I have watched too much Top Chef. To be honest, I’ve seen most episodes (at least) twice. I am not proud of this. But I do love food; menu-planning, grocery shopping, chopping, cooking. I dig it all. And I really enjoy eating. So, naturally, after watching too much Top Chef I feel inspired to get complicated in the kitchen. Complicated and fancy.

            I blame Top Chef for the Scallop Disaster of 2011. I blame Top Chef for my husband’s birthday dinner, which wasn’t served until 10:30 p.m. because tamales actually take forever to make. I blame Top Chef for that time I made my own mayonnaise, which everyone agreed was amazing and delicious, and which ruined store-bought mayo forever. The problem is that homemade mayonnaise has the lifespan of a sneeze and I curse Top Chef a little every time I scoop old homemade mayo into the trash.

            My family loves chicken noodle soup. There’s nothing fancy about chicken noodle soup. If making chicken noodle soup were an episode on Top Chef, the contestants would cook up some crazy complicated stuff: Chicken soup stuffed noodles. Deconstructed soup served with a chicken-foam. Or chicken noodle ice cream… because someone is always making ice cream.  

            Naturally, I have tried to make chicken noodle soup fancy.  More spices. Different vegetables. Weird noodles. And my kids didn’t dig it. They’re good eaters, but they were always disappointed to see homemade croutons floating in their soup (which did get fairly soggy). Or chunks of celery root (which, it turns out, sauté differently than regular celery). Or apple cider vinegar. (That one is on me, it was supposed to be simple apple cider, minus the vinegar. It was disgusting.)

            One evening, when I was getting ready to make chicken noodle soup yet one more time, my daughter came into the kitchen.

            “Mama, what are you making?”

            “Chicken noodle soup!”

            “Oooh, I love it. Can you going to make it regular this time?”

            “Sure, sweetie. But… what’s in the ‘regular’ one that you like?”

            “You know. Chicken. Curly noodles. And carrots.”

            “Ok. I can do that. Do you want corn in it?”

            “No.”

            “How about tomatoes? Or bacon?”

            “No.”

            “Do you want it creamy?”

            “Nope, Mama. Just regular.”

            “Ok. How about these fun noodles?”

            “No thanks. Just the regular ones.”

            And just in case I did not understand how ‘regular’ she wanted the soup, she went to the cupboard and found the egg noodles for me.

            “You just want simple, plain chicken noodle soup. Really?! Nothing fancy. Just super simple?”

            “Yes, Mama! You get it!” She literally jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

            That night we had ZERO leftovers.

            Simple is better. It tastes better. It feels better. Simple is easier to clean up after. It’s easier to afford. It’s easier to enjoy.

            Like chicken soup, JOY is way simpler than we assume we must make it.

            I find myself assuming that for the sake of Christmas joy I must spend my Advent being fancy and complicated: my kids’ outfits for the pageant need to be sparkly and new, Christmas dinner needs to be candle-lit and delicious, gifts must be perfectly significant and professionally wrapped, the tree’s ornaments must be distributed evenly, and peace must prevail on all the earth.        

            Joy is simple and simple is better. Simple is also counter-cultural.

            I want to make joy, so I’m trying to live simply. There’s a truckload of gifts to be wrapped and Christmas menus to be made. There’s laundry to do for our weekend at my in-laws’ and stars to cut for my kids’ school programs. I’m not doing any of it right now. It’ll get done… but right now…

            … I’m going to make more tea. And read a book in the chair next to the Christmas tree. Joy is simple. I’m choosing joy. I need to keep reminding myself this, but that’s okay.

            It’s dark outside. Waiting for something great is making us all feel a bit nutty in some way or another.  Still, joy is simple. It’s a star. A snowman. A friend. A book. Joy is chicken noodle soup, the regular way.  I love this season of advent… so I’ll try to simply enjoy it.

            I’m wishing you joy, my friends. Joy and hope and peace!