The emotion of a soup
-If you eat just another spoon, then you can watch cartoons as long as you want — that was the famous line my mom tried when I was little, every lunchtime when we had soup. It was a total loss of time. And promises.
My coach used to say that soup is ‘just opening your mouth for nothing’. He was joking of course, because we would have the worst soups when we were traveling for games. We would stop somewhere, in the restaurants that looked like they could have good soups, but they never did. It would be some water with noodles or some cream soup that you would ask yourself of which material it is made. I guess soups are not that easy to make.
I don’t like soup. It has been my punishment since I was a kid. But also, the only thing I would eat when I was sick. Chicken soup. And not any chicken soup. But the chicken soup my mom makes.
Oh, you would imagine any chicken soup is the same. Well, it’s not.
The way it smells, the way it tastes, and how it warms you, I cannot explain with words. It’s just the soup that makes you feel better. Even when you feel good. It just upgrades that. And when you are sick, it heals! Better than any medicine.
-It’s just a chicken soup!, my mom told me when I asked her how she makes it.
-Put some water, noodles, carrots, spices, and there you go. It’s simple, very simple, Elma — my mom would yell at the other side of the phone line.
But no, it’s not that soup.
I have tried soups at lots of places. Great restaurants, good cooks, amazing cousins… but not any of those soups smells, tastes, and warms me as my mom’s soup.
-M’am, do you want me to recommend a soup for you? — the waiter asked me after he saw I was struggling with the soup page.
-Sure, why not — I answered as if it was important. I probably won’t eat it anyway, I thought in my head.
After few minutes he brought chicken soup. The plate was huge and it looked like there was a gallon of it. I remembered my mom asking me to take just one spoon, long time ago and it looked like a mission impossible. What am I going to do with this much soup?
But the smell… When the smell came to my nose, I froze. Literally. I tried the soup. As if I was back home and my mom was over my head, counting the spoons I have taken, smiling when I would eat the whole bowl.
The smell….it was the same. It tasted the same. Almost the same.
For a moment I was just looking at the bowl and thinking. How many times I have had this soup and didn’t want to eat it, because in general, I don’t like soup. But this time, I don’t want to eat it, because I want this feeling to last longer.
Yes, the chicken soup my mom makes is my favorite. It’s almost actually the same as in the restaurant I have eaten a few days ago. The smell, the taste, and also the warmth. Only, my mom makes it with love. That’s the spice it was missing.