9/11 Soup

Author Notes

For my entire life, that date had been known as my sister's birthday. Remember how you could practically hear the jangle of everyone's nerves? Not long after, Ruth Reichl wrote a story in the late, great Gourmet Magazine about a soup she prepared to calm her and friends' jangles. There was no recipe, merely a description of flavors and qualities. It was almost more of a tisane to be sipped from a favorite cup cradled in needy hands.

It spoke to me. I immediately began working on bringing it to life for myself and anyone who needed a bit of peace, perhaps of hope. It has been through many iterations, the most recent one including star anise.

From the beginning I tied up all the aromatics in a gauze bag to simmer in the stock and infuse it lightly yet deeply. By the time the soup arrived in bowls, flavors were present, though their ingredients were by then missing. I added silken udon noodles because I felt that in order to be a true soup, it should have a bit of texture. But just a bit. Just enough to draw one's attention away from worry and fear to focus on goodness.

Typically, when I prepare a noodle soup, I cook the noodles separately and add them to bowls along with soup at the moment of serving. Otherwise, the noodles tend to take up excessive amounts of liquid and go all soft and spongy, especially as leftovers. Here, though, I break the udon noodles into pieces about an inch or so long and simmer them right in the soup. There is never anything leftover.

I'm deliberately a bit imprecise about some measurements: soy sauce, fish sauce, sesame oil, chili oil. They all come together to perfectly complete the soup, but I am aware that they are also strong flavors and should be added judiciously. That said, I go around looking for things to which to add fish sauce and chili oil; what is just right for me might be overpowering for others. On the surface, this is just soup; more deeply, it is about making a moment in life just right for you and those you love. —boulangere