Just after lunchtime, but before I had a chance to stop and eat anything, I found myself near mom’s favorite restaurant. What the hell; I went in.
Mom’s tastes were a bit expensive. Mine are too, but she could afford it. I can’t. I looked over the menu and realized that the only thing I could possibly afford was the clam chowder. This was mom’s favorite soup. I’m sure they make it with heavy cream. It’s a heart attack in a bowl, and even when I’d stop to get it for her, I’d only allow myself a taste. When she was doing chemotherapy, there were days when this soup was all she could eat.
Since it was all I could eat, I ordered it. The familiar taste and rich, comfort food texture brought me right back to those days. I was back in the kitchen, ladling soup out of a cardboard container. It was the worst best soup I’ve had in a long time.
