Here is the winning entry from the Oklahoma Writers Federation, Inc (OWFI) 2021 Contest: How to Create a Manuscript Template Using Microsoft Word
While this uses a contest entry format as the basis for the template, I hope it helps you to create and use your own templates for your writing projects and submissions.
It’s easy to write “100 Things About Me.” But almost a dozen years ago, I was challenged to write “100 Good Things About Me.” Let this serve as an introduction to newcomers, here, as well as a list of affirmations. If you prefer a visual intro, click here. When you’re done reading, why not write your own version?
113. I rejoined Toastmasters, almost a year ago. I’m no longer terrified of public speaking, and have even been paid to do it. But as clubs make the shift to online meetings, my experience in working from home and using teleconferencing software is a plus. My focus, now, is to help my club and its members to achieve their goals.
112. With the proper motivation, I am finally learning how to sew.
111. I grew “accidental” turnip greens from a forgotten turnip on my counter; last night, I harvested and sautéed them, served them with rice and salmon. Next time, it won’t be an accident!
110. I’m terrified of spiders, but have become the Protector of the Spiny Orb Weavers in our yard. Their webs are annoying to anyone doing yard work (mostly my husband) but I make him let them have their breakfast before (gently) dismantling them so he doesn’t get a faceful of spider, sticky silk, and dead flies.
109. I tried snorkeling and SCUBA diving for the first time in 2018. Next up: Indoor parachuting. (Hate free-fall, love flying without a net!)
108. I have learned to keep a few houseplants and an herb garden alive, and in the process, I’ve taken up recycling and composting to better nourish them. And, apparently, a whole community of tree roaches.
107. After several decades in technical writing, I changed careers and became a data scientist, with a focus on NLP and text analytics. Always stay curious and keep learning new things.
106. I wrote A New Leaf for Lyle, illustrated by the amazing artist, Carrie Salazar, in 2013.
105. With a little trial and error, and a lot of determination, I got that whippet geometry figured out. Next up: Cat Calculus. [Update 4/8/2020: I managed to create a cat sweater that seems to function similarly to “clipnosis.” Cat falls down, stays put. I’m not seeing the downside, but perhaps the cat is lazy and the sweater is too restrictive.]
104. I learned to crochet. I can make scarves, hats, bulky sweaters… but the geometry of a whippet is still giving me fitting fits.
103. I can’t count. No, seriously – 103 is “I love words like ‘infinite’ and ‘limitless‘ and ‘inclusive.'” I dislike arbitrary limits. My 100 has grown a little over the years – so sue me.
102. I’m afraid of bugs, but I joined Boy Scouts with my son and went on the family camp-out with his troop. I went on a 5 and 1/2 mile hike with him in the woods – and let him lead. Typical man: He never once stopped and asked for directions. Didn’t need to – he knew how to use a compass and a map! In 2008, I swallowed my fear and hesitation to go camping with my son and some long-time friends at Lassen Volcanic National Park and hiking at Multnomah Falls!
101. I can spell “onomatopoeia” and “floccinaucinihilipilification” and “eleemosynary” without looking them up. I needed my husband’s help to finally get “broccoli” planted in my brain, once and for all, though. I was smart enough to marry a smart man.
100. I am confident, but not arrogant.
99. I really believe that “pretty is as pretty does.” Actions speak louder than words, and you can’t dress up ugly-on-the-inside.
98. I’m generous, even if I am a selfish only child who never had to share.
97. I’m loyal.
96. I can keep others’ secrets, but I have precious few of my own.
95. I’m honest to a fault, but I can tell a “little white lie” when the truth would do nothing but hurt.
94. I’m easy to please.
93. Patience is not one of my virtues, but ask anyone I’ve taught to do anything, and they’ll tell you I’m very patient. I have patience for those who try, sincerely.
