JANUARY 2020 85
FOR A CERTAIN TYPE OF PERSON (ME, FOR
instance), one of the hardest things to do
is accept comfort—from strangers and even
close friends. If we fall into a ravine while
hiking and break a bone, we’ll shout from
the bottom, “I’m fine! Just a sprain! You
all go ahead without me.” I tend to think
everyone else is freakishly stal-
wart, too. That they don’t need
my help. So I often fear it’s not
my nature to nurture.
Except when it comes to food.
No one has ever said, “Emily,
I’m so sad. I’m tired. Could you please
cook something delicious and soothing
for me?” And yet I’ve shown up at a lot of
front doors with a lot of covered dishes,
hoping they will magically fix whatever
has gone wrong inside. I secretly believe
that these people need my help desperately
and just can’t ask. I also happen to believe
the best kind of comfort isn’t asked for. It
just shows up.
It arrived by surprise for me quite a bit
this year after I was diagnosed with a rare
cancer while visiting my cousin Toni in
Atlanta. (I’m fine! We don’t have to talk
about it! Go on ahead.)
Friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in
decades, showed up in surprising ways,
often involving food. One college friend
wanted to bring a casserole by the cancer
ward. And later, after my appetite disap-
peared for days, a homemade ham and
Swiss on white bread that Toni brought me
seemed so exquisite and miraculous that I
took a photo of it. It was surely the most
delicious thing I’d ever eaten.
When I finally got out of the hospital,
I was so glad to be alive that I headed to
Toni’s kitchen and made two different
kinds of risotto for her and her kids. It
made me happy.
Unfortunately, I ended up in that same
dreaded hospital twice within the next few
months. The first time, Toni was quite ill, so
I travelled from my home in North Carolina
to Atlanta to be with her. Two months later,
while visiting Atlanta again, I ended up
driving her mom, my aunt Mariah, there
for a little emergency care, and she couldn’t
chew when we got back.
What the hell was going on? I was start-
ing to think I should just move into this
hospital, like a hotel. But more than that, I
realized what a great idea it is to have one
simple but delicious recipe in your reper-
toire, something to feed people (whether
they ask for it or not) who are not tip-top—
physically or emotionally.
For me, that recipe is this soup, which
everyone devours. It’s adjustable in ways
that guarantee everyone will eat it, and
love it, in any condition they’re in. But it’s
not sick-people food. It can be luxurious
(pureed with cream and a dash of nut-
meg, which is how I made it for
Aunt Mariah, so she could sip
it). And while it’s perfect for a
sad or broken-hearted person
because it goes down so easy, it
can also be hearty and happy,
embellished with fresh shoepeg corn, some
chopped jalapeños, and even a handful of
cilantro at the end. You can use onions if
you’re being basic or wonderful leeks if
you need something fancier. I have begun
to call it Everybody Soup.
By the way: We’re all fine now.
SOMETHING
FOR
EVERYONE
THE BEST KIND OF COMFORT
ISN’T ASKED FOR. IT JUST
SHOWS UP.
by EMILY NUNN
Find writer Emily
Nunn’s Everybody
Soup recipe on p. 103.
