I’m not talking about eating cold soups such as gazpacho or vichyssoise. I’ve never been a fan of gazpacho. It makes me wish I had tortilla chips while at the same wondering why I am eating salsa with a spoon.
I’m talking about hot soups what warm you from the inside out. Soups you crave when the wind is howling outside, snow is falling, and all you want to do is curl up on the couch with a blanket and a warming bowl of homemade soup.
But when outside it’s 95º and humid, with not even a hint of breeze, and clouds of mosquitoes hum looking for breakfast, eating hot soup means disobedience.
That’s the kind of rebel I am.