My Soup Kitchen

After receiving certain data from a blood testing lab, I have concluded that I need to make something other than tortilla pizza and other such yummy concoctions for our family dinners. This was an attempt at a "healthy choice". I knew I had zucchini so I got on the Internet and searched for a good Italian Minestrone soup recipe. After noting that I definitely did not have three authentic Italian ingredients, namely "a pig's trotter" (an actual pigs foot if you can believe it), a bit of "pig's skin", and something called, "cheese rind", I concluded to make a somewhat unauthentic but easier version of minestrone.

The reader must be informed that I am not what is generally considered a "great cook". I usually frown, study recipes, take everything out of the fridge, proceed to chop, measure, fry things to a crisp, blackened state, sweat, worry, and pray that I will succeed at nourishing my family with my creations. I have noted, a bit grimly that the members of my family surely understand that dinner is often ready when a strong odor of burnt food reaches them . John insists that I really should taste things as I cook or I have really no way of knowing whether it's going to be palatable. My opposing argument is that I want to pretend, when sitting down to eat dinner, that the food being served is in no way related to that stuff I saw raw in the freezer just a few hours previous.

This day was a stellar, new, experience. John came home as I was staring into the pot of soup thinking, "well I obviously totally overwhelmed this soup with too many veggetables. ( I often add too many veggies in my exuberance for health. This may seem good to you but alas, it's not healthy for anyone if they do not eat it.)

I sat down at the table with everyone as John came into the kitchen. I was staring into my bowl of soup wondering if he would be able to handle the large quantity of veggies. He walked over lifted the lid and shocked me with the words "You made this?" spoken with a bit of reverence. I was still wondering if it was edible so I was too amazed to even look up. I still felt he could be mistaken in his admiration. After blessing the food we proceeded to eat and after a few minutes John could have knocked me flat by saying casually, "It's probably the best soup you've ever made".

Unfortunately, Grace and Emma were not so impressed with the soup but did eat some of the whole wheat toast with cheese melted on it, though I doubt they dipped it in the olive oil like I intended. Grace ate some of the soup after a bribe of a bag of Skittles was offered. It was quite a trial for her though she was determined because of the promised unhealthy reward. It was not worth the pain to Emma who opted out of the whole expirience and just ate croutons I think.

Disclaimer -John very rarely complains about my cooking. He is just always just grateful for food and even willing to whip up a tortilla and cheese snack or a bowl of cereal if I am wrestling a baby or hiding under the couch in a fit when he gets home. (not that I could actually fit under a couch or anything.)