92. I’m a good cook, when I bother to be.
91. I’m empathetic. By that, I mean not only can I imagine myself in someone else’s place, I can feel it – physically as well as emotionally. I don’t shut that off to protect myself, but I have learned to distance myself from the chronically miserable – the folks who enjoy their misery and really don’t want anything but someone to share in it.
90. When I love, I love deeply and forever. I’m not obsessive and weird about it, though. I just don’t say the word “love” if I don’t mean it.
89. I’m a good driver. I hate dealing with heavy traffic and crowds, but I don’t trust anyone more than me to drive my kids anywhere.
87. I’m calm in a crisis.
86. I’m a good problem-solver.
85. I don’t really have much of a temper, and there are only a few things in life I’d bother holding a grudge over. I get angry; I get over it.
84. I’m a fiercely protective mama tiger. I once killed a wasp with my bare hands, because it had the sheer effrontery to be in my baby’s room. I’m terrified of wasps. But in that moment, it could just as well have been a Bengal tiger or a flea – and it had to die.
83. So long as they’re not threatening my children’s well-being, I love animals. I just wish the possum that now visits me once or twice a week on my back porch hadn’t figured that out. I’d like him (or her) to think I’m a mean sonofabitch.
82. I will try any food – once. There are few foods I’ve tried that I don’t like. (Buttermilk, rosewater, doogh, kashk, beef liver, fried chicken liver – that pretty much covers it, I think.) Actually, there’s a rule in our house: You can’t say “Ewwww, yuck, gross!” unless you’ve actually tasted it. However, you can say, “I’m not quite ready to try that just yet.” I’m not sure I see the point of eating something to prove your machismo (of course, I’m a girl – I have no machismo to prove, and that’s fine by me). I ought to amend that item, though – I am no longer willing to try certain foods that carry an unacceptable risk of disease (brain matter, eyeballs – CJD) or injury/death (fugu, scorpion stingers) – I mean, when I said “try any food” I really was thinking of things typically regarded by a large number of people AS food (that even included things like sheep’s eyeballs, at the time – you know, things like tripe and haggis). Only lately have I heard of things like eating live scorpions, or worse, live monkey’s brains. Nooooooo… to me, that’s just not “food.” That’s a sick sort of entertainment, maybe, but not “food.”
81. I’m pretty adventurous, but not foolhardy. I love to live life to the fullest, and encourage others to try new things.
80. I’m smart, but I have Swiss-cheese holes in my brain that keep me humble about it.
79. I appreciate the talents and abilities of others. I don’t always tell them just how much, but I’m working on that because it matters.
78. I write well. There’s always room for improvement (and what fun would there be in it if there weren’t?) but I write well enough to clearly express my ideas without frustration, and that gives me pleasure.
77. I’ve given birth to two gorgeous, intelligent, amazing children. Nothing I could create now would equal or exceed this accomplishment, and I’m okay with that.
76. I do know when to let go, when push comes to shove.
75. I can’t magically heal all wounds with a kiss. But I’ve learned how to apply a bandage, drive to the ER in just under four minutes, and distract a kid from pain and worry with a hug and a kiss and the knowledge that I won’t leave their side until they’re well.
74. I’m not jealous (not much, anyway) when the kids say Daddy’s grilled cheese sandwich is as good as mine. After all, I’m the one who taught them about tact and diplomacy.
73. I’m a material girl, but if the house burned down tomorrow and my family got out safely, I’d be okay.
72. I don’t wear make-up except on special occasions. I have healthy skin.
71. I wear sensible shoes that make my feet feel good (all the better to chase my children in!) – not spiked heels that make my calves look sexy.
70. I love my husband. But, best of all, he loves me. We’ll celebrate 35 years of marriage, this year, and are looking forward to the next 35 or 40.
69. I’m a good mother. Not a perfect, Donna-Reed-type mother, but a good one, nonetheless.
68. I love my children unconditionally, even when I wish I loved them less. I love them unconditionally, even when they say “I hate you!” (Which they never do, now that they’re all grown up!)
