When I'm not sending out resumes or getting lost in the cyberspace job search, I can be found wandering through grocery stores filled with enigmatic ingredients, spending my unemployment check on foods to sooth my slacking soul. Whether it's dried scallops and mushrooms at an Asian market in Flushing, Queens or discovering obscure spices in an Indian grocery store, I delight in hunting down unfamiliar foods to take back the lab. The rules of the game: At least one ingredient must be beautiful enough to sit alone on a museum pedestal as edible art. A cookbook may not be cracked until the dish is complete. The meal created must taste good.

But my most recent stint of unemployment has prevented me from playing my favorite game.

Knocked down by a nasty cold, the game's rules had to be modified. Rather than wandering to the distant corners of New York City's boroughs, I must instead dig deep in my kitchen cupboards. The new rule: Use at least three spices that have been neglected for the past year.

Filled with self-pity for having to squander my "vacation" in my diseased state, I decided to test the healing power of chicken soup. Despite being the carnivore that I am, I have a huge deficit in the meat preparation department. I allow others to prepare my meat. However, in the interest in self-healing, I decided it was time to master the art of chicken soup preparation. Having never made it, a consultation with mom was necessary. In addition to getting a thorough tutelage in the art of the making poultry soup, I received the appropriate pity that a girl, forced to make her own medicinal potion needed.

Since I'm probably the only person on the planet who doesn't know how to cook chicken soup, the details of the process can be glossed over. You know how to make it. Boil a whole chicken in four quarts of water for a while. Add salt. Add carrots, onions cut the way you like. Later, after the stock has matured on the burner, peel the tender meat off the bone, returning the edible parts to the pot. Now, for the secret ingredients: spicy curry, the color of burnt sienna, the bag, turned dusty from neglect, out of reach on a top cupboard shelf. I dug out a little jar of lemon rind I had dried in an attempt to create homemade gourmet gifts, but which I never got around to distributing. In my sick state, I cheated the rules for my third ingredient. I snuck fresh grated ginger into the mix (after adding some long-neglected powdered ginger that I never use, always favoring the fresh stuff when I cook). The soup bubbled away for a couple of hours. I added a handful of fresh chopped cilantro. Voila!

After two bowls I was feeling much better. The next day I was healed. Let the real games begin!