What comforted me? That is easy. It was a strong cold chicken jelly so very, very thick. My mother's Chinese cook would fix it. He would cook it down, condense it-this broth with all sorts of feet in it, then it would gell into sheer bliss. It kept me alive once for three weeks when I was ill as a child. And I've always craved it since.
My mother, on Sundays, used to prepare things to use during the week, like freshly made broth. It wasn't chicken stock or pasta sauces. She always made her own homemade pasta. So, the amount of dedication that goes into what these people used to do - it was a long time ago but you come to appreciate the hard work and the care about little things.
Is Miami America? Is it a state? Is it the South? ... I love Miami for the same reason I love the places I love most around the world... it's the mix here, this big, messy, dysfunctional hell broth of people from all over the world that make it so awesome and make it a place I want to keep coming back to. Also the food's good.
prepare a little hot tea or broth and it should be brought to them . . . without their being asked if they would care for it. Those who are in great distress want no food, but if it is handed to them, they will mechanically take it ' ... There was something arresting about the matter-of-fact wisdom here, the instinctive understanding of the physiological disruptions... I will not forget the instinctive wisdom of the friend who, every day for those first few weeks, brought me a quart container of scallion-and-ginger congee from Chinatown. Congee I could eat. Congee was all I could eat.