Everything but the gobble

 

"The Soup" by Pablo Picasso, 1902

We cooked the turkey carcass yesterday with onions and celery, not a pretty sight. After hours of simmering, the hot mess has to be carefully strained through a fine sieve.  Then you can pick through the gunk for nice bits of meat. Or not. 

Reminds me of that old saying: "Laws are like sausage. It's better not to see them being made." 

I always refrigerate the broth overnight so the fat solidifies on top. The final result is an excellent base for all kinds of soup, from Mexican style to plain old turkey noodle. Like nothing that comes out of a can, with the good feeling of creating something delicious from scraps that are usually thrown out.

What else is new? The next weather treat is a major windstorm with possible power outages. Yet another day spent inside.

To Boredom, by Charles Simic

I’m the child of your rainy Sundays.
I watched time crawl
Over the ceiling
Like a wounded fly.
A day would last forever,
Making pellets of bread,
Waiting for a branch
On a bare tree to move.
The silence would deepen,
The sky would darken,
As grandmother knitted
With a ball of black yarn.
I know Heaven’s like that,
In eternity’s classrooms,
The angels sit like bored children
With their heads bowed.