanilla pastry cream and made a quick chocolate sauce which I dipped the puffs in in order to hold the cream puffs together in their tower. As for the results, I think the photo accompanying this post will serve as evidence enough of success. The croquembouche was undoubtedly a visual and gastronomic success, impressive to both the eye and the palate.

I chose to simply stack the puffs rather than use a styrofoam or paper cone as recommended by some bakers. The result was imperfect in its structure, but fun to put together. While time-consuming, each step in the process was rather easy and the only equipment required was a heavy-bottomed sauce pan to cook of the choux and the paste cream and a pastry bag with two tips, a large to form the cream puffs and a small for filling the baked puffs with cream.

After a bit of time, the cream puffs became uniform and stopped looking as if they had cancerous growths on the side (though the misshaped puffs seemed to go unnoticed by my grateful coworkers). I am entirely confident there will be more croquembouches in my future and hope to experiment with bacon and espresso-flavored pastry creams next time around.

Now the only question is what to do for the next birthday.

Going to a Jewish school meant that we had a few additional treats throughout the year to look forward to, though. On Chanukah, there were sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts), celebrating the custom of partaking in fried foods on the holiday. For Purim, we were given hamentashen, a three-cornered cookie traditionally eaten for that holiday. And then there was Yom Ha’atzmaut, which celebrates the Israeli declaration of independence. For this joyous occasion, my classmates and I were treated annually to a very special lunch: falafel.

Throughout the years of my childhood, falafel was a food reserved for special occasions, either Yom Ha’atzmaut or Folklorama, Winnipeg’s annual multicultural festival. As I grew older and gained greater control over my own eating habits, falafel took a more prominent place in my eating habits.

My love of falafel was only heightened by my first trip to Israel in 2006. Like hot dog stands in North America, falafel stands are ubiquitous in Israel and at only a couple of sheckels, a delicious and filling falafel shouldn’t run more than a dollar.

Wrapped in large, slightly chewy and light pitas (nothing like the dense pitas that you’ll find at most grocery stores in North America) or taboons (like a pita, but it doesn’t have a pocket), they are then filled with falafel balls – fried balls of ground chickpeas and/or fava beans, along with spices (usually coriander and cumin) and onions – as well as hummus and usually some combination of red/green cabbage, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and a host of other toppings, which may even include French fries, rolled into the wrap. The sandwhich is then dressed with tahini and harissa-based hot sauce.

Since moving to Victoria more than three years ago, the absence of a quality falafelry has weighed heavily on me. While it’s possible to purchase a poor imitation of a falafel virtually anywhere (Pita Pit, etc.), any real fan of falafel would hardly recognize it as the same sandwich. So you can only imagine my delight when a few weeks ago I noticed that a new restaurant called Beirut Express would be occupying part of the old Shiki Sushi on Fort Street.

Since opening on Canada Day, I’ve been to the restaurant three times – twice for falafel and once for a shawarma. The staff have been unfailingly friendly, though stopping in on Monday they could be forgiven if – during their first weekday lunch rush – they seemed a bit disorganized. For those accustomed to getting a quality falafel or shawarma for only a couple of dollars (something that’s possible even as close as Vancouver), you might be surprised to find the prices for a falafel or shawarma at eight dollars before taxes. Sure, it’s Fort Street in Victoria and rents aren’t cheap. But my personal belief is that street food – which both falafel and shawarma are certainly – should not cost more than five dollars.

The falafel wraps aren’t particularly big, and the topping choices are limited to lettuce, tomatoes and onions. Truth be told, the falafel was merely average. But an average falafel in Victoria is exceptional. The lamb in the shawarma was a bit tough, hopefully something that will be corrected once they’ve gotten their legs under them. Overall, the shawarma was only okay. For a five dollar shawarma, I expect better. For eight dollars, I expect much better.

I can’t emphasize enough that the business is new and they should be granted some time to get it right. In the meantime, so long as the customer service stays at its current level (as well as the falafel) I will celebrate the fact that after three years, Victoria finally has a legitimate falafelry.

Spring is a wonderful time of year, with ready access a plethora of affordable and delicious fresh herbs, fruit and vegetables. At the same time, it can be a bit daunting trying to determine what to do with it all. I’m not just randomly mentioning this conundrum. While baking the carrot cake with Rose the other night, her roommate asked me what to do with a large batch of mint she had been given.

