Day 286: My mother made amazing potato soup. At least I remember it as being the best potato soup on the planet. She turned a simple soup into an art form. There is a reason this is a comfort food for me. Her potatoes were diced so small, they fell apart in the soup, making it thick and creamy. Sometimes she skipped the raw potatoes and used mashed or baked potatoes. She always had bacon bits and shredded cheddar cheese and chopped chives to sprinkle on top. And there were always crusty rolls. I can still see my Mom’s teeth sinking into a buttery hard roll. That’s maybe a weird memory, but I remember it, vividly.
All this potato talk this week has made me hungry. I might need to make some of Mom’s potato soup. Tonight.
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