My sweetie made chicken soup for our dinner and it came out wonderfully. It is not a traditional American soup, but one with pastene, spinach, and chicken with mozzarella on the bottom that melts as you eat the soup. Since he was going by memory from when I made it last, he did good.
It's been over 10 years since I last had this soup. It actually can bring tears to my eyes when I eat it. It is a recipe that is closely tied to my deceased Italian grandfather. Traditionally, we would have a holiday dinner at his house, beginning with this soup, then pasta, then salad, then the main course with its side dishes, with little or no room left for all the delicious desserts.
My grandfather died when I was 9, so I never had the chance to tell him of my adventures in Europe; travelling to his home village, having complete strangers dig around for the marriage records of his parents on their lunch breaks. In fact, I missed the chance to ever really talk with him since I didn't learn Italian until a few years after his death.
Only later in life do you realize the wealth of knowledge that could have been known if only the right questions had been asked.
Twelve Days of Boots: Day 10 by The Pioneer Woman
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