In the Soup

In the Soup ©

By

Michael Casey

We just had soup, Heinz tomato soup with buttered buns to dip into it. Perfect. Winter 2017/18 had decided to put it’s tongue out one final time so we had cold and snow and now finally Monday 19^th March, Saint Joseph’s Day I think finally Winter will end. I know it’s Saint Joseph’s Day as it was the day my aunt died many years ago. Delia was a great cook and a very hard worker. I’m trying to remember did I ever get soup from her, I did get every other kind of food imaginable.

Mum, Delia’s littler sister did occasionally make soup, I seem to remember a big saucepan with bones in and vegetables and it was a off white milky colour, kind of dish water colour. This is over 50 years ago before Heinz and his soup arrived at our house, all dressed up in his lederhosen, but he was welcomed and enjoyed.

My small daughter loves her soup, we have photos of her covered in it as she dips her bread, they will of course be shown at her Wedding. I did the exact same thing myself, so she is definitely not adopted. We used to joke as children that one sister was adopted, and as for me I was born under a cow, hence my birthmark. When we had a new cottage loaf we would eat all the crusts and leave the inside of the bread to one side. Our mother would scream at us in her thick Kerry accent, though we could never hear it in both senses, once we got a telephone decades later we only then could hear her accent. So mum saved the inside of the loaf for her own soup.

You can of course get in the soup or in a pickle which means in trouble. Or things are too hot to handle. There are doubt many food metaphors, too many cooks do spoil the broth, and I’ve met a few chefs in my hotel days, they are gods by the way. Besides they all carry their own knives so like a good coward I would never argue with one anyway.

As you all know too I say everything is in the soup and it is. Just as builders and Mafia say its all in the foundations. Soup and foundations both require plenty of filling. So my stories, my words, my babies they too are all in the soup. If its cold outside a reference or a memory of cold is ladled from the soup onto the page. Then I add seasoning with a dash of this story or a memory of the past. I never know where I’m going before I start, its much more fun that way.

In a way I am a blindfolded chef or soup maker, I dice and slice the ingredients and add them to the pot, then simmer and stir before still blindfolded I put them on the page. Though like my wife’s Chinese cooking I may simmer for years, and when an idea presents itself for this day’s story the tale on the page can be weeks old or decades old. When its a direct story story then the elements can be far flung too, not just far fetched.

All this talk of foods reminds me that stomach needs filling, so I really do need to make some soup now. So I hope you’ve all enjoyed this soup starter and enjoy the rest of the meal too. There are at least 1300 stories to be enjoyed, ok suffered, there may even be 1600, I really have stopped counting. The word count is 1,275,000 now. So as you an imagine my soup is very thick, not as thick as cement but I hope all the stories bind us all together in the confusion that is know as Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades readers club.

What else would I call it, gruel group? No I have just christened you all, my Confusion of Readers. No nothing to do with Confucius, I am nothing to do with any form of cleverness. Though I just googled him and he said “choose a job you love, then you never have to work a day in you life” Now that I do agree with, so let us all ponder that as we drink or is it eat our soup?