If it’s fall, it’s soup time!
Autumn calls us to come in, get those warm yarns and socks out of the bottom drawer. When it gets dark earlier in the day, the soup calls.
The story of a good soup, in its first round pots or in today’s shiny flat-bottomed markings, remains a favorite subject of story writers everywhere.
When the aroma of fresh vegetables simmering for a soup fills any daily kitchen, the aroma indicates a sigh and a feeling of “coming home”. That familiar smell brings a kind of satisfaction and reassurance regarding food and, of course, eating. But it is also a satisfaction about life in general. A pot of soup and a good story can do that.
The soup awakens the literary in us.
Tea soup pot and melting pot they are often used interchangeably as overworked metaphors for two seemingly opposing truths:
• Soup ingredients can be cooked together and processed into a thick, flavorful liquid, like the image of crucible soup from the early days of America.
• Or, ingredients, such as vegetables, can be added to a broth, remain distinct, and at the same time contribute to the overall rich flavors of the soup. This version is also called America’s Melting Pot, but with respect for its many different contributions.
Soup pots become a popular metaphor because there have been stories and myths about food created (or invented) in a large pot, probably since the beginning of time. And food has always been a popular subject for stories, whether to tell, read, or watch.
Ancient storytellers composed myths to evoke ways to answer the big questions: why is the sky blue, why are the seas salty? Any of these myths about salt, while outrageously illogical, leaves one with a new respect for the magic of this simple element made up of salt. No soup can do without it.
Perhaps without praising the wonders of salt, the poet Owen Meredith praised the power of good food in 1860:
We can live without friends; we can live without books;
But civilized man cannot live without cooking.
You can live without love, what is passion but sustenance?
But where is the man who can live without eating?
Old, round bottom soup pots are making a comeback here and there today. And the old soup stories abound even more. There must be thousands of versions of Stone soup – told in schools, churches, homes – all because of the sense of community that making soup creates.
Today’s food writer, Calvin Trillin, used one of his stories to launch his full-blown campaign to make “Spaghetti Carbonara” the national meal over the usual turkey on Thanksgiving. In her story, Trillin provides hilarious supporting evidence in her descriptions of Christopher Columbus, who is from Genoa and enjoys the fine taste of cheese, bacon, bacon, and pasta.
The stories emerge in the kitchens. The stories land in the middle of the conversations over dinner. A natural conversation starter is often “can I have the recipe for this delicious dish?” But while an excellent recipe is a treasure, the history that surrounds it is the most entertaining and enlightening.
The next time you make soup, tell your family a story. Or read one: Calvin Trillin’s “Spaghetti Carbonara” is a good start.
Or read the old food story told by the 18th century English essayist Charles Lamb on the history of the roast pig. His story delights in describing a certain eldest son of a Chinese man, 60 or 70 thousand years ago, who accidentally set fire to the pig house and reveled in licking his fingers after pulling a pig from the fire. Accidental fires could no longer be the only way to roast pigs, so soon people began to extract iron and mold it into cauldrons and pots.