Slurp!

My love affair with soup began with Campbell's chicken noodle.

It was what my mother gave me when I was sick, cold, or tired. Ladled into a shallow white bowl, it was served with a sleeve of saltine crackers. A perfect combo.

As I got older I moved on to tomato soup. The texture and thickness was markedly different than the chicken broth in which all those slippery noodles swam. The heat of the rich bisque lingered as it made its way down my throat. Topped off with a toasted tunafish sandwich, it kept my hunger pangs at bay for hours.

Then I fell in love with my mother's homemade minestrone. It would take her hours to compile and prepare the ingredients. When finished, it felt less like a soup and more like a meal, in part because the propensity of pasta and lentils required me to chew. 

The best soup I ever had.

"Soup is not the work of one man. It is the result of a constantly refined tradition. There are nearly a thousand years of history in this soup." – Willa Cather