as a frosted chill lingers in the air, a hearty bowl of soup can be medicinal to the soul. full-bodied bone broth envelops pops of bright tomato, wisps of spinach, and crumbles of ground turkey. flakes of dried oregano, rosemary, and basil hint at an Italian concept while sharp olive oil adds a layer of decadence.

Returning to the grueling schedule of yet another semester is difficult. A move and a new list of responsibilities only serve to complicate that. The apprehension of new classes, the dread of meetings upon meetings, and the pressure of designing an ideal vision for my post-college life. I felt weighed down, burdened by decisions and feeling trapped in a cycle of hectic busyness.

Enter the "snow" day. No matter what seems to be plaguing life, those two simple words (seldom uttered in College Station, Texas I might add) have the magical quality of conjuring instant peace. The idea of pushing tasks to the neverland of "tomorrow" always makes me anxious, but a random weekday in the middle of January laden with inclement ice and frost evoked nothing but glorious feelings.

What was once the first day of the spring semester transformed into a day of freedom and endless possibilities. With no real homework to get lost in yet, I gave myself permission to do the only thing there is to do when unoccupied hours stretch ahead: cook!

A nod to the nature of the outdoor state, I decided a soup would be appropriate. That, and the fact that I was hurting for exotic ingredients, made the concept an easy one to get behind. I began by taking stock of the elements I had on hand- when there's ice coating Texas roads, it's most wise to remain within the confines of an aromatic kitchen, even when it means sacrificing a level of extravagance.

Perpetually dreaming of Italy, I unknowingly gathered an array of spices, vegetables, and protein that would lend itself marvelously to a dried blend of Italian herbs. Gazing at my counter I inventoried a package of ground turkey, tomatoes that were canned and diced, chicken bone broth, onions, garlic, and mounds of baby spinach. The makings of a lovely palette!

To begin, as I do with most every recipe, I drizzled olive oil in a stock pot to warm. Once I could perceive heat coursing from beneath the pot, in went roughly diced onions with dreams of caramelization. As the white, fleshy pieces began to fade into translucence, finely minced garlic entered the scene.

Salt and pepper were liberally sprinkled over the surface of the burgeoning recipe. The salt's job was to release liquid hiding in onion layers and to aid in seasoning the mix. Pepper was integral because I like it, who doesn't? As the texture of the onions began to soften further and a golden color was achieved, it was time for the turkey to make an appearance.

Again, I hit the buddings of a dish with salt and pepper, breaking the ground turkey into generous morsels. This time, though, I introduced flakes of basil and oregano. The meat turned opaque, gaining a slight sear and beginning to resemble the envisioned form.

At this point my miniscule kitchen was overpowered by the sweetly savory aroma of cooking onions and the deeply satisfying scent of browning meat. Nothing gets my endorphins going like the inhale of a brewing meal, and I was extraordinarily satisfied each time I contemplated being in class.

Once the turkey, onions, and garlic were deliciously sautéed, the story began to come together. Diced tomatoes from a can encompassed the cooked ingredients, their acidic depth cutting the robust flavorings already in the pot. Usually I'd veto this, but soups need a quality of stewed flavor that sometimes only canned veggies can supply.

The disparate pieces became incorporated as the complex flavors mingled and elements communicated on a transcendent level. The harmony was evidenced by an even more developed bouquet wafting about the room.

Never wanting to wash away progress toward resonant flavor, conjuring broth by the addition of water is never on my agenda; hence, the bone broth. Thankfully brimming with profound richness, all that was necessary was emptying the jar into the blend.

Sensing I had laundry to make headway upon, I reduced the heat, and left the soup to simmer indeterminately. Returning many moments later, I found an even more refined smell emanating from the pot. That, and my tangibly empty stomach, signaled that plating was near.

To finish with finesse, I'd have loved a crisp bouquet of Italian parsley, but that was not to be. I scrounged around among my provisions and rustled up some spinach. A fine slice, and the greens were submerged to wilt.

At first probability of doneness I grabbed a bowl, ladle in hand. A generous helping was garnished with more herbs for good measure as well as a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil from none other than the Tuscany region of Italy (commonly referred to as my true home).

What could have been a lethargic day of endless television became a day of imaginative creation and multidimensional dreaming. Consequentially, I find that I cross my fingers every week for another "snow day," all the while knowing I don't need that title to inspire a day of peaceful exploration with food.