I am incredibly lazy about soup. It's not a difficult dish to make, but I often end up obsessing about the nuances. It's not just a hot bowl of liquid, but flavors that need to be tweaked and balanced. With my obsessive need for perfection in soup, borne from a lifetime of my mother's perfect broths, I've given up.
Last week, I arrived home from a fabulously fun dinner and my throat felt a little scratchy. I chalked it up to too much wine and too little water and went to bed. The next day, the sore throat was worse, along with some heavy congestion. That was last Tuesday. Today, I'm still fighting the last dregs of the cold, which yo-yo'd from bedridden to 95% and back.
At least, it's not like last year's plague.