67. I am a lousy housekeeper, but I’ve learned there are more important things in life, so I no longer beat myself up over it or post armed guards at the door when the house isn’t “presentable.” I’ve discovered that most people I know are a mess, which only means we’re now welcome in each others’ homes on a moment’s notice.
66. I have a good eye for composition, and take interesting photographs. I’m not always as discriminating as I should be when I share them. There probably were not 800 great photos of Istanbul and Paris, but by God, I uploaded them all to Ofoto and sent everyone links, believing they’d enjoy them. (I apparently have a crappy memory. Ofoto?? Does that even still exist? I don’t even remember writing this.)
65. Some of my photos are selling as stock photography, right alongside professionals’ work. This has made me remember what it’s like to be a struggling, amateur writer and get that first acceptance note. It’s gratifying, humbling, and quite pleasing.
64. I love to teach and mentor others. I don’t mind at all – in fact, I’m quite pleased – when their skills and successes surpass my own.
63. I can be very intense and driven when a project piques my interest, but aggressively advancing my career is not a project that interests me right now. I manage to keep a fairly healthy balance between work and personal life.
62. When I volunteer to do something, I’m committed to seeing it through.
61. I work best with tight but reasonable deadlines.
60. I generally give people the benefit of the doubt. I’m honest enough to admit to my prejudices, but open-minded enough to put them aside and give everyone a chance.
59. I have never intentionally hurt anyone’s feelings.
58. I don’t pick at my food and complain the portions are too big. I know how to enjoy a meal when I’m hungry, I know how to stop eating when I’m satisfied, and I’m not embarrassed to ask for a to-go box.
57. I finished reading Anna Karenina. I didn’t skip the chapters about Levin. That took discipline! I do read the first couple of pages and the last couple of pages from any book I pick up, then decide if I give a damn how they got from A to Z. If I do, I read the book. Knowing the ending rarely, if ever, spoils the story for me.
56. I am a fast reader, and I inhale books. (My breathing, lately, has been a little shallow.)
55. I’m a good swimmer.
54. I do a beautiful back-dive. (Unfortunately, I haven’t dipped a toe into a pool with a diving board in over 10 years.)
53. I’ve traveled to many places in the world. I’ve never really felt like a tourist, even though I was one. I’ve felt…accepted, almost without exception.
52. I make a great cup of coffee.
51. I make a pretty decent cup of tea, too.
50. I can whistle a tune. I can sometimes whistle “Westminster Cathedral,” but not on a hot, dry day. (And not when I’m laughing hysterically, which is something I’m apt to do if I start whistling in public.)
49. I can blow bubbles with bubblegum.
48. I enjoy a good water-gun-and-hose fight with my son.
47. I have thick hair that’s naturally blonde. I’d go naturally gray, but it’s more fun to play with color. I don’t mind the gray hairs, though; I never pull them out. I’m actually rather proud of them; I earned each and every one. (I spent nearly $100, several years ago, to have my hair dyed to match my roots, in order to go gray naturally. It grew out ash blonde. I got bored waiting for more gray to show up, and started coloring it again.)
46. I give great advice. Proving, once again, that it’s better to give than to receive.
45. I’m trustworthy.
44. I tend to “see” personalities before I really see people. As a result, appearances don’t matter much to me, unless there’s something especially off-putting about them.
43. I’m 50+ – I’ve lived half a century, or as my mom used to say, “I’m older than some trees.” I’m not at all embarrassed to admit my age in public. I don’t want to be pushed aside, careerwise, due to age or gender, though. I’m not sure my kids are quite ready to support me – nor should they have to!
42. I see similarities before I see differences. The similarities give us common ground; the differences keep things interesting.
41. I have a good job. Most days, I like it and most days, I do it well. [Update 4/8/2020: I’m retired, as of 3/31/2020. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ve run out of interesting work – it means I’m returning to my roots, writing more creative fiction.]
