Nothing says love in a cup to me like matzo ball soup, my ultimate comfort food. Let others extoll the childhood virtues of coming in from a cold day of snow play to warm up with tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches…matzo balls and homemade chicken soup were what I’d beg my mother for. As I got older, it was warming up during the winter “girls’ outings” to New York City with my mother: trips to watch foreign movies at the art movie house near Lincoln Center that were always preceded by lunch at the nearby Jewish deli: a full-on sensory experience with baseball-sized matzo balls swimming in piping hot broth, mountainous pastrami and rye sandwiches, and sassy waitresses calling out orders that reverberated off the hammered tin ceiling. I loved those cold weather outings with Mom, which later evolved into opera nights preceded by dinner at Cafe Fiorello across from the Metropolitan Opera house. The first time we went to Fiorello’s, I commented to my mother what a shame it was that the deli was no more…to which she said, “Look up!”…and I suddenly saw the hammered tin ceiling…so, on this cold day, I’m in the mood for a bowl of soul food as I ladle Mom’s chicken soup recipe over my own fluffy matzo ball