My initial response was the same as I imagine most people’s: mojitos and mint-chocolate cupcakes. But I wanted to give her a better response than that, so I thought I’d sit down and come up with some ideas for her. I did this the same way I would normally try to decide what to do with a single ingredient: I searched tastespotting.com. For those of you that don’t know it, it’s a terrific resource, pulling recipes from all over the web and letting you browse through the photos and descriptions and only read the ones that sound/look good.

What follows is some of the highlights from my search. I didn’t get through all of them (there were 29 pages of results) I should also point out that Rose’s roommate is not especially confident in her cooking skills, so I tried to limit the selections accordingly:

Sauces/Dips
Veggies and green pea dip
Mint pesto
Lemon-cardamom and mint dressing
Fruit salad with mint sauce
Tzatziki
Mint chutney

Pasta, Rice and Grains
Red bell pepper salsa with mint on rice
Minted grape couscous
Green pea pulau
Garganelli with prosciutto and peas
Orzo with chickpeas and mint
Bulgur salad with fresh mint and hearts of romaine

Sides
Melon, mint and feta salad
Sauteed radishes with mint
Smashed peas with mint
Roasted carrots with chile, orange and mint glaze

Drinks
Lime, strawberry and mint squash
Apple, avocado and mint smoothie
Mint and lime iced green tea

Others
Mint lamb meatballs
Mint chocolate chip cookies

Wednesday night after going for a run in the rain (a Victorian experience if ever there was one), I spent the evening as Rose’s baking assistant. Like myself, it seems Rose had gotten herself appointed head baker for her office and was going to prepare a carrot coconut cake from the Rebar cookbook for her co-worker’s last week of work. I’ve tasted this recipe before (Rose brought me a slice after our second date) and have to say that it’s really very good. I had been to Rose’s before but had never spent any time in her kitchen, so this was going to be a first for me.

I should probably start by saying that I’m meticulous when baking. Baking – unlike cooking – tends to be very precise and requires precise measurements. I like to weigh my butter and flour rather than relying on measuring cups. I try to follow a recipe as closely as possible and consult conversion charts and ingredient substitute lists regularly. When a recipe calls for some sort of tool I don’t have, I will more often than not go out and get it, rather than trying to make due without (with obvious exceptions, of course), which also helps explain the lack of room in my cabinets and drawers.

Rose does not roll that way. No, it seems that the girl whose afraid to cross the street if there’s a car within a 35-block vicinity will take any number of risks when baking – approximating proportions (and on occasion not even close), substituting ingredients on the fly, tossing things in the oven without a timer… She has a couple of bowls, a couple of knives and a half a spatula. Needless to say, she’s a lot more fun to bake with than I am.

As it did the first time I tasted it, the cake was delicious. I just don’t have the guts to bake like she does – and, I suspect – like people have been baking for generations.

The carrot coconut recipe is available on the website, in the Rebar cookbook, or below:

1 1/2 cups (360 mL) grated carrots
3/4 cup (180 mL) crushed pineapple
3/4 cup (180 mL) unsweetened coconut
3/4 cup (180 mL) chopped walnuts
1/2 cup (120 mL) chopped dates
3/4 cup (180 mL) vegetable oil
3/4 cup (180 mL) brown sugar
1/3 cup (80 mL) white sugar
3 eggs
2 tsp (10 mL) vanilla
1 1/2 cups (360 mL) unbleached flour
1 1/2 tsp (7.5 mL) cinnamon
2 tsp (10 mL) baking powder
1 tsp (5 mL) baking soda
1/4 tsp (1.2 mL) salt
1 1/2 tsp (7.5 mL) ginger
1/2 tsp (2.5 mL) freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp (2.5 mL) allspice
9 oz (270 g) Philadelphia cream cheese
(firm block, not spreadable)
1/4 cup (60 mL) unsalted butter, softened
1 tsp (5 mL) vanilla
3 oz (90 g) white chocolate
3 cups (720 mL) icing sugar, sifted

1. Pre-heat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour two 8″ round cake pans and set aside. Combine grated carrot, pineapple, coconut, dates and walnuts in a large bowl. In a separate mixing bowl, beat the sugars with the eggs. Stir in the vanilla and whip on high until the volume has tripled. On low, pour the oil in slowly to blend in.

2. Combine the remaining dry ingredients and gently stir into the egg mix. Fold in the carrot mixture. Divide the batter among the cake pans and smooth the tops. Bake 30 minutes, until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

3. While the cakes cool, prepare the frosting. Beat cream cheese on high until smooth and fluffy. Lightly blend in vanilla and butter. Melt white chocolate in a double boiler over medium heat. Add hot melted chocolate to the cream cheese mixture. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and mix on high again until smooth and fluffy. Slowly add icing sugar, stopping to scrape down the sides now and then. Beat on high until all the sugar is well incorporated and the frosting is light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.

