there is something magical about soup, and i don't mean, necessarily, in the obvious witch's steaming cauldron sense. it is, by far, my favourite thing to cook. you take separate ingredients and simmer them together to create an entirely new flavour... you add one or two things and completely alter that flavour. soup can be as complex or as simple as you want - you can take two ingredients and put them together and call it soup. you can combine the sum contents of your refrigerator crisper and voila! soup.
humans have been making soup for around 5000 years - coinciding with the invention of waterproof and heatproof cooking containers. our early ancestors must have marveled at the way you can render a formerly inedible plant product tender to the teeth by prolonged submersion in boiling water; how cereal grains - neat and smooth as intact individuals - became soft and malleable, thickening the broth and submitting to the subtle pressure of the tongue. adding animal fats or nuts change the texture and thickness yet again. the combinations are limitless - are foundered only by the extent of your imagination.
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
i judge the quality of a cook by the quality of their soup - it is a forgiving medium and s/he who cannot make a decent pot of soup is questionable in all forms of cookery. i judge the quality of a person by the quality of their soup - it is a labour of love and a metaphor which can be extended to the outside world. put the parts of yourself into any endeavour and the sum which is returned should be of the highest quality.
double double toil and trouble... come back to the cauldron with me, for what is a potion if not a soup? the image of the witch in front of her cooking pot resonates: it is neither the witch nor the brew which strikes fear or awe in our hearts. it is the combination of the two - the transformation of soup to potion is facilitated by the witch, by the woman, by the chef.
double double toil and trouble.... sip hearty chowder with me by a fire on a cold day and let it warm you to the core. spoon chilled gazpacho as we watch the sun set and remember spain. close your eyes and recall campbell's chicken noodle and premium plus crackers after tobagganing. are you with me? can you live my memories with me? i can put who i am into the pot. when i make minestrone i am 15 again, walking through wintery prince george with my friend ilene, taking refuge from the -35 degree weatherin our rec room by the woodstove, eating bowl after bowl of thick soup and eating homemade brown buns.
double double toil and trouble.... soup alone can make the humble potato erotic- rendered sensual and velvety to the taste after its sojourn in the pot. here i add herbs and mysterious powders from my cupboard. smell the transformation as i make water into wine... this is the magic of soup - it lies in the potential of all things to become something more than they appear on the surface.
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