F***ing Chicken Soup

Every once in a while I have to dig through the archives of this blog for something or other and sometimes I find a little gem – something written by me or one of our writers – that just gets to me. Brings it all home, as they say.
I was digging through the archives today, and found the following from November 2005.
So sit back and relax, and enjoy the fucking chicken soup.

Fucking Chicken Soup
I felt like making chicken soup last night. The weather people spent all day yesterday telling us a cold front was coming through yesterday evening. Cold fronts are few and far between in Miami and there’s nothing quite like good old comfort food when it’s a little chilly outside. So I called the Mrs. and told her Id be making dinner and that I’d be going to the supermarket on the way home.
It didnt really hit me until I was in the turn lane to enter the Publix parking lot. I’m sitting there waiting to turn thinking to myself Man, there’s a shitload of people doing their groceries today. No sooner had I thought that when the epiphany struck me: it’s the Monday evening before Thanksgiving. Everyone and their grandmother is going to be stocking up for the big meal on Thursday.
But at this point I was committed. I wanted home made chicken soup and home made chicken soup I was going to have. So after about 5 minutes looking for a parking space and another 5 minutes trying to find a cart, I finally made it into the store.

It was a feckin’ madhouse. Like rush hour traffic. Un hormiguero. Literally hundreds of people pushing their carts around – rather slowly I might add – and stuffing them to the gills with food stuff. It was incredible.
But I was dauntless. I was going to make chicken soup last night even if it took me three hours to get the ingredients.
Pushing the cart through the aisles was almost impossible. Not only were they packed, but the usual suspects that stop and leave their carts blocking the aisle while the read the ingredients on a package were ubiquitous. The kind of people who have no idea others are waiting for them to move their sorry ass shit out of the way – or could care less for that matter.
So I devised a plan. I parked my little cart in and small space away from the aisles in the fresh seafood section (Hardly anyone buys seafood for Thanksgiving) and then I would walk back and forth from the different aisles where my recipe ingredients were located.
First, I decided, the chicken. I walked over to the chicken section and stood there for a second. There’s whole chickens, chicken breasts, boneless chicken breasts, boneless skinless chicken breast. Leg quarters, skinless leg quarters. Chicken quaters, skinless chicken quarters. Chicken legs and thighs, boneless chicken legs and thighs. Six packs, 4 packs, family packs. Chicken giblets. Seasoned whole chickens. A good fifteen feet of coolers solely for the purpose of providing you with a choice of chicken. Hundreds of pounds of cut and sold chicken in every which way imaginable.
And Im standing there in the chicken area trying to decide whether to buy the family pack of chicken thighs with or without skin – Do I save a few pennies and remove the skin myself or do I just by the skinless pack? – with people all around me doing the exact same thing when it dawns on me. What the fuck does it matter what fucking chicken I buy? It’s fucking chicken for crissakes. Chicken! For fucking chicken soup!
I know Ive written entries like this before but this shit happens to me every time I go into a damn supermarket. I complain to myself about the amount of people there and how you have to go through all the freaken aisles of food upon food and how sometimes there’s so many damn choices I get frustrated when I think What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck am I complaining about? Im a Cuban with a million fucking choices for fucking chicken.
As I stand there in front of the million fucking chicken choices, there’s some poor Cuban guy my age in Cuba whose probably not even able to get chicken, much less have a choice as to what chicken. The ration cards dont give you an option as to boneless or skinless. Breasts or thighs. Leg quarters or wings. Fryers or roasters.
The ration cards just say “chicken.” One per family per month.
So I bought the skinless thigh family pack for my chicken soup. Because I could, because Im free and because I have choices. And because fidel castro doesnt control my fucking chicken.
I did the exact same thing with every other ingredient for my chicken soup. Calabaza, malanga, Idaho potatoes and onions. Celery and carrots. White mushrooms and fresh garlic. Spices and salt and pepper.
And I made a huge vat of fucking chicken soup, para cagarme en la madre de fidel castro, his fucking revolution and his control of someone else’s fucking chicken.
Best fucking chicken soup I ever had.

1 thought on “<i>F***ing Chicken Soup</i>”

Comments are closed.