4. Spread bottom layer with one third of the frosting, smoothing it evenly to the edges. Chill 10 minutes. Place the top cake layer on and frost the top and sides as you like. Garnish with toasted coconut, walnuts and/or a decorative piped border. Store refrigerated where it will keep well for up to 4 days.

With the advent of shows like Cake Boss and Ace of Cakes, the stakes have been raised for the casual home baker. Sure, nobody really expects you to be able to make a fire-breathing cake or one with moving pieces, but in the back of your mind, you still want it to impress that way. There was a time when making the cake look like the relatively humble but attractive photo in the magazine/book/website you found it on was a lofty enough goal. Now even that seems too trivial a goal.

For casual bakers like myself, getting a cake onto the table can be a bit of a struggle in and of itself. First you have to pick a recipe (a complex goal in and of itself in the age of world wide webbery). Once you’ve picked your recipe, then you have to prepare the batter and actually bake it. Just knowing when the cake is ready to come out can be a significant enough challenge (for the record, I have learned to rely on two tests: inserting a cake tester in the center of the cake, as well as gently pressing down on the cake – a cooked batter will spring back, where a raw batter will just sink).

For some of us, this is where the real challenge begins, though. Now admittedly, I tend to be much harder on myself than my friends and coworkers. Let’s be honest… When most people hear the words “free cake,” the last thing on their minds is how well the cake was iced. But when you’ve invested your time and energy into a project, you eventually get tired of prefacing the introduction of it with “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it really tastes good.”

Difficult though it may be to admit, my cakes are never going to look like Duff’s or Buddy’s. That’s okay, though. After all, you don’t generally get yourself a television show by doing what any shmoe can do themselves. Still, sometimes you really want your cakes to make an impression.

Recently, my coworkers volunteered me to bake a cake for a fellow co-worker’s last week of work before going on maternity leave. Not content to just make a run-of-the-mill cake, I began searching online for ideas and stumbled across a variety of baby-related cake moulds, including a stork, a rattle, etc… Without a week or two to wait for one of these moulds to arrive via mail, I quickly sent an email to Lora Lonesberry, owner of Creating Occasions. I know I’ve blogged about taking cooking/baking classes at Creating Occasions before, but it’s also a fantastic resource for baking/cake supplies.

I stopped by the store and began to leaf through their catalogue of moulds when I stumbled onto a three-dimensional duck cake mould. My eyes lit up with the wonder of a four-year-old as my mind began to reel. When I asked Lora how complicated this would be, she explained that it was actually rather simple. It turns out that you don’t just bake two halves and connect them. Rather, you fill one half with batter, attach the top half and the top half is simply filled by the risen cake.

Imagining the look on my coworkers’ faces, I knew that this was a cake I just had to make. I paid a paltry $3.99 to rent the mould for a day (that’s right, you can rent the moulds rather than buying one for a one-time baking and being stuck with it – and the bill that goes along with it – forever).

The mould came with a full set of instructions on how to bake and decorate it (with a couple of options depending on your taste and skill). The instructions offered that even boxed cake mix would work – although I prefer to bake my own with fewer chemicals – but that chocolate or yellow cakes (from a mix or from scratch) would be the best bet for their density.

As you can see from the photo, the cake baked without a hitch. Because of the size of our office, I decided to add a cake pond below the duck (using a flourless chocolate cake that I reasoned would be sturdy enough to support the weight of the duck). The only thing I’d do differently next time is to use a crumb coating (a thin layer of icing which captures the crumbs, resulting in a smoother, more professional final product. Unfortunately I was running short on frosting, so I had to skip that step.

To no surprise, the cake was a huge hit! I adorned the cake with four little ducks that I bought at Creating Occasions (they’ve got cake decorations for just about every occasion) for each of the expectant mother’s four children (well, three and a fetus at the time) after my search – and Rose’s, too – for marshmallow Peeps proved a fool’s errand more than a month after Easter.

I’m never going to be Duff or Buddy Valastro. I’m okay with that, though. Especially if I can still impress my friends and coworkers with only the pittance of skill that I already have!

