“Thesoupofyourchildhood”
Sometimes our kids call it “thesoupofyourchildhood,” said just like that, in one breath. Sometimes they say “sopadefideo.” It’s one of our favorites.
I make sopa de fideo from some deep memory implanted inside me. I measure the ingredients by sight and by smell. It reminds me of my Tata, my grandfather, and his kitchen that smelled of oil and the bitterness of slightly overcooked garlic. My memory tells me that his kitchen had a yellow stove, a dining room table that was too large for the small space, a wood paneled wall with built in shelves and tin decorative plates that sat, untouched, on the shelves. My sopa de fideo memories live here.
I’m not sure but I think that the inside Tata was probably not the best cook. He treated us to Gamesa Maria cookies and opened cans of Vienna sausages as a treat. I still love those cookies and have grabbed a pack for my kids on occasion. I know my kids have never had a Vienna sausage packed in mysterious jelly, much less argued over who gets the last one in the can.
The outside Tata was the king of carne asada and beef ribs, cooked over an open flame, all delicious burnt edges and salt, a pot of beans nearby to stay warm by the fire. I still smell the smoke. I remember that my mom would make rice in a cast iron pot, transported carefully to his house, and I remember that someone would be assigned the purchase of a few dozen tortillas. We’d sit around tables outside that were covered in mismatched table cloths and we’d be shaded by an improvised tarp, strung between trees and the back porch.
The other memories of this place are squished together:
the green teetertotter that remained in his yard, even after the grandkids had grown too old to use it,
Easter egg hunts,
birthday cakes,
the sweetest lemon tree,
my mom, tíos, and tía telling stories about the unluckiest pets they kept naming Lucky.
We all had trouble finding toilet paper at some point over the last year, but packages of fideo almost always seemed to be stocked at our local Hmart where we shopped masked, gloved and a little nervous, especially during the early days of the pandemic. The noodles, tomatoes, onions, and garlic seemed like they were still easy to find. We all seemed so tired on some days and we craved simplicity.
Sopa de fideo makes my kids feel cozy and safe, and makes me feel nostalgic. Turns out that the very simple soup of my childhood is also very important.
Sopa de fideo recipe, from memory, no quantities.
Saute fresh tomatoes and onions in a little oil, until soft. Remove from pot and blend. In the same pot, add oil, noodles and garlic. Toast noodles until they’re slightly brown, replace blended tomato mixture, add broth, quantity depending on how soupy you like your noodle soup. I usually use veg broth but chicken is probably more common. Add cooked chicken here too, but also optional. There are people in this world who will be very angry to hear me say chicken is optional, but it’s weird and slimy to me. Add salt and spices. I usually use a little chile powder that was mailed to us in a care package from home, plus salt, pepper, maybe some cumin if I’m feeling it. Boil until noodles are cooked through.
