A cold, wet, and overcast Friday.
If I didn’t have to work, I’d have spent it catching up on television shows or reading a book or two. But I don’t have that luxury, so I did what I normally do on days like this – I slapped a smile on my face and did my best to brave the conditions.
Work was . . . work, and while the day went reasonably well and lacked theatrics, it still feels as if something was a bit off kilter. When my last student hit the trail, I returned to my office, made a show of tidying things up, and packed up to go. A colleague said her goodbyes; new opportunities await. I avoided the party; I’m not good at farewells. Besides, I gave my well-wishes a couple of days ago, so she knows how I feel. So many people have gone off to greener pastures.
On the way home, however, I was suddenly hit with the desire for potato soup, and that’s when my day did a 180º turn. I’ve never made potato soup from scratch, but I keep saying that one day I will. It’s something that I’ve only developed a taste for recently – say, the last seven or eight years. I have a couple of recipes, but I never think about them until it’s too late, so I’ve taken the Lazy Man’s route: I buy commercially available soup and load it up.
Yeah, I know. But it’s great in a pinch on days like today where I can’t handle another burger, but I don’t want to be in the kitchen after a day at work. So I get a can of potato soup, a can of diced potatoes, and a bag of chopped frozen broccoli. If I happen to have it on hand – and today I did – I’ll add diced ham, too. Occasionally, I’ll add a thickener (or cut back on some of the milk), as I am not a fan of runny soup, but that wasn’t an issue today. When finished, I’ll top it off with shredded cheese and a small amount of bacon bits (which is a bit redundant, given the ham, but so what?).
The photo? It’s to annoy my niece. You see, I made this for her once and, despite twenty minutes of protestations, she loved it once she finally tasted it. She’d never had potato soup, either, but she knew she wouldn’t like it. Since then, she’s asked me to make it for her numerous times, but she’s an adult now, and can handle herself in the kitchen. I realized that she could make it, but she really just wants me to make it so she can eat it. Well, that’s not happening, so whenever I do prepare a pot, I like to send her little reminders of what she’s not having for dinner tonight.
Yes, I’m mean. She tells me so every time I do this.