40. I don’t have any real regrets.
39. I will stubbornly stand on a matter of principle.
38. I’m not easily intimidated. I do tend to come across as intimidating, but usually to the wrong people.
37. I can have strong opinions and values without feeling threatened by hearing and considering other points of view. I enjoy a good, intellectual debate, and I’m not afraid to think I might be wrong, or admit it if I realize that I am.
36. I am quick to apologize when I’m wrong. (Apologies are a great way to disarm a foe; unfortunately, I think we all get worse at giving them as we age. My theory on that is that we’re owed a lot of them that we never got, and by God, we’re just going to hang onto our store of them until we get the ones we’ve got coming to us. How stupid is that?)
35. I am strong, but not rigid. Strength, without flexibility, tends to crack or break.
34. I have a sense of humor. Hell, I even found reasons to laugh over having cancer.
33. I appreciate the talents in others. My grandmother once said “I used to think I had no talent. Then I realized I had the greatest talent of all, the ability to truly appreciate the talents in others.” She was a wise woman, and a very talented one.
32. I love to sing, and I have a pretty voice. I just find it horribly embarrassing to sing in front of other people, so only my showerhead and a few random motorists have heard me sing in several decades.
31. I give good backrubs.
30. I chose my husband wisely and well. I considered my mother’s advice: (1) “If our approval or disapproval would sway your decision to marry a man, then he’s not the man you need to be spending the rest of your life with; (2) “You don’t just marry the man, you marry his family.” Yep, I chose well.
29. I don’t drink often or to excess. I don’t enjoy being drunk, nor does it heighten my creativity.
28. I don’t take illegal drugs and have absolutely no interest in ever doing so.
27. I’m not a prude and I’m not without a vice or two. (In 2006, I listed smoking and cursing – but quit smoking that year and I’ve cut way down on the cursing, so now what? Um…I procrastinate and I’m a clutterbug?) I’m listing this among my “100 Good Things About Me,” because it’s one of those things that keeps me humble and human and able to be kind to other imperfect human beings.
26. I have faith. It’s gleaned from personal intuition and the best of many religious traditions, and it is constantly evolving. It’s flexible enough to consider all possibilities within the realm of God, and strong enough to leave me impervious to fanatics and cults.
25. I’ve never tried to “convert” anyone to my beliefs, because one of my beliefs is that we all come to our own faith in time and through experience – not through being told how we should think and how we should believe, or by being frightened into it by others’ visions of eternal damnation.
24. I have a nice butt. (That’s actually my husband’s contribution, but I have the self-confidence and sense of humor to include it.)
23. I’m not a mean person. (That’s his, too.)
22. If I’m having a hard time coming up with 100 good things about me, I’d probably have a harder time coming up with 100 bad things about me. 100 interesting things about me, or 100 slightly-eccentric things about me, or 100 cool and offbeat things I’ve done – those would be easier.
21. I’m not afraid of the dark.
20. I’m not superstitious.
19. I’m very trusting, until I’m given reasons not to be.
18. I’m an avid reader.
17. I’m a fast reader. The downside to that, combined with #18, is that I spend entirely too much money on books.
16. I hate to shop, and I’m not all caught up on what’s “fashionable,” “trendy,” or “in style.” Classic is classic for a reason. (That said, I do realize I can’t elevate jeans to the level of “classic style” just because I’m too lazy to explore the rest of my wardrobe or add to it, some days.)
15. I like to inspire and encourage others.
14. I have become much more punctual over the years. I procrastinate something awful, but I’m almost always on time, and rarely miss a deadline.
13. I have sensitive hearing, and I try to protect it. This is really amazing, considering all the ear infections I had as a kid and young adult. Never had tubes, but had my adenoids out twice.
12. I’m a good listener. I don’t always remember what was said, but I’m a good listener.
11. I have a lousy memory and a tendency to repeat myself. This is a good thing only in that I’m aware of it, and never give anyone else a hard time for doing the same. I do sometimes step on the punch line of old jokes, but better that than trying to fake laughter and pretend I never heard the joke. Of course I can’t remember half the jokes I’ve heard until they get to the punch line, so I’m usually willing to listen to the same ones over and over again. 645! (Yeah, I know…some people just can’t tell a joke.)
