Sorry I hate soup
I was given a prompt from a friend recently, who wanted me to get out of my head as a writer. "Just write something fun and dumb" he said. Here are the results of said prompt.
Dear Soup Lovers,
I have a confession – no, a declaration – I must make among the masses.
I do not like soup.
There, I said it. I said it and I believe it.
It’s not just because I have an aversion to drinking my food, which I do. It’s not even the fact that most submerged food ends up soggy, which it does. It’s that you guys, this army of Soup Lovers, have hyped this food up to a level only Friends fandom can match. Truly, it’s an astonishing feat, but one that baffles me oh so much.
Autumn is the time where we put our swimsuits away and exchange them for cozy, snug sweaters. It’s the time where our drinks of choice change from spicy margaritas to that special pumpkin spiced flavor. And it’s the time where I, a literal law-abiding American citizen, have to fight for my right to hate soup. Every year, this baffling battle haunts me.
Is it that I can’t be happy for you? Of course I can. I love that you all enjoy your slimy slop and call it sacred. I love that you enjoy drinking liquids for sustenance though we’ve moved past that need for grits and gruel as a society. I love that you make a whole season of it, truly. As a classic “woo!” girl at heart, I’m happy that you have something to “woo!” over, too.
But can we have a frank discussion?
Soup is like the baby food of adulthood. It’s the raw, or rather incomplete, version of what real humans eat. Solid food? Great. Liquids? Also great. But a soupy mess that I now have to ingest as a full meal? Where did we, as a society, go wrong?
I’ve never fought the urge to slurp my food outside of a summer milkshake, or wished for soggy chunks of meat to float around my smoothies. I don’t understand the appeal of spending a whole day chopping and preparing veggies, meats, and spices, all to submerge them into one sloppy, mushy mess. But like I said. More power to you, if that does it for you. I’m no one to step on your slushy parade.
What I don’t quite recall is how this became my problem. How I’m the weird one if I enjoy the luxuries of chewing my own food. Suddenly, I’m the outcast if I don’t prefer to fit my meal through a straw, and find myself on the outskirts of a “soup party” if I suggest a hearty bread and butter alternative.
I often get asked if I like soup-adjacent food. What about dips? they say. I love ‘em. What about a chicken thai curry? That’s great, too. My general rule of thumb is if it’s 1) soggy, 2) slurp-y, and 3) can only be scooped up with a spoon, I’m out. Chili? Fine. Tortellini dishes, I’ll even take. But the moment you ask me to sip my supper? I’m out. I tried. This is where I draw the line.
That being said, dear Soup Lovers, I do feel we are at an impasse. You, who enjoy your holidays, wish to do so in soupy peace. I, a cozy girl at heart, also wish to welcome the colder, blustery days with something of warm cheer.
Can I ask that we live in amenable peace on one condition?
I simply request that someday, down the road, you think of me. Think of me when you realize drinking meat is disgusting, or when a fork is the only lonely utensil you have at your disposal. Think of me when you realize dips and developed dishes have become higher on the food chain hierarchy. And think of me when someone, somewhere around you shares their distaste for your deary darlings.
There are dozens of us among you.
Signed,
Those Who Long to Live Sensible, Soupless Lives.