Chicken soup

Chicken soup is a big thing in America. I’ve finally got to grips with the whole “chicken soup” deal. It took me a while, but - unless I’m much mistaken – this is the gist of it. When you say “chicken soup” to an American, it’s short-hand for a whole idea of comfort, solace, tenderness, warmth, care, love. All that good stuff that your mother made you feel when you were ill as a child. I suppose chicken soup must be what American mothers give to their convalescent children. I’m trying to think what the equivalent would be for the British. (There was a post on Pond Parleys about this recently.) In Jane Austen’s day, I believe it was calves’ foot jelly. Thank goodness times have changed. My mum used to give us Marmite on toast, and either hot Ribena, or Lucozade, so for me, those conjure up the chicken soup feelings. And come to think of it, that’s almost never these days. I do have a jar of Marmite at the back of the cupboard somewhere, but we don’t buy Ribena, and I’ve gone off Lucozade.

Back to chicken soup. The idea is all good, but chicken soup has got rather out of control, like the story of the girl with the magic porridge pot. Chicken soup has taken over much of the bookselling business. If you type ‘chicken soup book’ into Amazon, it will offer you 2,624 choices. Chicken soup for the soul, seems to be the thing. (Can a soul eat soup, I wonder? That’s a whole theological digression waiting to happen.) Little hardbacks to fit in your pocket, with pithy messages of wisdom and encouragement. Glossy paperbacks, with heart-warming tales of people triumphing over adversity. Gift packages of almost any combination of items, with inspiration and comfort oozing out.

Chicken soup is very specialised these days. There’s chicken soup for every situation, and every person. Let me list you a few, to give you an idea:

Chicken Soup for the Preteen Soul
Chicken Soup for the College Soul
Chicken Soup for the Empty Nester’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Cat and Dog Lover’s Soul (covering all bases, that one)
Chicken Soup for the Ocean Lover’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Entrepreneur’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Golfer’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the NASCAR Soul
Chicken Soup for the Shopper’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Canadian Soul
Chicken Soup for the Dieter’s Soul
Chicken Soup for the Unsinkable Soul (would make a nice pair with the Ocean Lover’s Soul)
Chicken Soup from the Soul of Hawai’i.

See what I mean? It’s out of control. Do you think there might be a title for fans of a particular music genre, titled Chicken Soup for the Soul Lover’s Soul? I expect there is, somewhere.

I came across a title recently that really threatened to tip me over the edge. As I said, I had just about fathomed what the whole chicken soup deal was, when I walked past a book stand on which this book was displayed.



Aaaargh. I had to re-read the title a few times. I did several double-takes. I just didn’t get it. This was a crossing-over of moral universes that had my head in a spin and my internal compass in a whirl.

It begs the following question: if your friend is a tea-lover, why the dickens would you give them chicken soup? Why wouldn’t you give them a nice cup of tea?

“Oh, hello, Iota. I know you’ve been having a tough time recently, and are in need of inspiration and encouragement. I know what you really need is a good cup of tea, so here’s some chicken soup.”

Aaaargh. I can’t get my brain round this at all. There are also chicken soup books for coffee-lovers, for wine-lovers, and for chocolate-lovers, incidentally. Chocolate lovers? How much are those die-hards going to appreciate chicken soup, for heaven’s sake?

Retaliation is the only appropriate response. I’m going to publish a book called A Nice Cup of Tea for the Chicken Soup Lover’s Soul.

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