souped up

So here we are, it is Autumn, my favourite season of all. I’ll tell you why. 
As far as median seasons go it can be hard to separate the old leaves-are-falling autumn from the blossoming-bright spring. But I have two reasons that sends spring home from the Australia’s Next Top Season’s house and they are magpies and hayfever.

Bah! Take that Spring and step on up Autumn! Warm days and crisp evenings, yellow, orange and red hues dripping all about the streets and a whisper of the wind saying ‘time to don those doonas and get those soups soupin’. (The wind isn’t too good with verbs, poor sod, he gets a bad wrap.)

this pic from 'eat make read'. can't wait to try this recipe.

Ahh the wonderful world of soup! I welcome you into soup world on this very day as I feel that those of you who are not so partial to the cooler months need a bit of a pick me up. This marvelous Minestrone continues to do it for me.

The following recipe is a special one so sit back, relax – I will tell you a story:

To earn some moula while I study I work in a home wares shop that sells many a kitchen gadget and knick-knack, not to mention; pots, pans, plates and pastry brushes.

As with any retail job, it would not be the same without the many characters who walk through the door.

On a day, almost two years ago, I was bailed up by a lovely old woman who was intent on sharing her life story with me. Did you know that it was never safe for women to wander around at night on their own? And were you aware that it’s not as easy to get around in taxis as it used to be?

This woman also told me of her minestrone soup that she makes at the start of each week throughout the middle of the year. The soup stash supplies lunch to her and her husband for a whole week. She went on to describe the soup, every so often the husband would wander back into the conversation to offer his two-bob of information. Needless to say, I was salivating at the thought of this delicious, hearty, home-made meal. At the conclusion of her description, the woman looked at her watch and realised the two were late for another engagement and off they went.

Aside from a slight craving for soup, which is not terribly out of the ordinary, I thought ‘what a nice lady’ and that was that.

Not so! A week later when I arrived for my shift, the manager pulls a handwritten note from the cupboard, advising that a customer had brought it in for the ‘lovely girl with the dark hair’ (lovely girl is me! Shucks!).

It was the minestrone recipe, handwritten by the woman’s husband as her hand shakes too much when she grabs a pen. I wanted to cry!

After my shift I grabbed the necessary items and made the soup that night. Delicious. 

Thank you to you, dear lady, wherever you are. Your legacy lives on in my pot and in the stomachs of many.

Slurp up this soup, my friends!

e.