And the Lord said…

It must be fall. I made soup.

Yup. Sunday afternoon. A big kettle of it. Beef-barley to be exact. Turned out mighty tasty, if I do say so mayself.

And I do say so. My son and his dog liked it too.

It almost makes autumn seem worthwhile.

It’s funny how food will do that to a season. Thoughts of sugar cookies and lutefisk can one more mall Muzak box rendition of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree tolerable. Those first chilled radishes dipped in salt and the tender greens of springtime are the surest assurance that, even in Minnesota, winter does come to an end. Sweet corn is the taste of high summer and a state fair Pronto Pup is a mustard-streaked  reminder to savor the season while it lasts.

Then comes fall and I feel the urge to make soup.

It’s been a while, y’know. Summer just isn’t soup season. It’s rare to crave a hot, steamy bowl on a hot, steamy day. By spring, we’re just about chowdered out; potato salad and brats off the grill spark a fresh appetite and the soup kettle gets banished to the bottom cupboard, not to emerge until pressed into service to boil up sweet corn or cook down a massive batch of tomato sauce from a late summer garden bounty.

But by now fall is in the air. They’re putting pumpkin spice on pizza, we’re tripping over zombies and witches and ghosty-ghosts while Jesus, Mary and the Wise Men are waiting in the wings. Store shelves are over stocked with Halloween candy and nothing goes better with a bite-size Snickers and a fistful of candy corn than a good bowl of soup.

So, I made some.

Now, making soup really hadn’t figured into my Sunday plans, not that I really had any particular plans for Sunday in the first place. I’d opened the freezer to make room for a refilled ice cube tray when I noticed a chunk of leftover roast beef I’d tucked away for future use some months ago. That reminded me of the carrots I’d been aging in the crisper for longer than I cared to admit, the stalks of celery growing limp on the second shelf and the fact that I had bought a bunch of mushrooms that would be growing secondary fungi if they weren’t used reasonably soon. That combination, along with a big yellow onion, a bit of garlic, those tomatoes slipping past their prime ripeness along the back of the kitchen counter had the makings of a great pot of soup that afternoon … or a bagful of slimy trash by garbage day.

Being the frugal sort, and hungry, I opted for the former; and, with the aid of water, salt, seasonings, a cup or so of pearled barely, heat and time, I had soup.

And, as the Lord once said, it was good.

Now, please don’t ask me for the recipe. What I’ve told you is as exact as it gets. Soup, around my house, is invariably a free-style affair. What I’ve got is what goes in the pot. If the potatoes are getting soft and wrinkly, there may be potato soup in the offing. A wilting head of cabbage in the back of the fridge might make it cabbage-potato soup. If there’s a ham bone in the freezer, that might add flavor, otherwise a ring of baloney, a kielbasa, or chicken left over from last week will find its way into the pot. How much of each? Depends on how much I have. This is art, not science and I’m a veritable Van Gogh with vegetables – only it’s my finger not my ear that’s in danger.

That might even turn out to be the secret ingredient in a particularly good batch.

 As the Lord said, “It is good.”