There’s some beloved chicken soup in the story made by someone’s beloved Saftah, although why they use the Hebrew word for grandmother rather than the Yiddish is never explained. The characters aren’t Israeli. But, whatever. Anyhow, beloved Saftah’s beloved chicken soup is a character in itself, a bygone, mourned, treasured friend of blessed memory. But the soup looked like crap to me. I wouldn’t eat it. The broth was too clear. It had no golden hue, not even slightly. It looked like chicken, parsley, and pimento in spring water. I resent that chicken soup being cast as a real Jewish chicken soup. That’s a goyishe food stylist’s whitewashed image of chicken soup.
In a Moment of Truth, Jeff Dorchen watches some or most of the new TV show Hunters, and considers the show business and real world implications of punching show business and real world Nazis, the uses of subtlety and the abuses of chicken soup.
Read the transcript here