10. I’m computer literate. I once swore I’d have nothing whatsoever to do with computers – they were “borrrrrring.” Now I write user’s manuals for PCs and software. My third grade teacher, the one who wrote on my report card “antisocial, doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t follow directions” would no doubt have a cow if she knew what I did for a living.
9. I’m not antisocial. I love solitude. But I like people just fine, if they’re nice people. (INTJ, D on a DiSC, A-)
8. I can always entertain myself.
7. I don’t judge people on what kind of car they drive, what kind of house they live in, how much money they make, or how they dress. I don’t judge people on how much education they attained, but a natural curiosity, innate intelligence, and a desire to learn more always gains a few points in my estimation.
6. I can BS my way through almost any sort of essay question, but I’m having a damned hard time with the last five items in this list!
5. I have walked over 100 miles for charity in my lifetime.
4. I have donated about 5 gallons of blood, and I’m on the bone marrow registry.
3. I’m not afraid to talk to anyone, regardless of position or rank. (I am afraid to crash a sit-down dinner for celebrities when there’s an armed guard at the door, but that’s…different.)
2. I have always talked to my children. Not baby-talk, but full sentences with eye contact. This never struck me as unusual or special, but according to the caregivers at my son’s first daycare, it’s rather exceptional.
1. I am me. And that is good enough.
Now, why don’t you tell me 100 good things about you? Feel free to post a link to your journal entry here.
I morfed while speaking ASL (or was that a/s/l?)
Across the keys my fingers moved, in ALL CAPS DID I YELL
Hermaphroditic princess of Marcel Duchamp’s white throne
Nonplussed by nonsense on the screen, the drivel of a drone.
He asked me “Do u wanna chat?” l asked him, “Can you spell?
He asked “Whut R u Waring?” and I muttered, “Go to Hell.”
I judge performance with a pen, its ink as red as blood;
If you say “Insert A in B,’ your name, it will be mud.”
He vowed to be my lackey; and I, his Mistress (“Dork!”)
Dispatched him to a chat room with a jeweled tuna fork
And there did bid him to recite, in front of all and sundry,
A sonnet from atop his head – no limp iambic blund’ring!
He couldn’t get it up to rhyme (his fountain pen, I mean!)
Next thing he did was disconnect, and ne’er again was seen.
Written in 2007, based on an online chat circa 1990 but apparently one of those “evergreen” things that’s relatable, even today.
Strong threads you weave;
A web of them,
At first, to swaddle and protect –
Softly subtle, safe cocoon,
Where only pleasant dreams reside.
Bright sunlight flickers,
warm, upon the glass, and I
Can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Your sticky net catches everything –
Grows tighter as I struggle,
Wiggling free.
Where once I fed on you,
You feed on me.
Night terror, you,
Your breath tickling my cheek.
Does it still breathe? I hardly dare.
Half-dreaming, I reach out,
Slap you. Slap me.
So long ago, a truce – you
Retreated to the shadows,
Present, still.
Those graying wisps
Hang tattered, torn, defeated.
I learned to deal with nightmares
On my own.
But there! Just now,
Upon the dew-kissed window-pane,
I see you! Sunning yourself.
Smiling at the rounded belly
Beneath my hand, as we –
In our own ways, our own time –
Begin to weave.
Happy New Year. And welcome to #WednesdayVerses. Vinay and Reema are offering a prompt each Wednesday to inspire you to write a poem. If it does, write it as a post on your blog, then come link up with them. If it doesn’t, then browse the links to read what others have written, and share the posts with your poetry-loving friends. The linky is open from Wednesday till the following Tuesday night! Please add your post to the link only if it is a post written for #WednesdayVerses. All are welcome and invited to participate.
The prompt for this week is the picture of a lovely dream-catcher, which finds its origins in Ojibwe legends.
