Matzo Ball Soup
Me with my mom’s matzo ball soup. Definitely not from that weekend. Choose one of the more recent Jewish holidays and it’s probably from that.
I don’t remember much about those few days home before my first appointment. I know there were a few naps in there. I don’t remember who I talked to or what I said. I remember my parents asking me if I needed anything. They asked constantly. I know I must have watched tv but have no clue what it was. Sorry not sorry to my parents if I made you watch something you had zero interest in seeing. Did I shower? I mean, I must have. Honestly I don’t remember doing so. I really have no memory of that time. I think it involved a lot of sitting. That makes sense, right?
Eric and Jen happened to be in NJ that week and had dropped off a care package of candy and chocolate. All my favorites. I don’t think I even opened the packaging. I knew I wouldn’t be able to truly enjoy it. I didn’t really have much of an appetite. Nothing sounded good to me. My stomach just hurt so much. Nothing seemed to make the pain go away. Once I knew I had a giant mass in my stomach, I was so much more aware of the pain. Chris, my brother-in-law, kept walking around their house measuring things to find something comparable to the size of Carl. He finally landed on a tissue box. All I could think of was how is there a tissue box in my body right now? It made my dwindling appetite decrease even more.
On Sunday afternoon I finally had a craving for something. Matzo ball soup. Something comforting was just what I needed. Immediately my dad was getting his keys & wallet to go get me some. He loves an errand. I had asked him to go to Eppes Essen (my preferred Jewish deli). *Please note - this was before I knew Livingston Bagel has the superior matzo ball soup in the Essex County region.* Just as my dad was opening the door to leave, my mom yelled that she had frozen soup in the garage freezer and she could just make a new batch of matzo balls. I knew they both wanted to be helpful and felt like they were able to finally do something. I didn’t know what to do. I was finally hungry and I really wanted soup NOW but also my mom’s is way better than from a restaurant. But it would take so long for her to make it. Fuck me. I just wanted soup - it didn’t seem that hard. My dad started to make that argument for me before I could open my mouth. He told her by the time the soup was ready I wouldn’t be hungry any more. In the end, my mom won. They both walked out to the garage; my mom to get the soup that had been leftover from Passover and my dad to the car to go get me ice pops from the store. They seemed refreshing enough and something to hold me over for a couple hours.
When my dad got back from the supermarket, we sat watching something for a long while enjoying the fruit-filled ice pops. Was it the food network? A Marvel movie? Disney movie? An action movie filled with lots of violence? I don’t know - they all seem like plausible answers. What seemed like 6 hours later the soup was finally ready. My mom came into the den with a little plate for me to test-taste the matzo balls. I took one little bite and said it was very good but I wasn’t hungry any more. My dad proudly said “I knew it would happen”, looked at me and just laughed. I felt bad, my mom had spent her afternoon trying to make me feel better but I just couldn’t muster even one small bowl. I told her I would have it for dinner and the next few days since I didn’t foresee my appetite fully coming back in the very near future.
When I did eventually eat it many hours later, it was one of the most comforting and delicious meals I ever had. I sat wrapped up in a blanket, snuggled up on the couch with my parents. They tried not to stare at me every time I took a bite. I just smiled and slowly ate my child-sized bowl of soup. I don’t know what it is about matzo ball soup that just makes everything better. Is it ingrained in my jewish DNA? Is it because I grew up in the NYC Metro area and fully understand what proper jewish cuisine is? If you say it’s jewish penicillin I might actually throw up on you. I HATE that phrase. Like I really, really hate it. It immediately makes me picture an old timey giant metal needle that’s filled with questionable yellow liquid. Don’t ruin one of my comfort foods for me. Anywayyyyyyy, back to the soup. I felt safe and comforted and warm (yes it was June but just go with it) while eating it at my parents house. I would not have predicted that over the next few months I would be sent quarts upon quarts of matzo ball soup. None of them compared to my mom’s but they all did make me feel a little better.