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ME AND GOD AND HOMEMADE SOUP
(An irreverent look at life in general with God looking over my shoulder.) ‘I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.’ (Phil. 4: 11 – 13 NIV) Like the Apostle Paul, I have learned to be content with what I have. I, too, have known times of plenty and times of need. Which is why, during a time of hardship when my funds were non-existent, I passed the time making soup. It was His idea. God’s, I mean, to make the soup. ‘You’re hard up,’ He said, overstating the obvious, ‘go – make some soup.’ So the contents of the larder and fridge were examined to see what gastronomic delights might present themselves. Innocent by-standers on the shelves, minding their own business, were rounded up and thrown into the pot. No lame excuses were accepted; no ‘I can’t be made into soup because I have to stay here looking after the other sad and soggy vegetables’ – the same fate awaited everything! Making soup is a bit like making mud pies. You never quite know how it’s going to turn out. While muttering over a black cauldron, ‘toil and trouble, boil and bubble’ or something similar, a gigantic hairy wart appears on your cheek and your hair stands on end as you cackle the next lot of ingredients: ‘Eye of toad, hair of bat, a dried –up belly button of an old dead rat’ – oh no, sorry, wrong recipe! That’s from my alternative vegetarian cookery book!! Flushed from a recent success with Leek and Potato soup, I decided to try something else. Having found a decrepit bit of dying broccoli cowering in a corner of the fridge, and some sprouting potatoes, the best thing I could think of, given the limitation of the ingredients, was - ‘ Yes, you’ve guessed! BROCCOLI and Potato Soup. How hard could it be to substitute broccoli for leek? I was not prepared for the startling vivid green that emerged from the saucepan. I zapped the contents in the food processor to smooth out some of the larger chunks and then scraped it back into the pan to warm through. I tried to pour it into a dish but it sulked defiantly with rounded shoulders like a recalcitrant teenager holed up in his room. It would NOT leave the pan, no matter how fierce I shook it! Its dubious texture with ‘never-before-seen-in-the-colour-spectrum’ green gave it the look of punk porridge with attitude! Finally I managed to scrape a dollop out. It didn’t seem to have a whole lot of flavour so I thought a couple of hearty shakes of black pepper would liven things up and as more pepper escaped than I intended, the afternoon was spent with my tongue dangling in a glass of cold water as it was on fire. Be warned - homemade soup never turns out like the picture in the recipe book. All the soups I have ever made have been beige-ish, brown-ish, green-ish, or orangey-purple (don’t even ask about that one!) I remember one memorable one – Hot Chilli Bean Soup – which was the brightest red I have ever seen in my life! And it tasted great, but for the next twenty-four hours, whenever I breathed out, I scorched the paintwork! Not to mention if I spoke to anyone they stood about four feet away shielding their faces. The smell of some homemade soup is sometimes a bit off-putting. And the look of it. The first (and only) time I made lettuce soup it resembled grass cuttings. A thin, watery mess lay in the bottom of the bowl; an apology, if ever one was needed, should have been issued by the author of such a sickly liquid. I was determined not to let its appearance put me off; I had made this soup – I was going to eat this soup, but even wearing a blindfold and snorkel it was still a dismal experience. As with most homemade things there is a downside. The digestive disturbances are dynamic in their intensity to say the least and the effect is usually immediate. This can be quite a terrifying time if you’re not strapped into a safety harness and wedged into a tightly fitting armchair. This is infinitely worse than a white-knuckle ride at Thorpe Park or Disneyland. Three little kittens (Billy, Timmy and Joey) had only just started living with us and they were not prepared for what was about to happen. The Resident Cats (Garfield, Biggles and Charlie) had decided not to inform them of the forthcoming violent change in atmospheric conditions – a situation which they had become accustomed to during Homemade Soup Week or any other ‘week’ resulting from ‘Transformation Leftover Lunch Ideas’ - thinking it better to let the Newcomers find out for themselves. The Resident Cats quickly ate their lunch to sustain themselves for the onslaught and ran upstairs to ride out the forthcoming storm, while the Newcomers gambolled and frolicked blissfully unaware. As the first emission broke the sound barrier, the kittens were tele-ported upstairs, backwards, their faces stretched into eerie grins as the G-force gripped them. They stayed under the sofa bed alongside Garfield, Biggles and Charlie, huddled together for moral support and safety, for the rest of the day while a cloud of Broccoli and Potato soup pervaded the house room by room. Garfield made a mental note to search the Internet for feline gas masks for future use. Well, where’s God in all this I hear you ask? Having taken one look at the slurry on offer, He passed up the opportunity to sample ‘Brussels Sprout and Carrot Soup’ and went to the local chip shop for something more substantial that resembles what it is supposed to be! Anyone care for a slice of soup? Pauline Dewberry © 1996
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