After weeks of mild temperatures in the 50s and 60s, Winter has limped in, tail between its legs, proffering a day of sleet and a dusting of snow. And while temperatures are still slightly above freezing, and this long-awaited snow has no hope of accumulating, I’m determined to embrace Winter’s feeble attempt attempt.
It’s my day off, and I’m cozily ensconced in my warm apartment, cat snoozing on the chair beside me. I’m dreaming of stew.
There’s something inherently soothing about soup. Even more so, crock pot soup. Just knowing it’s chugging away in that little heated bowl all day while the world devolves into chaos around it. In the morning you throw in dried beans or peas, vegetables, stock, perhaps a little bacon (because everything’s better with bacon), and set the heat. Crock pot soup doesn’t care how hectic your day was, how many people cut you off, how many gave you the wrong change, or even, if you were the one to miscount the change.
It’s entirely possible that the only reason I absolutely love this potato soup (and made it twice in two days…and dream about the day I make it again) is that my taste buds have suffered for so long eating bland and over-salted food for nearly a year. I really hope that’s not the case. This soup was magnificent. It was creamy and chunky. It was sweet and salty and spicy. It was everything I dream of in a potato soup. (well…maybe not everything…there wasn’t any chocolate…) Continue reading
My landlord said “Let there be Light.” And there was. And I saw that it was good.
The Meat Shop lady said “Let there be Cheddar.” And there was. And I saw that it was good.
