Finally, it appears that soup season has arrived. With the prospect of a cold, nasty day ahead, I am ready to prepare and eat a thick and hearty soup. I don’t know what it will be until I inventory possible ingredients. But, I am sure whatever it is will not only nourish my body, but my soul as well. The aroma of simmering soup reminds me of my mother’s delicious creations and cold Ohio winters. Good memories always make my heart and mind more receptive to new thoughts and ideas. Perhaps, it is a matter of good stock.
Maybe, I will take the frozen stock made from the Thanksgiving turkey and create something special and unique. I know that I will need quality ingredients for the best results. Also, the seasoning has to be carefully chosen and added. Good soup just doesn’t happen. It takes careful preparation. Perhaps this wondering thought has become a simile. Good soup is like a good life. I better get out the soup pot and be ready to share the soup with others.
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5 comments:
Receptivity is surely one of the characteristics of good stock, and I am certain that all of us would be receptive to your astonishingly well-timed soup idea.
When I read about kitchen ingredients and memories it reminded me of an exercise I would sometimes do to keep precious memories in the front of my mind. I would close my eyes and randomly pick a spice (or extract) from the spice rack. Without looking to see which it was, I would add a pinch or dash to my steamy bath water. As the vapors of the particular aromas assailed my senses, they would trigger lucid memories of family, friends and places (mostly kitchens) associated with that smell.
After a few sessions, one should be able to recount conversations and fashion changes and a sense of the willingness of others to sacrifce time and labor to make a moment special for you.
Just days before my Aunt died, I paid her a visit. She felt weak. She needed dill pickles.She had not felt like making any that year, and, since she made the best pickles in Georgia, she wanted some that would be "close" to hers. I went pickle shopping. I knew exactly how my aunt made hers and how they smelled. I got close. She ate several, then got up and made me my favorite dessert. Every time I smell Allspice, a compartment in my mind plays back the movie and soundtrack of that day and she is back.
On NPR the otehr day, a commnetator spoke of how music connects us to memories. I think scents connect us even more. When I smell wet dirt I can feel the early spring field beneath my winder tender feet and I am 8 years old again, all pigtails and possibilities. The act of making soup connects me to other meals and to family memebers who live in my heart and hands. Cornbread is a must wtih soup for me, and the smell of the butter melting in the cast iron pan as I stir together the recipe my mother, grandmother and her foster mother used before her, I can hear their voices. Is it anamnesis?
Did someone say, "butter and cast iron pots and cornbread"? Oh My!
Oh, Yes. Oh, now!
After reading your blog and the comments from your readers, I am even more regretful that I have a damaged olfactory nerve which leaves me with a limited sense of smell and taste. Yet, I am married to the queen of refrigerator soup. YOu know what that is--an incredibly wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime only soup comprised of whatever is leftover in the refrigerator. You and your readers would probably enjoy it even more than I because you could smell its unique aroma and taste its unique flavor to a degree I cannot appreciate. It might not trigger memories, but it is guaranteed to make some new ones. I relish the new traditions as much as I treasure the old, whether they be soups or encounters with God.
Isn't it interesting how simple things can open the door to thought provoking conversation? Those who have responded on-line and personally have caused me to wander even further into remembering and reflecting. I do think soup can be both psychological and spiritual anamnesis. Hope it has been a serving of soul food for those who read it.
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