Soup
It snowed yesterday. Which is funny because I am pretty sure it was sixty degrees at some point last week. But, yesterday it snowed. Not a lot, there’s an inch or so of the white stuff on the ground, classing the place up. It’s cold outside tonight, in the low, low twenties and sure to get colder.
I like winter. I used to go winter camping. Yes, some people are dumb enough, or crazy enough to hike up a mountainside in winter and camp out there. I used to be one of those people and maybe again some day.
There’s something nice about it. Making camp, after a days exertions. Changing into dry or warm clothes. Cooking a meal and taking a hit from a flask or bottle of something from the spirit family.
I remember on one particular camping trip, having to pee in the middle of the night. I, awkwardly made my way out of my sleeping bag, out of the tent, managing not to disturb my climbing partner. Outside, I was careful where I stepped as we were camped at the edge of a ravine. There was a moon and even without my glasses I could see the stars, brighter, closer and more clearly than I ever had. That’s what is great about camping, it’s a reminder of the simple joys, the simple pleasures.
Today was flurry of activity. I ran errands. Then home to get wood from the woodpile. Wrapped gifts for my youngest son’s birthday. My Long Suffering Wife, was taking care of the cake, which is good because I can be trusted to bake anything more complex than a potato. In between all of that I decided to make soup. Not just any soup but split pea soup.
When I was a kid, my dad would make split pea soup. He would open the familiar red and white can and dump a cylinder, of Olive Drab Green, gelatinous goop into a can. I quickly learned that I detested that stuff. For years I avoided split pea soup.
Sixteen years ago LSW and I were on our, deferred by a trip to Iraq, honeymoon. We went to Sienna Italy shortly after I got home from my third and last deployment. It was a cold and often rainy week in Sienna around this time of year. Sienna is a magical place filled with beautiful architecture, history, pizza, wine and great restaurants. My favorite of which is a place called Gallo Nero, which offered a menu comprised of renaissance dishes. One of which was split pea soup.
After a day of tramping around the cold, damp city, I wanted soup. I took a chance on the split pea soup, looking more for warmth than flavor. It came with a spiral of olive oil on the surface. My expectations were, frankly, quite low, as I raised the spoon to my lips. It was, frankly, exotic and wonderful.
The olive oil was fresh and local. The soup bore no resemblance to the atrocity from a can. It was thick, warm and rich, tasting of smoky pork, garlic, and most surprisingly rosemary. It was fantastic and I have tried my best to recreate it with limited success, every winter since.
It is cold outside tonight, and a bit windy. It is the type of night to be glad to be indoors. A fire burning in the hearth, surrounded by my family. The birthday boy happily playing with his gifts, the perpetually feuding cats have declared a truce necessitated by their need to sleep twenty hours a day. Simmering on the stove is a pot of split pea soup. I feel bad for you that you can’t smell the rosemary or garlic, much less have a bowl of it, but I assure you it is the perfect thing for a night like this.