One thing everyone who's gotten the opportunity to eat this stuff agrees on is that it's delicious. Even during the dark ages, viz., the months when I was engaged, one thing my fiancée actually agreed with me on was that my mom's chicken noodle soup was, get ready for this, souperb.
Amid a host of Christmas dinner traditions - turkey, goose, slop (if you happened to attend my college and had to stay there during the Christmas holidays), gourmet eating (if you're in prison and being funded by the taxpayer) - our Christmas dinner tradition stand out as being particularly tough to explain to the uninitiated masses. This tradition? You guessed it, Mom's homemade chicken noodle soup. It was the first meal that Tammy, my ex-fiancée, had with my family, and after one bite, all she said was, "Bruce, I understand now."
Yes, the stuff's special, no doubt about it. It's a treat, even more wondrous to consume than those homemade French [Freedom] Fries I mentioned in my previous entry. I'm sure that the chickens that have given up their lives for this wonderful soup through the years are even now looking down from that big chicken coup in the sky, smiles of approval gracing their beaks, and clucking out their gratitude to my mom for allowing them to be a part of such a delicious tradition. Yes, they would be proud chickens indeed. And not only proud, but tastey, too.