Author’s note: I wanted to learn more about the real history of the Native American dreamcatcher – not just the commercialized motif so popular since the 1990s or so and more likely made in China, now, than by Native American hands. I hope that my own reading and interpretation of the story does it justice. What I saw, in reading the legends, was mothers and sisters and grandmothers standing in as proxies for the protective Spider Woman, Asibikaashi, whose web hangs over children’s cradles and beds and “catches” all the nightmares and only lets good thoughts and dreams come through the center. But children grow up; part of becoming an adult is struggling against the protection and safety of their elders’ “webs” and learning to take care of themselves, so that they can one day take care of others. As a mother, myself, I know that it’s only after we’ve broken free of the “constraints” of what we see as “overprotectiveness” that we’re ready to accept help from the old “spider women” whose webs once chafed and annoyed us.
Honolulu. 1980. As the plane landed, I felt the first symptoms of a cold. Nooooo, not right now, not at the start of a tropical vacation! I had plans to meet up with a local friend for dinner, when all I really wanted to do was curl up in my hotel room and die. He took me to a Chinese restaurant and ordered us a huge bowl of hot and sour soup. I had not, yet, built up the tolerance to spicy peppers that I have, today, and I was convinced he was trying to kill me. Twenty-four hours later, I realized he’d saved my vacation; my cold was cured.
That’s not normal. The normal progression of a cold is a steady, predictable building from scratchy throat and stuffy nose to full blown misery lasting 3-7 days, and in my case, usually climaxing with the double-whammy of bronchitis and a ten-day course of antibiotics. That’s normal. This was about six hours of misery knocked flat on it’s backside by a bowl of hot and sour soup. I felt terrific, the next day.
In hindsight, the soup itself had been quite tasty. Sure, my tastebuds were traumatized and blistered, but the flavor was more complex than my initial “burns the lips off a chicken” reaction. I set out on a quest to find the perfect hot and sour soup on the mainland. I came close, at a little restaurant in Canton, OH. But by then, I was living in Oklahoma. I don’t recall the name of the restaurant, and I think the place closed, years ago. Nothing, since then, has even come close.
My main complaint is that all restaurant hot and sour soup seems to have been “dumbed down for the tourists.” I get it; I go to Thai restaurants and order “4.5” on a spicy scale of 1-5. That’s my coded message to the cook: “I’m serious about loving hot and spicy things, but I’m not native Thai, please don’t kill me.” People talk a good fight, but when push comes to shove, a few drops of Tabasco Sauce pack too much heat for most people. I’ve tried ghost pepper, and I draw the line far, far down the Scoville Scale. Past a certain point, it’s just a contest to see who’s the dumbest masochist on the planet. Raw Serrano heat is my happy place – somewhere high above jalapeño, but well below Carolina Reaper. Restaurant hot and sour is more mild than a third of a jalapeño, with the ribs and seeds removed. But that’s not the biggest problem with it; the biggest problem is the cornstarch. Restaurant hot and sour soup is thick.
I wondered if my memory were failing me, and if the soup I fell in love with, in Honolulu, wasn’t authentic hot and sour soup at all.
So it’s been nearly 40 years, and I was about ready to give up the quest. In one last act of desperation, I started searching for things like “hot and sour soup that’s not full of cornstarch” and “hot and sour soup that’s actually HOT” and “ffs can’t anyone make a decent hot and sour” and “is hot and sour actually SUPPOSED to be like this?” at which point I found, “The Food Lab: This is How Hot and Sour Soup Should Taste,” by J. KENJI LÓPEZ-ALT. When I read the following passages, I knew I had to give this a try before giving up for good:
Here’s the fact: Most restaurant hot and sour soup stinks. …
In certain Chinese traditions, hot and sour soup is thickened with blood from either a chicken or a pig. Not only is blood not easy to come by in the US, it’s also not high on most folks’ lists of “things I love to eat,” including mine. Instead, hot and sour soup in the U.S. is more often than not thickened with cornstarch.
