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On chicken soup. And succour. And comfort.

Length: < 1 min

Whilst reading the @ticecin Tice Cin book, “Keeping The House”— which deserves every one of the many inches of printed-praise that’s come its way — I was time and again reminded of the centrality of food in lives. The heroin being smuggled in cabbages is somehow both the least and equally most central of this writing.

Chicken soup, comfort, support, warmth, cliché though it may be but whether tinned from the supermarket or corner shop or one that’s taken a day or so to prepare, starting with bones, carcass, skin and fat, rendered down, boiled fiercely or less so, the added spices and herbs and sliced and diced vegetables (or not). Do you keep the golden fat or discard it. Keep it. Of course. For now or for later, that’s liquid gold.

Part of a chicken being cooked off, with the golden fat already rendering out into the scratched bottom of an old frying pan.
©BRADY KLOPFER
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