Originally Published in Print December 2021
I have never been one for soup making, although I do love its water-based cousin, broths. Soup always struck me as too much work, or too complicated, or maybe something that necessitates a blender. Since coming on Erasmus, however, I have embarked on a soup-loving journey, and I don’t think I will ever return to the way I was. The soups I have been making are so simple and heart and body warming; I will attempt to convey the experience of making them. Soups are a one-pot dish, and are perfect for when you have some extra time on your hands, and are feeling a little lazy. It is often raining, and in France everything is closed on a Sunday, so it feels just right and ever so cosy to stay in. These soups are always made as a team with the people in my residence, and we use them as a way to spend time together, and also as a chance to get in the nutrients that our weeknight pesto pasta doesn’t quite provide us with.
In my provincial French town, we load up each Saturday morning at the market with an insane amount of seasonal fruit and veg. Coming into autumn, one week there was a pumpkin or two scattered across the stalls, and then all at once it was leafy greens and squash galore.
The plan often starts around lunchtime on a Sunday, with perhaps two people. Whoever is met along the way to the kitchen is invited. Each person brings slightly different ingredients, and a different perspective on how they should be cooked. Having lived at home for most of my college life, I have never had the chance to witness the different ways in which people approach cooking. I have been really enjoying it – I am prevented from slipping into a rut of making variations of a few go-to meals, and my eyes are opened to new attitudes!
For perhaps the only time in a week, we all possess enough – and possibly even a surplus – of fresh produce, and we are eager to share. We convene in one of the many kitchens of our residence. Each time, we go in confident, and then realise that no one is ready to take the role of head chef – so much the better! Everyone slots into chopping, stirring, spice-finding – we have usually forgotten most of our ingredients and cooking apparatus in our rooms, so we traipse back and forth through the corridors. One of us has an egregiously large pot, borderline industrial – the perfect item for a communal meal.
We start off with a base of onions and oil, maybe garlic. The spices would do well to go in here as well, but we are usually not yet sure exactly what flavours we are going for. We then add the long-haul veg – the pumpkin, or potato, squash, whatever is to hand – usually along with lentils and a good amount of salt. At this point there is a rush to add enough water to make sure all these things we have thrown in don’t burn the pan. We don’t have a jug, and cups and mugs are too small, so we scramble to find another pot, or, at the very least, a teapot, to carry the water from the sink to the ridiculously large pot on the stove. The majority of the job done, we are able to relax a bit. Someone has put on music, we can dance around and chat, and take turns stirring and taste-testing, marvelling at how we have somehow managed again to create this hearty meal. This time is almost always interrupted by us slowly realising that we have forgotten some key ingredients – we have salt but no other flavours, or chilli but no salt, etc. We are forced to make several more trips back to our rooms. In the end it doesn’t even matter – with these soups you can chuck in whatever you want at any point, the soup bubbles away for any length of time you need, and in the meantime you get to just hang out, easy-peasy – someone has to go run do something, but the soup is on no timer! The longer you leave it, in fact, the soupier it gets. More water can always be added, the spinach thrown in at just the end, the tomatoes can go in at any point. This kind of soup is the most chilled-out dish you can make.
When eventually we decide that it is done, we assemble with our bowls and spoons and dole out our hearty (and usually predominantly orange) meal. We feel accomplished, despite the simplicity of what we have done. We don’t really know each other, but it feels like we do, and we eat slowly, helping ourselves to seconds and thirds, enjoying one another’s company.
