I Blend Some Soup

Risotto may be my most frequently cooked supper, but it doesn't always make sense of the random contents of my fridge  I was surveying its near-empty shelves this evening in my post-work hunger, and the only possible conclusion (apart from shopping) was soup.

This particular soup started when Lucy left me with some broccoli on her way up to Inverness.  She didn't want it to go to waste and she didn't want to take it on the train as her case was full.  When I discovered onions, a potato, some Parmesan cheese and milk in the fridge, it felt as if this soup was intended.

My auntie Sue was famous for including anything in soup, especially her Sunday evening, post-roast-lunch soup.  Left over everything went into it, including once (we teased her for evermore about this) apple crumble and custard. Schooled on wartime rationing and then a widow's pension, it was, for her, a matter of economy, resourcefulness and pride.  By some sort of magic (a slug of sherry, perhaps?) everything she blended tasted good, served as it was from cream-coloured bowls at her round table under the pink-tinged light of a shell lampshade. 

I ate my soup alone this evening from a blue bowl at my own round table.  It was surprisingly good - Parmesan proving itself to be a particularly good cheese for adding some much-needed depth of flavour, given the absence of sherry and crumble.