At approximately 5:54 p.m. every Sunday, I do a few things. First, I cover my face in a really intense mud mask, the kind where you can’t actually move your mouth once it dries. Then, I put on the pair of grandma slippers that senior staff writer Alex Beggs gifted me. And then, once I'm good and cozy, I CRAVE soup.
It literally doesn’t matter if it’s July or February, I always crave soup on Sundays. It may have to do with the fact that it’s so comforting, or that I have a hangover I need to sweat out, but trust me when I say that a bowl of broth-y, noodle-y soup on a Sunday night is the most perfect thing.
I like to make too much, so I have soup for the week, or freeze it in my silicone ice trays for next Sunday’s craving.
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