It was a rainy Monday, fallish, cool, and drizzly. My beautiful young wife and I returned from running some dreary errands and it was lunchtime. We were hungry and I wanted soup. Not just “heat-up-can-soup” but something, nourishing, exciting and therapeutic.
My sweet wife, knowing I’ve never made soup before in my life, wisely pulled out the soup cookbook…which I proceeded to ignore as I began banging cupboards and yanking things out of the refrigerator. I found some mushrooms, onions, peppers and bacon.
After a vigorous inspection of the recesses of the shelves I came up with a box of French onion soup broth. Before my skeptical wife’s eyes I dumped the whole box into a small pot and set it to simmer. Then I grabbed a cutting board and started chopping enthusiastically.
Soon a generous pile of mushrooms dwarfed the chopped peppers and onions. Getting into the spirit of things my wife found a clove of garlic which I added to the mix. She further advised the perhaps the peppers were not the perfect complement for onion soup, an idea which I complied with readily respecting her kitchen prowess.
Keeping an eye on the simmering broth I lightly fried some bacon, making sure to leave it soft and then cut it into bite sized pieces. Preparation complete, I dumped the whole cutting board of goodies into the broth. After about thirty seconds of stirring I announced that the soup was ready for consumption.
We dined sumptuously and I voiced my contentment with several appreciative mmm’s. The errands were finished, lunch was delicious, but there was only one thing that could be the perfect ending to a story like this, a nap. Yes, it was a perfect rainy Monday.