While having a link clicking party for one, I stumbled onto this post over at The Candid Appetite. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this about myself, but I love soup. As in: if I had to choose to eat one thing, the thing I would choose would be soup. This, like Jonathan does in his post, I can blame on my mother. Since we a.) lived in fairly small towns and b.) relatively close to the school (aka: could see the school through our back window and across a farmer’s field and just past the football field), my siblings and I would make the trek home every lunch hour where my mother would have a pot of soup and a stack of sandwiches for us. Of course, there were days where leftovers greeted us or else, if she wasn’t going to be home in the evening/would be too busy to cook dinner/various other reasons I’m forgetting right now, she would swap lunch and dinner and we’d have a full spread while soup would come out later.
As with Jonathan, I thought my soup experience was what everyone else’s was. Until a friend in high school went, “What do you mean, you only have soup?” to which we gave each other extremely confused and slightly judgmental looks before I paused and asked, “Well, what do you eat for lunch?” to which she replied with a full meal her Phillipino mother had cooked up for her after she’d made her way to school. For a moment I felt the lack of with my simple soup and sandwich fare. But that wore off by the time I made my way back home, soup waiting for me.
Now, I should probably admit that most of my soup-for-lunch were of the Campbell variety and not always the wonderful homemade kind. Which my mother is also ridiculously capable and adept at making. (My kingdom for some of her hamburger soup.) I never had a problem with it and, if we’re being honest here, I’m eagerly awaiting the day when I get to sit back down at the big wooden table with the ridiculous pot in the middle and having cream of mushroom soup ladled into my bowl. (With pepper on top.) But! until that day comes, I’m currently living in a country that doesn’t really do soup (unless it’s summer and then it’s ALL THE GASPACHO YOU COULD POSSIBLY WANT!). So, I did what I do and decided to see if I could make something out of the various things I could find in the fridge. (Last Friday, I made a ridiculously delicious mushroom soup. I am so sad that I didn’t have my camera at the time to share the goodness with you all.) And armed with TCA’s post as inspiration, I cut myself some onion, pressed some garlic, quartered four tomatoes, tossed in some oregano, salt, freshly ground pepper and let it all become one hot, steaming, bubbling something on the stovetop.
After about 15 minutes of it bubbling away, I took it off the stove and let it cool down, added a bit of leftover cream from that mushroom soup, added some hot sauce because I do love a bit of a bite and then blended it all together. Of course, a soup really isn’t a meal without it’s sandwich-y counterpart, something to dip in the soup, something to fill your hands with and then mop up whatever leftovers may evade your spoon at the end of it all. Mine was courtesy of a leftover tomato, a slice or two of ham, some mozza and leftover baguette from the night before, a little crusty and not necessarily edible all on it’s own, but when sliced in half and given some substance, a few minutes grilling away, definitely more than ready to be eaten.
Things I’m Loving:
+ Things Creative People Do –
+ Putting International Women’s Day on the cover– (Really clever and hits home, big time. Also: women and lack of work.)
+ About ‘the Ukraine’ – (And why it’s not.)
+ Journalist Cocktail – (Because if anyone can drink, it’s a journalist.)
One thought on “Soup & Sandwiches: My Childhood in a Meal”
It’s amazing how even seemingly trivial things can be important if you don’t have access to them anymore, eh?
You can pick lunch or supper when you get back home, ok?