I love eating soup — there’s just something about a spoonful of warm, delicious goodness that is both filling and comforting at the same time. When I am sad or depressed about something, I choose to have lunch at this restaurant which serves nothing but soup: bacon and potato chowder, Mexican chili, a New England Clam chowder, mushroom soup…the choices are just endless. Paired with freshly-baked herb or wheat bread, creamy butter and a tall glass of water — I got hungry just thinking about it.
Somehow, a hot bowl of really good soup can work wonders for a bruised ego or a bleeding heart. Each spoonful fills and warms the tummy, while bringing a sense of comfort or calm even at the midst of the nastiest storm (literally or otherwise).
Last Saturday evening, I cooked a big pot of this (almost) Vegetarian Minestrone Soup to share with the whole family. Almost veg because it had butter and cheese on it. While I probably took twenty years just peeling and dicing stuff, having a spoonful of that yummy goodness is simply worth slaving away in the kitchen.
As I grew older, I noticed how I have become to regard cooking less of a chore and more of a calming, stress-free “Me” time where I am left alone with the iPhone (a repository of recipes) and my thoughts to do what I like. I tend to think more of things while I am peeling potatoes or worse, a very smelly onion. Maybe it’s the years finally catching up with you — you grow old and you say goodbye to the pseudo-emo posturings you used to adapt when you were twenty five.