Soup is Love

It is a bitter, drenching western Washington day.  I am soaked from my shoes to my knees because the rain is bouncing off the pavement.  I had to walk to work; my car did not start this morning.  My umbrella turned inside out from the strength of the wind. At work, I consume some pretzels and water since there is no time for real food.  Each time I walk between buildings I fear that my feet will begin to mold. I spend the entire day more than slightly damp and irritable.  After the walk home, rain blowing sideways and completing my misery, I turn the key, open the door, and the smell caresses my nostrils.  It is the loveliest aroma I know; a hint of garlic, herbs, chicken and broth; heaven in a pot. Yes, soup is love.

            Imagine the origins of soup.  Several days after the hunt, Mama Ooog is looking at what’s left of the saber-tooth gofer. Only a haunch remains, not enough to feed Papa Ooog and two baby Ooogs.  This is also the origin of critical thinking; indeed a woman started it all, but I digress.  Mama looks around and spies a few tubers, some leafy greens and a wild onion.  She plops the haunch into a hollow stone, adds the tubers, greens, onion and covers the lot with water.  It simmers over the fire she was given by another woman she met on the trail. Soon the enticing smell brings Papa and the children running.  As it begins to cool, they scoop it into their mouths with their hands.  Slurping and sighing with pleasure, everyone’s belly is soon full and delicious warmth spreads through the small group.  That night the cold doesn’t seem so cold and the children sleep better than they have in, well, ever.  Papa is so happy he convinces Mama to begin working on a third little Ooog. Again I say, soup is love. 

            My favorite time of the year is unequivocally summer.  I love warmth and sun and bare feet and bare shoulders. I intensely dislike having to “layer up,” which adds at least ten pounds and brings on the look I like to call Annie Hall meets the Abominable Snowman.  The only thing I look forward to as the days shorten and the weather chills is the smell and warmth of a good hot soup.  Occasionally I make a cold soup with fruits and veggies in the summertime, and yet it does not have the same impact as that hot dish served during the winter months.  I have proof that this is so; don’t just take my word for it.  My children were over on Sunday and I had a beautiful, big, pot of beef barley soup bubbling gently in the crock pot.  As soon as they discovered it, it disappeared.  A chorus of, “Thanks Mom, delicious Mom, I love you Mom,” rang through the house.  Indeed, soup is love. 

            The options are plentiful.  Chicken soup, chicken noodle soup, chicken and rice soup, beef soup, beef barley soup, vegetable soup, potato soup, bean soup, lentil soup, pea soup and of course the variations-chicken and dumplings, and pot roast are just two that I like to think of a soup plus.  I feel that I can never go wrong with soup; it’s wonderful the first day and improves the second, and it’s the only meal I don’t mind eating two days in a row.  It is simple.  No courses or having to remember which utensil to use.  It is acceptable to slurp and sigh while eating.  It is fine to have two bowls because it is good for me.  I always feel as if my body is thanking me when I eat it. 

Another lovely thing is soup can be eaten out of many types of containers.  Since Ooogs time we have graduated to bowls, yet a bowl is only one serving device for soup.  Mugs work equally well and in fact, I prefer them because of the handle.  What about a thermos filled with the deliciousness of soup? Perfect for the frozen fisherman waiting for the fleeting fish to bite. Soup can be slurped through a straw if I were to break my jaw.  No steak could say the same or be as satisfying.  Speaking of illness, soup is the cure-all for so many ailments.  Caught a cold?  Chicken soup! Just getting over the flu?  A nice consume will perk anyone up and it’s easy to hold down.  A good low sodium soup will aid in the reduction of cholesterol and heart disease.  What a lovely food is soup. 

            I believe that we have forgotten the power of home-cooked meals.  I know that cooking does not get passed down from generation to generation as it once did.  Today it is all about convenience and haste, and pre-cooked, over-processed food seems to be the order of the day.  Yet, where’s the love?  We must get back to our Ooog roots and begin cooking and serving soup again.  Soup from a can is a poor substitute for the real thing.  The love quotient goes way down when all I have to do is open the can, dump it in a bowl and put it in the microwave for a minute and thirty seconds.  It’s akin to speed dating. It might fill the immediate hole, but there is no expectation of long-term commitment.  Making real soup, from real ingredients, is a true expression of love.  Love for myself, love for my family and friends, why even the dog benefits, for on the third day, if there is any left, I can mix it with his kibble and he will adore me even more than he already does.  Yes, my dears, soup is love.  Stop by sometime, the stockpot is always on the simmer.