The sun is shining as I write this, but since we’ve had a wide variety of weather this spring, I am observing a rainy-day tradition in my family–I’m making homemade soup. I soaked the beans overnight, because that’s how my mom does it, and rinsed them off this morning, before adding new water, salt, onions, some garlic, pearl barley and brown rice to the mix. Now, for the crockpot alchemy–gradually, as I write my pages and go about the normal business of a Monday, whatever that might turn out to be, the delicious aroma will fill the house.
Soup is almost medicinal, in my opinion. (Has to be homemade to qualify, though.) It nourishes, it comforts, and it smells good. Not only that, but it’s better the second day than it was the first. Soup is great when you’re sick, or just feeling a mite on the fragile side, but it can be hardy, too, of course. Maybe its real magic is that it is usually made and served with that most amazing of all secret ingredients: love.
Lest some of you begin to think you’ve stumbled onto a cooking blog, when you were looking for mine, let me assure you–you’re in the right place. Sometimes, I’ll be talking about soup.
The crockpot is plugged in.
I’ll be writing today, I’m happy to say.
And that’s the news from Linda’s kitchen table.