Consommé

life as soup

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Consommé takes about 4 hours to make. At least according to this particular well-reviewed recipe I’m perusing. First you put animal parts such as chicken carcass or gristle-heavy cuts of cow into a soup pot with vegetables and herbs. Cover everything with water and bring to a gentle boil. That simmers for 2 hours. Then strain out the solids. Then bring the broth back to a boil until it reduces by 1/4th. Pop into the fridge for 1 hour.

Skim the solid fat off the surface and return to the stove. Then, and this is where things get crazy, whisk in some egg whites. Continue whisking as the broth comes to a boil. Lower the heat and allow the pot to simmer, untouched, for 15 minutes. During this time the egg whites will form a crust, known as a “raft,” and rise to the surface. Carefully scoop the raft out the pot into a cheesecloth-lined sieve. Slowly ladle the contents of the pot, scoop by scoop, through the sieve. The strained broth is then heated again, but not boiled, before serving.

This process creates a crystal clear soup, absent of any impurities or fat, with deeply robust and richly aromatic flavors. It’s a staple that must be mastered in culinary school and is traditionally served as a first course of a fancy meal.

I think aging is like making a consommé.

Or at least it can be.

Long ago I came up with a theory on how to age, as an arrogant 20-something is wont to do. According to younger me there are two paths toward growing older: expanding or contracting. Life either gets bigger or smaller as the decades pass. Either the world expands - you grow, you make new friends, learn new things, you explore all that is left unexplored, you talk to strangers. Or the world shrinks - you atrophy, you continue with well-worn patterns regardless if they serve you, you speak to the same people, take in nothing new, go nowhere. It’s the difference between a slow unfurling (think flower blooming) or a slow retreating (think shopkeeper at the end of the day). I’d always hoped I would expand as I aged, if I’m lucky enough to do so.

And while I think this metaphor still works, as an arrogant 30-something is wont to think, it’s a very external view. It’s about the logistics of life - what we consume, where we go, who we talk to, how we occupy our time.

But what about the internal? What about the mindscape? What about all those many mechanisms that tick away inside us? What does aging look like for our insides?

Consommé.

This past weekend we celebrated my mom’s birthday. Before diving into the finger sandwiches and scones we made for high tea, I gave a quick toast where I said she was “becoming more and more herself.” I thought it was profound and applause-worthy but mostly folks just wanted to eat the quiche before it cooled.

I noticed this process of becoming “more herself” kick off after my dad died 10 years ago. While burdened with grief, she built a life without him, piece by piece and stone by stone. It was heavy and hard work. But this “becoming” process really intensified within the last 5 years or so, at least from my vantage point. Something really kicked in. She entered a specific state of flow in her life. She started clearing out the egg white raft.

Much of my mom’s journey (according to me) in the last few years appears to center around letting go, releasing. There are things she no longer wants or needs. There are beliefs and attitudes, habits and patterns, that don’t serve her. One by one things are being shed and left behind - perfectionism, self-criticism, people pleasing, silent dissent, pretenses. It’s all slowly going by the wayside.

The shedding or, to return to our analogy, the clarifying of our consommé, isn’t always easy for those around you. In fact I would argue that it’s usually quite difficult. When the world gets used to your bay leaf, carrots, and onions being around, it’s jarring when you pull them out. Those desires and requests and opinions, when vocalized, can agitate people who are used to you being a pot of herbs and chicken carcass. Nevertheless consomme must be clear to count.

The poetry of it all for me is that those veggies and animals parts, while not needed in the final product, are vital to the process. Those things we eventually find ourselves not needing as we age were at one point needed. The fear, jealousy, anger, shame, and pettiness were all likely necessary at some point. They were probably tools for survival that our ego picked up to protect us. So instead of discarding them in the trash and slamming the lid, maybe we say ‘thank you’ and gently let go.

In the meantime, I want to be intentional about what goes into my soup pot now. I want to flavor my future self with delicious things that will hopefully intensify with the passage of time - creativity, joy, compassion, laughter, curiosity. And perhaps I can start to pull some things out of the pot now. Maybe there are carcasses, shells of what once was, that have served their purpose and can released. Maybe I don’t need to wait until my 40s, 50s, or 60s, and beyond. Maybe I can become more of myself starting today.

Because in the end that’s the gig. We reap what we sow and things only intensify, boil down to their essence, as the years go on. We have the option to become purer versions of people who find the good, give of themselves, seek discovery, and live lives of contentment. We also have the option to become purer versions of people who find the bad, hold on to resentment, cling to bitterness, and live lives of discontentment.

And if I’m eating at a 5-star restaurant, one of those soups certainly sounds like a more enjoyable start to my meal.