You’d think that at least ONE of them would have been able to keep track of it, but you’d be oh so very wrong. It has, to all appearances, vanished. how this is possible is beyond me.
For now, I'm blaming gnomes.
It must be fall. I’ve made two batches of soup in the past week. Bean n’ bacon soup over the weekend because fall is when my inner hippie kicks into high gear and starts thinking about things to do with dry beans, then chicken/rice soup this MORNING because why the hell NOT?
Because really, who in their right mind would let some perfectly nummy chicken skellies go to waste after they had, as their previous incarnation as chicken titties, been bathed in marinade and lovingly grilled over charcoal? THAT kind of flavor deserves to be boiled out into stock, to have some rice and spice added, to be spangled with cut carrots and kernels of corn, to be adorned with whatever meat was leffovah after the carnage of last night’s meal, and to be resurrected into a new life as healthy soul-satisfying SOUP.
I don’t kid myself that anyone but me is going to eat and/or actually enjoy this soup. I have lived far too long to think that something as nirvana-centric as gathering around a table with loved ones to a pot of hot soup and some good crusty bread would result in anything other than a chorus of “This is all that’s for dinner?” or “I don’t like beans.” Ah well, those kinds of responses have little to do with the love that infuses each molecule of the soup, and if it’s love only for me to eat, then so be it, for soup is awesome, and so am I, and thus I and the soup synergize the awesome to such great heights that no further mood-altering substances are needed.
Plus which? There’s now enough soup in the house for at least two weeks worth of lunch for me. Sweet simplicity, how I love you.
Thankfully, there was no frost on the car this morning. That little bout of late-fall weather in early autumn? Unnerving.
Howzit where y’all are?