Is it soup yet?

Okay, so... I know two blogs in one day seems a little weird, but the soup. It was... Oh my.

Mistress almost threatened me when I mentioned vaguely that I might not remember how to make it again. The eyebrow arching I received nearly stung, and thus I decided I must at least tell a brief tale of The Soup.

I was shopping before the snow got really crazy, and I stumbled on these adorable little dried cheese tortellini and ravioli in the bulk foods at my local grocery. When I cook, I tend to grab what looks good and then go from there. It's rare for me to use an actual recipe, but I knew I wanted to make a soup. Or a risotto. Or something. Some mushrooms looked promising, but so did those huge blocks of dark chocolate.

Today after my appointment I stopped at a different grocer to pick up... Actually, I can't remember what I originally went there for. The point is, I was wandering down the meat isle, mentally rejecting shrimp (obviously long frozen), pork (just not right for the risotto) and various other hunks-o-critter until I saw it. Good old, standard kielbasa. Instantly warm memories from winters past floated into my mind. My mom was quite fond of making it with sauer kraut on snowy days like this. As today has been the very definition of winter, I snatched up two packages and swore to figure something out. I'd been thinking of making a big pot of something minestrone-like, so I grabbed a few cans of diced tomatoes and some kidney beans.

After finishing productions on the fig compote portion of my tarte, I set to on the soup. The sausage got sliced, browned, removed and the rendered fat used to caramelize the onions. Next it was celery and the cans of tomato so the liquid could be used to remove the browned bits at the bottom of the pan. Yummy little golden brown scrapings of happiness! This was shaping up nicely. Next in was chicken broth and some palm-fulls of herbs; oregano, thyme and rosemary and the sausage was returned so that everybody could mingle and talk to each other.

I like to think of soup like a party of sorts... A pool party if you will. Everybody hops in the water together and, if you provide the right social lubricants, gets to know each other. They share ideas. Everybody starts to rub off on each other, and before you know it you've got one big happy group of people who, while they still are who they are, are more than they were before this fabulous little get-together enhanced their evening.

With soup, a good soup, there's a moment when everything has melded perfectly and you can stop asking, "Is it soup yet?" and instead proclaim proudly, "Toast the garlic boule, we're going to need something appropriate for sopping!"

I let the party get moving in the pot and turned my attention to the tarte anticipating great things. Sadly, when I returned for tasting 30 minutes later something was... I don't know. Missing. I contemplated adding wine, but that seemed a little too minestrone like, and I'd purposefully elected to not involve beans in this party. You know how kielbasa and beans are when they get together. Everyone has a very "talkative" tummy the next day, and I'm quite certain the co-workers I'll be locked in a room with for 10 plus hours tomorrow wouldn't appreciate that.

No, wine wasn't right. But I DID happen to have several bottles of beer sitting on the counter glancing sheepishly at me. This wasn't cheap, run of the mill lager. This was the good stuff, Blue Moon. Well, at least it was moderately priced and tasty stuff. Everybody knows about kielbasa and beer. They have a history. They belong together. Who was I to separate the two? Plus I knew that Kielbasa was basically the hot chick at the party that everybody was trying to hook up with. This could add some interest in the sort of way that only meeting up with an old flame can.

After adding one bottle and tasting I decided a second would complete the holy covenant herein being formed.

And so it did.

The broth was smoky and salty and malty all at once, with a hint of sweetness from the tomatoes and caramelized onion. I decided it was time to bring the tortellini into it and give everybody some alone time. It was turning into one of those kinds of parties. You know, the ones where the picture taking abruptly stops and people start going au naturale. Maybe there's a little hanky panky going on in the hot tub. I wasn't comfortable interrupting, and besides, I blush easily.

Once everybody had calmed down and had their cigarettes, my roomie and I dug in and OH how things had developed! You could barely tell where one flavor ended and the other began... and the beer had infused everything through-out with it's delightful, high quality boozey-ness. My bread thanked me as I dunked it in to soak up all that love-juice...

Wow. I think I just cheapened my own soup. Glad I thought of that analogy after the fact.

In any case, now the tale of The Soup is chronicled and I can look forward to the fig tarte. I'm not sure if it will deserve capitalization like our sausagey friend did, but one can hope, can't we? I totally winged the mascarpone filling so we'll see if I got the chemical makeup right.

**NOTE** yeah... I didn't get the makeup right. Ah, well. Maybe another day.

Cross your fingers and until next time, keep those two off of each other. They're like a couple of dogs in heat when they get together.