I like to think of myself as something of a home chef, by which I mean that there are often multiple nights in a row when I cook for myself and my boyfriend instead of ordering takeout. (Brag!) Lately, though, at the risk of sounding trad, I’ve been longing for a relationship with cooking that’s a little more…I don’t know. Aesthetic? Old-school? Something you’d serve to your Regency-era lover by candlelight instead of throwing millennial slop into two bowls and gulping it down in front of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?

Austen is on my mind right now thanks to the recent release of Miss Austen on PBS, and I can attest that scrolling through the all-things-Austen-related site Republic of Pemberley is like taking a delightful little trip back to early 19th-century England. Do I own the various white frilly tablecloths, linen napkins, and tasteful candelabras necessary to make my own table look like Austen’s? No, not at all. (My kitchen table is currently covered in junk mail and dog treats.) But as an intro-level chef with almost a decade of kitchen experience behind me, I resolved to make at least one thing from the site—and at the end of the day, regardless of outcome, I did technically meet that goal!

Perhaps the first problem with my attempt to culinarily transport myself back to the Austen days was my choice of recipe; while the excellent 2002 cookbook Jane Austen’s Table boasts endless recipes for sumptuous dishes including “Plum and Crushed Peppercorn Jelly” and “Strawberry and Lavender Shortcakes,” I instead opted to make…“White Soup.” Naturally, my first thought was of the blue soup that Bridget makes in Bridget Jones’s Diary by accidentally leaving the rubber bands on a bunch of vegetables, which was…perhaps not the best omen, but I pressed onward nonetheless.

Below, please find my step-by-step guide (with attendant thoughts) to making the white soup that’s referenced in the part of Pride and Prejudice where Bingley says the Netherfield Ball can be scheduled “once Nicholls has made white soup enough”:

1. Who is Nicholls?
2. Should I reread Pride and Prejudice instead of cooking this dubious soup?
3. The recipe calls for veal bones, chicken thighs, anchovies, and bacon. I guess nobody was vegetarian in Austen’s day.
4. I mean, I’m not vegetarian, but four combined sources of animal protein in one recipe feels like…a lot.
5. Okay, the various and sundry meats are simmering on my stove along with rice, water, herbs, onions, and celery, and while I’ve never cooked with veal bones before and don’t particularly relish the opportunity now, I must admit it’s smelling good!
6. All right, something is happening in this pot and now my entire kitchen reeks of what I can only assume is veal (it’s definitely not bacon).
7. My dog is far more interested in the veal smell than I am.
8. I’m straining this whole mess.
9. The recipe says to let the strained mess sit in the fridge overnight, but…I don’t want to?
10. I don’t think Jane Austen, patron saint of women thinking for themselves, would mind if I slightly cheated at this recipe.
11. Okay, the soup sat in the fridge for about an hour (the best I could manage), and now I’m straining the top for what the recipe calls “scummy bits.” Delicious!
12. I’m sorry, why are there SWEET ALMONDS in this meat soup?
13. And cream?
14. And an egg yolk?
15. Okay, I’ve mixed together the cream and the egg yolk, and I’m only gagging a little bit.
16. Brief break to google “were people lactose intolerant in regency era.”
17. I’ve made what I can only describe as a…sweet, dairy-forward meat stew.
18. Did Jane Bennet seriously fall for Bingley after eating this soup?
19. I guess this one’s on good old Nicholls.
20. Okay, I’m unfortunately throwing all of this out and ordering Thai, just like they did in the days of petticoats and horse-drawn carriages.