Soup's On

Every mother should be recognized for what she does really well. As I sit here eating the soup she sent home with me last night, I have to say that my mom’s vegetable soup is the best in the world. It isn’t the only thing, or even the most important thing my mother has done, but the vegetable soup she makes for me is one of life’s treasures.

She shared the recipe with me again last night, and explained how to adapt it to cook in a soup pot instead of a pressure cooker. The ingredients consist of a little of this and that, whatever vegetables are on hand, tomato sauce, spaghetti, and hamburger. You cook the vegetables, put in the hamburger—which is browned and drained first—and, voila, soup’s done. Or something like that.

The actual quantities of each ingredient aren’t measured, and vary somewhat each time she makes it. Last night she apologized for adding more cabbage than usual; the cabbage was about to go bad and she didn’t want to waste it. Personally, I thought it made the soup tastier.

I plan to try her recipe someday, and hope it tastes similar to the soup I’ve loved for more than fifty years. I’m worried, though, that I will never get it right, never match the flavor of her soup. You see, the ingredient that makes it so special, no matter how it tastes, is her love; she makes the soup especially for me, because she knows I like it. (My sisters may argue that she makes it for them, too, but I’m pretty sure that when she does, my mom is hoping I will show up to get some.)

So, in summary: YOUR SOUP IS AWESOME, MOM!