Watching the cooks whip a giant heap of dough into soft, chewy, and delicate noodles is one of my favorite memories from my time there. I especially miss the small, unassuming Muslim noodle shops full of the most amazing dishes with handmade noodles. So, to comfort myself, I feed myself, and all is well in the world for those few beautiful moments. Since leaving China for 10 days and never being able to return I often find myself overcome with waves of grief over the loss of such amazing food. Tomatoes are one of them (or are they a fruit? Well, anyway, you know what I mean). There is a very limited range of produce available at the nearby village fruit and veg stand, but I am learning to make do with the 5 kinds of vegetables regularly available. I just need a soul hug and soup is the closest thing to it. Then I remember it’s been 2020 for a whole year and I am in constant need of a hug, and a bowl of soup is like a hug for your soul. There is something so comforting in soup, isn’t there? What is it that makes it so? Here I am in the Philippines, in 110% humidity and sun a-blazing, and you know what I want?Ī big bowl of soup.
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