Comfort food: Culinary curatives, plain and simple
One winter many years ago, I came home from Florida with a fever and chills. I took myself to bed and dozed, dreaming of the one medicine I knew would work. Where could I get it? I could barely sit up, much less poke around the kitchen for noodles and carrots, celery and onion, a plump chicken and a pot big enough to hold them all. I needed chicken soup, the surefire curative for my sore throat and virus, or at least the palliative. I had another problem, too. Because I'd been away for a week, not only was my refrigerator empty, but I had no restaurant notes. I was a bedridden restaurant critic with no immediate prospect of a restaurant to review for that week.