I’ve been battling a wicked virus. The main symptoms are a cough, exhaustion, and a lost voice. Or an almost lost voice, rather. My talker sounds like a mix between a frog, a purring cat, and a bag pipes (but without the tootling). I’m on Day Ten of nastiness and while I’m functioning well enough, I still have no desire (and possibly no ability) to go running, or even for a vigorous walk.

When my affliction first struck, I bent over backwards taking care of myself: lots of fluids, sleep, cough drops, rest, vitamins, and more sleep. But when the illness drug on, I despaired. I would never get better, it was clear. I would be sick for the rest of my life. So I quit babying myself and slipped into an apathetic stupor. There was lots of heavy sighing followed by violent coughing fits.

Then several days ago I decided I simply had to buck up and kick this thing. I decided to make a killer cure-all soup and eat it round the clock.

I knew exactly which soup I wanted: Italian Wedding Soup. When we traveled to Chattanooga for Thanksgiving, my sister-in-law served us this soup the first night we arrived. She couldn’t have chosen a better post-travel supper. After being stuck in a stale car and subsisting on crunchy carbs and fast food for an entire day, the spinach-packed broth with turkey meatballs was just the fortification I craved. Along with the soup, she served bread, and there was small pasta to add to the soup, but I skipped both in favor of a second bowl of the brothy lusciousness. 

Back home, I bought all the soup ingredients straight off, so earlier this week when I decided it was that soup I needed, I was prepared. I made a double batch. It was so amazingly perfect. Light, protein-packed turkey meatballs, rich, flavorful turkey broth, mountains of silky soft veggies…

We ate it for supper that night, then I had it for lunch the next day, and then I served it for supper again the next night (at which point I called it Deja Vu Soup). And then it was gone. What a bummer.

But guess what? I am better now! Not all better, but notably so. I’m crediting the soup.
 

PS. Along with being a great soup for sickies and the perfect meal to end a long day of car travel, this soup is also a fabulous antidote to All The December Sugar. Serve it pre- (or post-) sugar bomb party and you’ll feel practically virtuous, even if you do end up eating a dozen cookies yourself.

PPS. I went on a run/walk this morning! (I wrote this post yesterday.) It felt amazing, even with the wheezing.

Italian Wedding Soup
My sister-in-law adapted her recipe from the one found on Good Life Eats Blog, and I, in turn, adapted mine from both of theirs.

I recommend using the full amount of broth, and possibly more, especially if you have a rich, homemade stock on hand. I started my soup with less stock, but added another quart during one of the reheats. Towards the end, when we were down to just veggies and meatballs, I was kicking myself for not adding even more stock.

The raw meatballs are rather sticky. I ended up dolloping them onto the baking tray, à la cookie dough, instead of actually rolling the meat into balls.

Considering the fact that ’tis the season for car travel, illness, and sugar, might I kindly suggest that you make a quadruple batch? I suspect it freezes well, though I wouldn’t know for sure, seeing as we wasted no time slurping it into oblivion.


for the meatballs:
1 pound ground turkey
½ cup bread crumbs
2 eggs, beaten
1/3 cup Parmesan cheese
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon each basil, oregano, black pepper, and garlic powder
3 tablespoons minced fresh parsley (or 1 tablespoon dried)

Combine all ingredients. Shape into small balls, or dollop them as though they were cookie dough, and place a sided baking sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes until no longer pink inside. Add to soup, or, if saving for later, place in a container and freeze or refrigerate.

for the soup:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, diced
2 medium carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1-2 quarts chicken broth
1 quart canned tomatoes
1½ teaspoons balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon each dried oregano and dried basil
3-4 tablespoons minced fresh parsley (or 1 tablespoon dried)
1 12-ounce frozen package chopped spinach, thawed, drained, and well-squeezed
black pepper and salt, to taste
the meatballs
freshly grated Parmesan cheese, optional

Saute the onion in the olive oil for about 5 minutes. Add the carrots, celery, and garlic and saute for another 5 minutes. Add the broth, tomatoes, vinegar, and herbs. Bring to a boil and then simmer for about 15 minutes. Add the spinach and heat through. Add the meatballs and heat through. Add the salt and pepper; don’t be shy. Serve with buttered toast, and don’t forget the Parm.

