“HERE’S TO CREOLE & CAJUN BACK COUNTRY REMEDIES”…

CREOLE & CAJUN CHICKEN NOOODLE SOUP FROM THE SOUL…TO SAVE THE SOUL…

Sunday evening… this “Broad Shouldered Broad” was feeling, just a tad bit under the weather, so to speak. My skin felt clammy, warm, and discolored. My family members had a prescription med, over the counter med, and God knows what else recommendation, for me to try. But my mindset went all the way back to the 60’s and 70’s, when the world was but a different, yet wonderful place. I remembered my Grandma’s and Mother’s old country remedies of narural preventive medicines and back country culinary cuisines. Not only were we a mixture of Creole and Cajun…but Black Creek Indian, materially.

I politely thanked everyone for their kindness, and simply chose to go my own way alone, this time.

Feeling physically spent and sick, as hell. I decided to take a page out of the ‘ole country girls” notebook. There were folks in my house coughing, sneezing, and sniffling like little kindergarteners..lmbo.

“OOOHHH…BOY!” Rather than be pissed off and sulk about it.. I went straight too work. First matter of business, I turned the goddamn heat back on, shut all the cracked windows and doors, for everyone’s sake. I mean…who the hell’s wet dream was it…to open the doors and windows? For crying out loud!

As the household decided to hang out in the game and theatre room, this diva went straight to work. I felt totally chilled to the bone…for whatever reason. I was left with only one choice… fix the goddamn… cluster fuck! That said… I rose to the tasks ahead of me.

I slowly picked up this body of mine, that felt like two tons of sagging Incubus and icky shit. As I quietly exited the my favorite room. Could not wait to close off the chatter and potential viral incubator. Praying that later…all would be forgivenof me. For my insolent departure, of course. But, I mean…what the hell…ladies and gentlemen? I raced to the kitchen; pulled out the leftover Popeye’s chicken, and dirty rice.

Next, I reached over to my lazy Susan and began pulling off the Italian herbs and spices; cracked peppercorn; Cajun seasonings; cayenne pepper; paprika; angel pasta, and sea salt & garlic powder. I was not playing with Mr. Murphy’s Law. Left nothing to chance.

My back country old school diva, of a country girl was not relenting…one bit. I could have given two shits less what the gamers, and visiting city folks were thinking. They were too busy watching the latest, in theatres now, movie trailers. This woman here had a damn plan…survival!

SPEGHETTI PASTAS MAKES THE BEST SOUPS

I took the dark meat of the chicken and went to work. Shredded that dark meat in less than five minutes. Peeling off just enough of that breaded stuff, I dump all the chicken legs and backs I could, into the cauldron of seasonings.

Before long, the chicken and seasonings came to a rapid boil. The windows began to steam up all over the house, even in the En-suites. Folks came running into the kitchen like crazed co-eds, filled to the nines with libations. (Total eye roll and laugh-it-up moment.)

“Ohhh…my God! What in the Sam hell are you in here brewing up, now” asked a curious gentleman? Of course, I had to say something. I am an ole Hallows Eve baby… it was time everyone remembered that.

To make light of a profoundly serious situation…I made a little joke, to lighten everyone’s discernment. However, underneath…I was feeling like shit. (Sore throat, runny nose, and all.) Timing was everything. So… without further adeiu I broke the seriousness of the moment.

“Double…Double…toil and trouble…fire burn and cauldron bubble” …. I recanted, as the cathedral ceiling’s acoustics carried my voice into every space of my upper-level interior.

Even my downstairs tenants came running upstairs into the kitchen, with curiosity and hungry bellies. Before long, folks had gathered tightly into my private cooking space.

My girlfriends were like…

“What in the hell have you done to the chicken, from the tailgater boxes we all brought?” I never answered…only smiled. Why? Because I knew my little country brew smelled good, as hell! Otherwise, my kitchen would not be full of hungry spectators.

“Look…this is an old family recipe, for whatever is ailing you. I feel like shit physically, Y’all. I do not like digesting that over the counter stuff. It does nothing but make you feel worse.

This…is from my Grandma’s and Mother’s table…its tried and true!” Folks stood there looking at me, as if I were a damn guest in my own home. But… only for a few seconds. Without another word said in rebuke…people were grabbing disposable plates and bowls.

One of our guests said it best. ‘Shit…how in the hell you gonna try to make this for your goddamn self, and think we ain’t gonna eat some of this damn country snake oil shit too? Girl…move out of our way!”

The rest… of course… is history, so to speak.

Never dispose of or trash your left-over Popeye’s chicken…dark meat especially! It is the enzymes in the dark meat of fowl, of any kind, that is most potent and beneficial. It combats colds, flus, and so on.

After we all ate, until our hearts were content. I served everyone Jameson and raw honey hot totties. ENOUGH SAID!

Fable of this story…

BON APPETITE!

Guess what? No one went to work ill on Monday! We all have a little extra kick in our steps this week! Make fun of us Ole School Divas if you want or wish. But we know a thing or two about those backwoods Creole and Cajun remedies….

HERE’S TOO YOUR HEALTH! GOD BLESS.

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