Most days, in winter, I make soup for Mirinda. She loves my soups. I actually don’t like soup very much. Okay, I love a good fisksoppa, particularly the one we used to have at Norrby’s, but, generally, even my own soup, makes me bilious. Though I don’t mind making it for others.
It’s always a bit of a guess what my soup will be. I wander the fresh produce area at whatever shop I am in and just select something interesting. Then, back home, I prepare.
I have recently started roasting the bigger and more solid veg. It gives the soup more depth of flavour. Well, from the little I’ve tasted, anyway. Not that I’ve had any complaints.
The thing is, though, it means it takes a bit longer to make. Not that it’s particularly onerous, just time consuming. Which is why, I made today’s soup (pumpkin, carrot and leek with spices) almost as soon as I returned from the ICA. Though I almost didn’t go.
I tried to wear my new shoes to the shop this morning, but couldn’t get them on. To be completely accurate, I couldn’t get the right on one. Looking beneath my sock, I realized I had a blister the size of Greenland on my ankle. I quickly switched back to my old shoes, which also hurt but were not crippling. With the slightest of grimaces, I set off.
Back in the kitchen, a few hours later, the soup was sitting in the saucepan, ready to heat up for lunch when Fi suggested going into Trosa for lunch. I put the saucepan in the fridge. It can wait till tomorrow.
And so, they went off to Trosa and had lunch at Punch. I stayed home, nursing my sore ankle.
This is how Fi reacted to the soup kitchen news:
Naw, just kidding. She was devastated to have missed out on a Chez Gaz soup. The photo was a result of me showing her how I can take a photo with my phone using just one hand while stirring dinner with the other.
