Tag Archives: soup

The second best of the foods

There’s a food on a par with sandwiches – I know you don’t believe me. I didn’t believe myself. I’ve known for a long time; so much so that I’ve just accepted it without even realising. But a concentrated period of consuming this particular food on a regular basis has… shown me. I’ve awoken. I am… awake…d.

So here’s to soup.

Whether it a barely-flavoured water or be it tickling the boundaries of what constitutes a stew, there’s a soup for any situation. Also, when you’re not bothering to make them from scratch, they’re really easy to make. Here are the instructions:

  1. Put soup in pan.
  2. Dance.
  3. Stir.
  4. Jig.
  5. Serve.
  6. Twirl.
  7. CONSUME (not consommé).
  8. Dream of your next soup.
  9. Charleston.

And that’s why it’s so great: because it’s soup. Also because of all the other reasons. That I won’t be revealing, because I don’t want to reveal the true secrets of soup to all of you vulture bastards. BASTARDS.

So whether you’re hot or cold, young or old, if you’re drunk or sober, hungry or less hungryober, there’s always soup. Come rain or shine, even if you’re trapped down a mine, when you want to put hot tasty liquid down your throat, you can get some soup (sometimes flavoured with goat!).

Soup. Soup. Soup. Soup. Soup. SOUP.

SOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP.

I’ve run out of soup.

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Miso-uch a good cook, innit

Breakthrough! After literally trying once, I have finally been able to overcome my inability to make some kind of soup (that I’d never try to make before). By simply dicking about with some boiling water, noodles, chilli, chicken, weird spinach and my last chunk of lettuce I have finally, after trying once, been able to make some delicious soup for the first time ever (after one attempt).

So, after trying once, I am able to put my thoughts, feelings and even a recipe into words for you all to ingest – and then hopefully some delicious soup for you to digest! AH AH AHAHASHSDHDRB.

Part 1: Take water. Put in kettle. Boil. Put boiled water in pan. Put noodles in water (which is in pan and is on heat (that’s as in “the heat”, not heat like a dog) and cook. Realise you probably should have waited to put the noodles in, as they cook well quick like. Remember to put chicken under grill for a bit. Have a wee. Sit down.

Part 2: Take mostly-cooked chicken and pour straight into water (with chicken juice). Question whether or not you’ll get chicken-AIDS. Get miso you just bought which cost £6.99 because you misheard the Korean woman when she warned you of this price and just said “yeah, that’s fine” like a goon. Put some in. Stir it. Taste. Realise it’s not enough. Put some more in. Stir it more. Taste again. Realise it needs a bit more. Put some more more in. Stir it again again. Taste it again again. Realise it just needs a bit of salt. Put a bit of salt in. Put in the green and red shit (that I forgot to mention you chop up earlier) and simmer for SOME MINUTES.

Step 3: Put in bowl, eat, surprise yourself at how nice it is and how hot it is. Stupid chilli.

This is the most important thing to happen in the world today. Never mind that Egypt nonsense. I’ve been there, it wasn’t* much cop.

*was

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I go to a poncey supermarket

It’s happened. I officially shop at Waitrose. Sometimes. What I once derided as the habitat of middle-aged, middle class women has become my second choice supermarket when I need to pick up my beans or soup (with beans in it). That is second behind Lidl, of course – I could never really completely dump Lidl. It has cheap things, and cheap things are good. Still, Waitrose is the alternative that I’ve picked for when I’m bored of questionable meat, or vegetables that look a ‘bit wrong’. Also it’s right across the road from Lidl, which means it’s always an option as I do so hate having to move more than absolutely necessary.

Oh wait, no – I mean: “I shop at Waitrose because I care about quality products at competitive prices, have a boner for Heston and Delia and love the fact that they only use farmers who ‘share their values’”.

Why is a supermarket a statement of your class, of your quality of life or of the type of person you are? Why are all the women in Waitrose (who look like clones) frightened of walking across the road for far cheaper items of equal quality? Why do I have to be confronted with Heston Bloominhell (HAHA SATIRE) and his stupid penis-like head every time I go into that place? So many questions, so little in the way of answers. It’s a supermarket where they sell you things in order to make a profit. It’s not a statement on your quality of life, your health, wealth or wise… th. It’s just a supermarket. Just like Lidl. They both sell beans. It’s like people getting nostalgic about Woolworths: stupid and annoying.

Still – got some cheap Waitrose banoffee pie today. Can’t argue with those odds.

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