Tuesday 28 October
Another trip to Antipastos yielded veal scaloppine, and a frozen stewing hen. But the big old bird was first up, since Holt had a touch of a stomach bug and needed the life-giving qualities that only chicken soup affords. The butcher had band-sawed the giganto chicken into quarters, and one half went into the pot to soak and defrost for a couple of hours, while the other went into the freezer to await a rainy day.
Then a low, low simmer for three hours or so, with onions, carrots, celery, celery tops, thyme sprigs, peppercorns, and bay leaves. We both got up from our books periodically and pushed things about for no particular reason. Then about hour four, we pulled the chicken out, pulled the meat off, cubed it up, tossed it all back, and added some potatoes in little dice. Fished out the skin and bones, added more salt. Mighty soooooothing soooooooop.
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