SOUP IS NOT FOOD

May 8

“Soup is not food”, my husband would exclaim. When I first got married, I’d make soup for dinner. It would have meat, aromatic herbs and fresh vegetables. But he was looking for the traditional American dinner, meat, carbs, a green salad and dessert.

Mom and soup

Growing up, mom was the nutritionist extraordinaire. She planned each lunch and dinner meal as a chance to nourish and fortify our constitution. There were always three dishes – fresh steamed fish, stir fried veggies with a bit of meat, and a pot of clear soup. As for dessert, she often lectured, “a slice of fresh orange is all you need. It is sweet and gives you vitamin C.”

Mom practiced Chinese medicine without a license. Soup was her focus of healing. She boasted that even our western medicine doctor complained that we were vitamin babies. She orchestrated cleansing soups, reinforcing soups, soups for the summer, soups for the winters. She had an incredible memory. There was never a recipe book around. All the soup prescriptions were nicely catalogued in her head. And there were many long-winded stories behind some of the soups.

*Please mom, no yucky soup!*
I remember one hot summer being made to sit at the table and ingest a bowl of thick black gruel. It was some black sesame soup. It was dark, sweet and repulsive. I protested along with my brothers and sisters. But we weren’t allowed to get up from the table until we finished our bowl.

“It’s good for your body. We spent hours grinding the black sesame seeds for this.”

Another time, I remember being made to drink a clear broth made from “field chicken”.

The remains of the four field chickens were ceremoniously stretched out in front of us as part of the meal. Field chicken is a nice term for frogs.

One time, we came home from a full day of summer fun at the gorgeous White Sand Beach. We had been exploring barefoot all day on the rest of the island. We found a little cove with a very rocky beach. We swam and dove from an idle boat all day long. Our feet were cut and embedded with all sorts of beach debris. My mom had a big pot of salty lemon soup waiting for us. The salty lemon soup was supposed to chase away the sun damage we sustained on that glorious summer day. We had to drink that salty hot lemon soup while she operated on our feet with peroxide and sewing needles. (Years later, I learned to make fresh lemonade, seasoned with culinary lavender and fresh mint. I even added a splash of coconut rum. Much yummier but I’m sure, a lot less nutritious.)

If we had severe chronic stomach pains, mom would cook up a muddy concoction out of pork and the roots of a sweet fruit tree. One tax season, I begged my husband to drink it because my mom had procured the special roots all the way from Hong Kong. The roots were priceless. He gagged it down and reluctantly admitted a few days later that the horrible stomach aches were gone.

Our heritage

It must be in our Chinese culture to serve soup. I remember going to a remote village for a weekend retreat with my church group. After a long boat ride and a good hike, we finally arrived at our destination. We were welcomed by our youth leader, Thomas. He had prepared for us a huge vat of Cantonese style cabbage soup. It smelled like it had been brewing for hours. We all sat around the fire pit, sang and chatted and laughed… and slurped down bowls of the wonderful soup.

It’s amazing how our habits are built throughout our growing years. Today, I love soup. My favorite TV clip is the soup Nazi episode on Seinfeld. My fellow soup enthusiasts and I would re-enact that funny show and laugh about our obsession with soup.

A meal is not ever complete without soup. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night to make myself a bowl of soup because somehow, I skipped it that day. Then I can go back to bed and sleep like a baby.

I love soup so much that I’d pack my car full of ingredients and cooking gadgets. I’d serve fresh soups at a client’s lunchroom when I used to go onsite for a bit of software consulting. One of my favorite memories involved chicken tortilla soup. Everyone slurped on the soup and sighed, “chicken soup for the soul”, while fresh bread was being consumed with garlic butter dripping down on arms and table. One time, I even got into serious trouble with an owner for serving nutritious soup. He wanted the workers to work without distractions, but I thought the workers were too stressed out with my new software implementation and needed some soulful reinforcement.

*Soup-a-girl*

When I retired, I volunteered at the local Elk’s Lodge as the self-appointed “soup-a-girl”. I served delicious homemade soups on Sundays.

Nowadays, I run around my neighborhood and ask the local cafes for fresh soups. I’d sit there and enjoy their soups while I chat with the servers about local weather and farm reports. Occasionally, I’d cook up a big batch, eat bowls of it, share some with neighbors and freeze some.

Yes, soup is not just food.

It nourishes the body, soothes the soul and

connects us with the people we love.