This same time, years previous: in my kitchen (sort of): 4:15 p.m., hot chocolate mix, iced, stuffing, pimento cheese spread, the quotidian (12.12.11), Sunday vignettes: human anatomy, Ree’s monkey bread, and cashew brittle.

My husband is not a list maker. When—if—he manages to scrawl a column of words, that’s about as far as he gets. More often than not, he’ll get up to go do something and then never look at the list again. Or, if it’s a shopping list, there’s a good chance he’ll leave it at home (like he did on Saturday). Even when he remembers to take the list with him, he often forgets to refer to it, which means he is notorious for forgetting key items.

I have tried to help. “Cross the stuff off as you go, hon,” I’d coach. “It’s not hard. At least make sure you read over the entire list before entering the checkout line, okay?”

When my suggestions didn’t do the trick, I took to reading my lists out loud before he’d leave home. “It says fresh ginger,” I’d say, “but I only need a little. Just two or three inches worth.” Or, “The generic seltzer water. And don’t get something flavored by mistake, hear?”

“I know, I know!” he’d huff impatiently, trying to snatch the paper.

“Call me before you leave town,” I’d shout as he hustled out the door. “So I can make sure you have everything!”

To be completely fair, he does do a pretty good job most of the time (as long as he remembers to read the freaking list). It’s just that he’s not … list-inclined.

There is one exception to his I-don’t-do-lists rule. Whenever I get hit—usually on a Saturday morning at breakfast or late at night before bed—with a wave of there-is-so-much-to-do anxiety and launch into an involved tale of all the ways the world is crashing down on my head right this very minute, he’ll listen for approximately 17 seconds (about how long it takes him to judge the severity of my meltdown) before cutting me off.

“Just write it down,” he’ll say. “Make me a list.”

And so I do, and then he does all the things. (Except for the ones he skips. But I’ve learned to compensate for his sub-par list-reading skills by bulking up the list with extra items. That way I don’t get as peeved when he skips a few.*)

I, on the other hand, am a voracious list maker. I make grocery lists, to-do lists, wines-I-like lists, books-I’ve-read lists, food-I’ve-served-company lists, ideas-for-gifts lists, what-to-write lists, and so on. Lists keep me focused, rooted, and productive. They are my coping method for managing the crazy town that is my brain and the chaos that is my house and the whirlwind that is my husband. In other words, lists are my cheap therapy.

My list habit means that I’m always jotting things on bits of scrap paper and then leaving them lay. This drives my husband crazy. He can’t stand all my fluttery reminders cluttering up the surfaces. He’s been hounding me to get a notebook for years. But I don’t want a notebook; I like the transience of scrap paper and the fun of throwing it away when it has served its purpose. Then just a few weeks ago I hit upon a method that makes both of us happy. It goes like this:

On Monday I make my typical to-do list. This list usually includes a section of studies and chores for each of the children, so I can keep track of them, plus my own agenda. Throughout the day, I cross tasks off and add new ones. I also use the list to record phone numbers, recipes, and other random bits of pertinent information.

On Tuesday morning, I start a fresh list, place it on top of Monday’s list, and staple the two together. Then Wednesday’s new list gets stapled a-top the old, and then Thursday’s, Friday’s, and so on. By the end of the week, I have a fat packet of accomplishments. I review the lists and copy over anything that’s still relevant to a new list before discarding the whole pack of scraps (or, confession, letting the packet lay on my desk for another few days).

So that’s my brilliant new method. Aren’t you impressed?

*When my husband read my bulking-up-the-list technique, his eyes grew round. “I don’t…Are you…? What in …,” he stuttered. His shock quickly turned to indignation—You are so bad!—and then laughter, “Are you sure you want me to know this?”

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (12.8.14), okonomiyaki!, the quotidian (12.9.13), smoking hot, a family outing, zippy me, peanut butter cookies, baked corn, and butter cookies.

This same time, years previous: holding, iced ginger shortbread, winter quinoa salad, my kids are weird, raisin-filled cookies, chocolate truffle cake, and the selfish game.