Some writers and eaters—probably those that have been scarred by years of eating the steam-table glop—insist on using no thickener at all. I personally like to use just a hair—enough to add some body to the soup and help the solid elements stay suspended, but not so much that it becomes mouth-coatingly slick.
J. KENJI LÓPEZ-ALT gets me.
First, I went to Hong Kong Market. It’s my new favorite grocery store, but it’s not walking distance like my local Kroger’s and I’d never been there before. Armed with a shopping list the length of my arm, full of things I couldn’t properly pronounce and had never heard of, I started wandering the aisles, just to get my bearings. I quickly found the chicken feet.
You can’t be squeamish if you’re going to cook chicken feet. They look a little too much like a cross between lizard and four-fingered, elegant, old-lady human hands. The recipe also calls for “chicken carcass.” Isn’t that just…whole chicken? Apparently not. One thing you can easily find at the Asian market that you won’t likely find in a U.S. grocery chain is random chicken parts, hacked to bits for stock. I was relieved, because I wasn’t looking forward to this part of the instructions:
Hack your chicken carcasses to bits before making stock. Not only will it make you feel like a medieval viking-style badass, but it’ll also make your broth come together much faster. The more finely you chop the bones, the more surface area they have, and the more channels for proteins, minerals, and other goodies to get extracted into the broth.
Not that I don’t relish the idea of being a medieval viking-style badass, whatever that is, but I have been voted “Most Likely to Hack Her Own Hand Off with a Meat Cleaver.” I have sliced and stabbed myself and even needed stitches, that’s how poor my knife skills are. I’m sure my fingers in there would add a certain “richness” to the broth.
I also found a lovely pork tenderloin, lean and on sale. Jinhua ham? Nope. That was the one substitution I ended up resorting to, using the prosciutto, as recommended in the recipe.
In other news, I know, now, where to find duck tongues, pork arseholes, chicken “testides,” and tripe. I really need a recipe for duck tongues; those look interesting. I think chickens’ “testides” are bigger than their brains.
During my search for the ham, I ran into two very cheerful, helpful, and determined staff members who were easily enlisted in my quest. Laura was particularly kind and at least as doggedly determined to succeed in my grocery scavenger hunt as I was. Together, and with help from another customer, we located day lilies next to the black fungus. So many types of black fungus. We found extra firm tofu, hidden amongst the silken, soft, medium, and firm varieties. With fifty different types of sesame oil, we didn’t find toasted sesame oil. When I got home, armed with sesame seeds for toasting, I found out that the sesame oil I already had at home was toasted!
After the gingerbread fiasco, I was ready for a win. I decided to make the broth today, and finish the soup on Saturday. I blanched the chicken carcass and feet, then put them into my slow-cooker, along with the prosciutto, ginger, onion, scallions, and smashed garlic. I threw about two handfuls of dried red chili peppers in there for good measure.
After simmering all those ingredients for hours, the whole house smells heavenly! I’ve strained and put aside the broth, in the refrigerator, for Saturday’s lunch, and will write later this weekend to let you know if the quest has truly been completed, or if I’ve just found a tasty, but very different, soup to enjoy. Either way, I have no doubt it will be delicious.
Oh, my sweet Lord, that’s good. I couldn’t wait till Saturday – I swiped two cups’ worth of broth to experiment on before subjecting my husband to the finished hot and sour soup this Saturday. My first attempt is not flaming-surface-of-the-sun hot, like I remember that first bowl being, something that’s bound to bring a sigh of relief to my husband’s lips. It may not cure the common cold, but it would sure bring some comfort to the sick. it’s as close to “the perfect hot and sour soup” as I’ve been able to find in 40 years. I intend to practice this until I can whip up a batch of it in my sleep, it’s that good. What more can I say? My long quest has finally come to an end, I’ve found a new grocery store to love, and all that’s left is to perfect my execution of the recipe.