So, today, being a usual day in my life, e.g., one in whilst I insulted everyone riding my bus within the margins of my brain, berated myself (in my brain) for berating them (in my brain) for being mindless incompetent zombies on their best days, acted like a know-it-all in my phonetics class, dozed through my art history class, (and when not dozing, drawing pictures of food) and fuming over the state of my kitchen. Also, being a typical day in my life, I was craving something hot and salty and slightly chicken-y, e.g., soup.
If you have known me for longer than 21 years (my whole life) you will remember how I practically survived on nothing less than tomatoes, (doused in salt) olives, (oh-so-very salty) and unidentifiable objects swimming in chicken broth, (the salty kind) until the age of 15, when I discovered coffee (not salty). This is not to say that I was a picky eater, because I was most certainly not. I ate a baby octopus once when I was 12. Never mind that I chewed its baby octopussy legs through [salty] tears because my mother made me clean my bowl filled with her Mystery Ocean Fishes Stew. Shut up, okay? I ate the damn thing. #notapickyeater
After suffering through 21-years of soup cravings, including sweltering summers spent sweating over a bowl of Campbell's Tomato soup, (check out that alliteration, y'all!) today was no different--I Simply Had To Make Soup. I performed my favorite, tried-and-true act of soup making: I threw shit in a pot. I took the homeless carrots and celeries and tomatoes and potatoes that were lining up on the corners of my fridge begging for spare change, or even a soup pot to fill with their goodness, and I threw that Shit in my Pot.
Oh my gosh, it sounds like an SNL skit! Shit In A Pot!
(Singing) She threw her shit in a pot!
Not literally of course. And I really shouldn't call my soup that because it makes it sound, well, shitty, and it really was very delicious.
It consisted of veggies on the verge of going bad, potatoes pan-fried with smoked paprika, whole wheat noodles, chicken stock, and a whole lot of
Okay, so it might look a little yucky, but only because I ate half the pot before I remembered to take a pretty picture; also, you weren't here to taste it.
PS--Isn't my pot beautiful?