I love this image of her. I love imagining my mother hoarding a few carefree moments, hiding from the world with a pink ice cream cone. I love that when she told me this story it felt like she was spilling a carefully guarded secret that she only gave up because her daughter was on the phone, sobbing over a batch of overworked mashed potatoes.
She was right: Once I heated up the soup and added fresh meat and vegetables, it was magnificent, rich and sweet and almost earthy in its depth. It wasn’t anything like Mom’s Jewish penicillin but because she’d helped me make it, it was therapeutic nonetheless.
Sara Faith Alterman can be reached at email@example.com.