Meenadirtqueena Soup

As part of the healing process associated with my acupuncture therapy, I’ve been advised to make and eat soup.  Lots of soup.  I have always avoided soup.  I did not know how to make soup.  I did not want to make soup.  I did not want to eat soup.   But I did want to heal.

Ironically, my learning to make soup involved The Colombian.  Growing up in Colombia, his family was not well-off, in a country even less well-off.  Soup was a staple food at nearly every meal.  It was cheap to produce, easy to load with nutrients, and easy to create many different varieties using only a few basic ingredients.  Having spent a lot of time in the kitchen with his mother, and then becoming a chef in adulthood through his European mentors, The Colombian became a master of soups.

I didn’t know who else to ask.  I realized that using the source of my pain as the co-creator of my medicine might have been foolish; but the soups I ate growing up were not apetizing to me whatsoever.  I wanted the best medicine, and the best teacher.  And he is the best I know.

I never got any in-person lessons.  I did get some offsite tutoring, and access to “phone-a-friend” in soup emergencies.  He taught me the basics, and gave me the confidence to embrace experimentation…within limits, of course.  I was advised not to “cook” my initial ingredients, but to only “sweat” them.  I had no idea what that meant, nor what would be the consequence of cooking them fully.  Apparently, the consequence is a loss of taste.  Who knew?

He walked me through the basics of varieties made with chicken versus beef stock, the delicate process of cream soups and bisques, and how to create a proper roux.  But his own favorite soups would not meet my needs.  His soups are made to satifsy the palate, and are full of indulgent ingredients.  My soup was to be aimed at health, and was required to be low on meat, and heavy on root vegetables.  Our soup-making styles were forced to part company, as were we.

My first soup was simple and somewhat tasteless.  My main ingredient was yams, which are as rooty and experimental as I get.  I knew they would taste good with ginger and brown rice.  My second soup had a beef-stock base, and a few more veggies.  I even used barley for the first time!  My third soup was a cream of sweet potato, made (as suggested) with cream cheese.  It was my finest creation yet!  By the end of the second week, I had mastered chicken (white meat, of course!) and rice.  I was on a roll.  So I decided to experiment with tomatoes and Mexican spices.

I shouldn’t give the impression that all my soups were fabulous.  They were not.  In fact, I did not enjoy any but the cream of sweet potato.  Each and every time, I went a little too far with one ingredient or another.  The thing is, I actually knew before I tasted the end result that I had done something wrong.  I would actually see myself adding the ingredient, and I would say to myself, “I shouldn’t be doing this….”  And I would regret it.

But that’s the problem with soup–or with anything, really.  Once you’ve gone a step too far, it’s not as though you can just reach in there and pull it out.  It’s in there.  It’s in the soup for good…or bad.  You just have to roll with it and hope for the best.

At my acupuncture appointment today, Marc asked how I was doing as he was filling me with needles.  I was lying on the table, toasty warm, having just described all the good things that are going on in my life.  I’m eating again.  Work is going smoothly.  I’m reconnecting with old friends.  But, for some reason, I began to cry.  My crocodile tears flowed down my temples, carrying little boats of itchiness to my ears.  I could not possibly scratch with needles sticking out of my hands.

“It’s just this thing with Dan.  I finally understand the rage, the anger, why it’s happening,” I blubbered.  “But it just doesn’t make it stop.”  I didn’t try to control my tears.  I needed to release the emotions.

“Understanding it with your mind is not important.  That is not the same as accepting it with your heart.  It’s not something you can intellectualize, it’s just something you are going through.”  I tried to look at him through tears.  He’s too freaking smart.  “So go through it.  People make the mistake of thinking that they are made up of their thoughts.  We are really made of our experiences.  Experience it.  Honor your feelings and allow them to pass.”

Somehow, soup is supposed to help me do this.  Or, I should say, it is helping me do this.  I can intellectualize the soup all I want, plan the perfect ingredients, chop everything just so… but each and every time, I make some sort of mistake.  And once the mistake is in the pot, it’s in there.  There is no changing it.  There is only acceptance, and trying to do better next time.

Cream of...a bunch of stuff

Today’s soup was a challenge.  I had stopped to see Dan after my appointment.  Dan was not ready to see me.  He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be part of my healing process this time.  He would not come out.  He told me this over the phone. 

So I went to the grocery store and bought some new ingredients.  I chopped all my vegetables just so, and cut two different kinds of potatoes as my main ingredient.  I became distracted in the initial stages, and over-cooked my celery, carrot, and onion.  I added too much barley.  I forgot the bay leaf.  I didn’t reduce it properly.  I didn’t let my cream cheese-broth mixture thicken properly.  I had cut way too many potatoes.  As I always do with Dan, I went a little too far.

I made a lot of that soup.  More than I could possibly eat in a week.  It is awful soup, and I made too much.  All there is to do now is eat it anyway, and wait it out.  I have to go through it.  It cannot be wasted, and it cannot be ignored–though perhaps I could arrange for Katie to steal some.

Someday, I hope to get some face-to-face soup tutoring.  Someday, he will be ready, and I will be ready, and I’ll learn how to properly make soup.  But not yet.  Until then, I’ll stop regretting what I’ve already thrown in the pot.  It’s in there, and there’s no fishing it out.