It happened again last night: someone called me a foodie. It’s a title I wholeheartedly reject and did so as animated as ever last night when confronted with the label. After all, I reasoned, when it comes to food, I’m anything but a snob! I love Happy Meals and refer to McDonald’s as a charming little Scottish bistro, for God’s sake! A foodie can’t embrace the golden arches! And McDonald’s isn’t even my only trailer-park-chic treat. When I feel like I’m waiting on death’s door, I long for instant mashed potatoes (a revelation that thoroughly shocked my friends). 

And that’s not all… I love macaroni and cheese with sliced hot dogs! I recently shared this last tidbit of information with Rose, half expecting her eyes to roll right to the back of her head and watch her march out, alarmed at the realization that she could have been wasting her time with such a hillbilly. But rather than check for signs of inbreeding, she actually told me that she enjoys it herself and instantly started craving it. So there was no question in my mind what I wante to make her for our next meal. Still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to crack a box of Kraft Dinner (known by the late, great comedian Richard Jeni as “the poor man’s pasta”) for a woman I was courting. 

My mother – to my recollection – never made us “real” mac and cheese, only the kind from a box. I wondered whether it was possible that I’d like the real deal as much as the low-brow version. As I began to look for recipes that did not include neon orange powdered cheese on the ingredient list, it occurred to me that Saveur magazine recently did a feature on mac and cheese. They offered four recipes: a four cheese mac, a super creamy version (though the use of Velveeta seemed to me to undermine the entire goal of upscaling it), a version with lobster and a classic version that let cheddar be the star.

I opted for the last of the four. I made a few changes – I used whole wheat pasta, fat-free sour cream, substituted aged white cheddar for the sharp cheddar called for, left out the onions (as much as I hated to do it, it was a nod to Rose’s stated hate for onions in any form), added a cup of panko bread crumbs tossed in some melted butter for s crunchy topping and quickly pan roasted some chorizo in place of the dogs. I served it all with some oven roasted broccoli, with just a bit of extra virgin olive oil, some lemon juice, garlic, salt and pepper. I do love pairing brocolli with something cheesey and gooey!

The results? Rose was suitably impressed, which was really the ultimate goal. The macaroni and cheese was good for sure, but got much better the following night as a midnight snack! Would I make it again? Absolutely! But will it due as a substitute for the neon variety? I’m delighted to cement my reputation as a non-foodie by saying that I don’t think anything could replace Kraft Dinner with bits of hot dog for me.

I’ll be posting the final recipe here shortly, but in the meantime, please feel free to peruse the original recipe, courtesy of Saveur magazine.

As children, we all have certain things that we turn to when we’re sick. For some, it’s a favorite blanket or pajamas. For me, the first person I turned to when I was coming down with a cold or already afflicted was my grandmother. Like all good Jewish grandmothers, my Bubby would always have some of her chicken soup in the freezer – the Jewish cure-all, often referred to as the Jewish penicillin. There was nothing that chicken soup couldn’t fix.

Like so many of the age-old remedies, modern medicine has, in fact, demonstrated that there’s something to this great wisdom passed down through generations of Jewish mothers. It turns out that chicken soup can have a mild anti-inflammatory effect.

Sadly, the oft cruel hands of time have taken their toll. It’s been years since my grandmother has been able to cook for the family the way she used to. Now that I’ve moved half way across the country, I’m definitely on my own. So when Rose gave me her cold, I decided that it was time to take matters into my own hands. At the same time, I had no desire to spend five or six hours watching over a pot on the stove.

So I pulled out my slow cooker, which had been sitting idle on a shelf in my kitchen for nearly a year collecting dust since I bought it. I roughly chopped a few carrots and a few stalks of celery, quartered an onion and chopped a head of garlic in half and pulled a chicken carcass out of my freezer that I had the good sense to hang onto after roasting it off a few months back. I covered it all with water and let it cook on high over night. That’s it – no peeling the onions or garlic, nothing!

I woke the next morning to an unmistakeable smell that instantly had me smiling – chicken soup! Of course it wasn’t quite ready. I tossed the cooled bowl into the fridge while I went off to work. When I got home, I skimmed the layer of solid fat off the top and poured the whole thing through a strainer to remove the vegetables and chicken. I put it back in the slow cooker and let it all reduce for another four hours or so. After it cooled, I put it back in the fridge, taking another stab at removing the fat.

The results were truly something special. It’s not that the soup was especially noteworthy or even as good as the soup my grandmother would serve me as a child. But that simple, humble broth – only vaguely reminiscent of my grandmother’s own – was enough to transport me to that time when I was a child turning to my grandmother for the soup that would make everything better.

At the end of the day, don’t we all want to revert to children when we’re sick? For me, a bowl of soup is all it takes.