Beautiful soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen,
Who for such dainties would not stoop.
Soup of the evening, Beautiful Soup.
So intoned the Mock Turtle in Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”. And I must agree. There is nothing like a fragrant pot of soup, simmering on the back burner. But it’s more than the anticipation of a savory supper. For me, soup is a labor saving device. Or strategy, if you prefer.
How can this be? All that chopping and slicing. Stirring, sauteing, seasoning. Testing and tasting, searching for the point of perfection. But here’s the thing. I never wake up in the morning thinking, “What’s for dinner?” A good sized pot of soup, concocted every three days or so, takes care of supper for that many days, thanks to my gracious husband, who compliments me on everything I cook. He never complains, knowing that if he does, I’ll hand him the spoon and cookbook.
And it’s never monotonous. The recipes are endless. The innovations are limited only by my imagination. Today my friend asked me what kind of soup I was creating. “I’m not sure yet,” I replied, as I threw in the mushrooms. Sometimes I surprise myself. Very few failures, and should it happen, it can usually be redeemed with an innovation or two.
So, Mock Turtle, I applaud your melody.