Next to bread and water my favorite meal consists of plain
ol’ soup. Almost any flavor is fine, just keep the fish heads to yourself and
don’t be stingy with the salt, pepper, and a silver spoon the size of your
head. The slop does not have to be fancy with discernible chunks of gunk – it just
has to be hot and viscous enough to float a flotilla of saltines on the top.
Oh I know the chefy snobs want their icy vichyssoise but real
tureen fiends like me demand the stock steaming and ready to scald bald on
crispy cold days. Don’t expect stars to sparkle in my eyes if you dump some pee-wee
pot on the tabletop either, especially if you begin to ladle my lunch with the little dipper. Nope, like my gut and the
back half of my pants I need my bowls BIG, soundly round, and filled bountifully
brim-high.
Even the condensed goo is ok too since it easily can be
transformed into liquid-love with some fresh flow fondling from the H20 and a wittle wobble of the stove-top ’s knoble. So save your stacks of cash and leave
that stinky brash stash of aged cheese add-ins and girly parsley garnish garrisoned
in the fridge. Ditto for the ice box
locked jug of cow and its caloric yet even creamier Half & Half brother, ‘cause
all I want my soup’s toes to dip into is a little hot water.
Yes most kitchen-istas will detest my palate’s sad lack of sophistication around the pot but I argue, that is usually a GOOD thing when plumbing’s involved. I admit my tasty buds tend toward the regular rather than the rare when it comes to my plain Jane soup du pure tastes. One way or another I must be some kind of a super fan for sure because when it comes to soup I’m a crusty old scab who isn’t all that picky . . . and oh yeah, I blow a lot of hot air!
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