Woke up feverish and headachey, some passing virus or recurrence of an old bout of malaria. Found a Kikkoman packet of dried miso soup in the back of the store cupboard and I shall mince some new garlic and snip spring onions, grate a little ginger. That combination of powdered red miso, dehydrated kelp and dried bonito flakes in boiling water is reviving, full of umami. Although thousands might not agree, since miso is an acquired taste for us in the West. In order to give miso a chance, you have to use the best miso paste or powder available, the cheap miso mixes have a spongy bitter aftertaste.
The best reading to accompany miso soup is Haruki Murakami or Kenzaburo Oe, but if I get those rhythms and strange masterful analogies into my head, the piece I am writing will just gravitate towards imitation. Maybe I should just read some more editorial on the American election primaries, which are zanier than any sci fi novel could be. Our politics out here thrive on weirdness, so I don’t know why I should be surprised that politicians elsewhere take a walk on the wild side.
A friend who lives two streets away called to say she has a splitting hangover after celebrating the sale of her house. She isn’t an alcoholic as far as I know and that house has been on the market for two years. I have no problem with people drinking or drinking to excess on the odd occasion: it is none of my business and I’m not puritanical about those able to let rip once in a while. Brightly suggested some miso soup to help clear her head.
The garden needs weeding, the floor of the kitchen could do with a mopping, there are blogs to read, dishes to wash, meals to plan. Dogs to walk. Emails to answer. Any activity except writing has a certain urgency. An article on writer’s procrastination from the funny and truthful AL Kennedy:
Robert Louis Stevenson once said that he didn’t like writing, he liked having written. And I think I know how he felt. The act of writing is delightful, once you’ve entered into the proceedings, it’s simply that – like many other intimate, involving and tiring activities – writing creates nervousness, fumbling and an intense desire to run away before it can really take a hold.
Post-miso feedback: the hungover friend called to say in a petulant dissatisfied tone that she found the soup fishy, horribly salty and disgusting. But she does feel better. Soup, glorious soup. Now I have no more excuses to keep me from the next chapter or scene, unless the doorbell rings or a Person from Porlock wanders down the street.
“I’m not puritanical about those able to let rip once in a while.” Agree!
It always surprises me that people assume a recovering alcoholic resents and disapproves of those able to drink or hates alcohol in itself. I was reactive to alcohol in early sobriety and worried about what others thought of my not drinking (they didn’t notice), but now I am relaxed about the whole subject, very much live and let live.
I love miso soup.
I have a friend who had a hangover on Sunday. She drinks absolutely perfectly. She goes out with friends and has a few beers, and arranges to have a ride home so she doesn’t drive. On Saturday she had five beers because it was her birthday – and the next day she was sick. It is fascinating to see someone drink like this. I can’t imagine how she does it!
Yes, the housemate gets on her ear once a year on her birthday or at Christmas, sings pop songs off-key and tells the same joke over and over again. Then she drinks a litre of cold water, puts herself to bed and takes two disprin in the morning. That’s it. The idea of waking up in the morning and feeling she must carry on drinking is completely foreign to her.
When drinking, I survived on white rice and Eco bell packets. I was always stone cold broke and entirely too lazy to pull it together in the midst of a hangover. Another was cream of mushroom soup laden with cayenne pepper. Nothing ever really worked, though. The hangovers for me were horrendous.
Nothing ever helped me either Kristin and often I was too dehydrated even to vomit. Horrible — and by the same evening I would be doing it all over again.
Taco Bell packets.
I tell you, my smart phone is getting on my last nerve.
Smart phones always know best. Eco is a trendier word.
My favorite soup is Vietnamese Pho Gai. The beef broth with star anise is incredibly important and has to cook for hours. I like it best sober but did gulp it down after a few cocktails…Those were not the days I like to remember my hangovers were horrible!
Dee I tried every hangover cure I could find and none of them helped. I like Pho Gai and serve it with a garnish of Vietnamese mint, lip-numbing.
Ahh yes, umami recognised as the fifth taste. Heston Blumenthal showed us the other night on tv his recipe of shepherds pie using umami. I don’t think my jolly northern mother-in-law would approve.
The concept of umami is fascinating, Jan. No, I bet the northern MIL wouldn’t want anyone messing with her shepherds’ pie!