Soup is Life

Patrick roasted a 24-pound turkey last Sunday (a Kroger substitution for the 11lb one we originally ordered) and…I think you know where this is going.

While we ate the inaugural dinner of tender breast slices and meaty legs accompanied by mashed potatoes and salad, the bones and roasting pan vegetables were bubbling into broth on the stove (he managed to put up six quarts, now bagged and resting in flat stacks in the freezer). We chatted casually about what else we might do with the remaining 23 pounds. The gravy he made was sublime and plentiful, so that became the base for a turkey and vegetable melange poured over baked potatoes Monday night, and pasta Tuesday night (ask me what I had for lunch at work Monday and Tuesday).

I chunked up a hefty portion of white meat and made turkey salad (let me just say, when you add some mayonnaise, a dollop or two of plain Greek yogurt, thinly sliced red onions, a spoonful of horseradish and a few shots of cayenne sauce, that’s pretty darn good sammich filling) and eyed a full container of dark meat sitting on the bottom shelf in the fridge with a measure of poultry fatigue. Wednesday’s meals were a blur of turkey swimming in something poured over something else, with a salad’s bright greens doing their best to liven up the monotony. I got good news on Thursday and decided to celebrate with a cauliflower pizza. Patrick good-naturedly muscled through the last of the turkey vegetable potpie.

Just curious—how much tryptophan is too much tryptophan? I’ve felt uncharacteristically mellow and relaxed all week.

When I got up yesterday, I made good on plans to try a new cranberry orange pecan granola (turned out a winner and will join the sellable lineup at the farmer’s market when we resume in February) and found a recipe for vegan lemony red lentil soup while scrolling through my morning breakfast. We had most of the ingredients on hand, so I dove in as the granola was cooling. If you’ve ever made soup, you know about the importance of layering the flavors. It’s not simply a “dump it all in the pot and hope for the best” proposition (just last Friday, someone gifted me with the wisdom, “hope is not a plan”, and I’m sharing that with everyone I know. You’re welcome). Onions and celery, maybe some diced carrots, sauteed in oil until transparent and slightly soft, fill the house with a lovely aroma and promise until it’s time to put the other elements in with the right amount of stock. I was obedient to the recipe until it came to the broth and that’s where it went off the rails. Not in a bad way, mind you, but more in a creative and unfolding sort of way. You know, like life.

While the red lentils and diced potatoes were coming to a gentle simmer (I even peeled the potatoes), I zested and juiced three plump lemons and cut up the last of the turkey, crouching down and reaching all the way into the back of the bottom shelf in case any of it had tried to hide. The crowning glory would be a heaping bowlful of rough-chopped kale to add just before taking it off the heat and pouring in the lemon juice, giving it a stir and serving. An hour later, I had four quarts cooling in mason jars on the counter, lids resting like derby hats while the soup’s escaping steam rose lazily into the warm kitchen air. All I really wanted to make was granola and now we have soup for the week. I expect some will find its way to the freezer and we’ll be glad of it when neither of us really wants to cook dinner on a snowy weeknight in February. When it’s just the two of you and Kroger practically gives you thirteen more pounds of turkey than you originally planned for, you do your best not to waste it. I feel like a champion at the end of a marathon, and the fridge looks lighter than it did a week ago.

I understand the importance of disaster preparedness (we have “go-kits” in our cars and know two ways out of most rooms in our house should the need arise), but I’m not sure we’re as equipped to cope with abundance when it presents itself. Creativity is the common thread in both situations, but I think we lean toward expecting the worst instead of the best. When a good amount of good stuff does come around, it’s like quenching our thirst by drinking from a firehose. That’ll take your lips clean off if you’re not careful. After a week of nonstop turkey transformations, I’m more inclined to rethink my preparedness mindset toward the positive. Am I ready for when we’ve got this pandemic under control? What would I really do if we won the lottery? Suppose we receive enough viable volunteer applications to meet and exceed our hospice patients’ needs? Remember, hope is not a plan.

I’m gonna give this some serious thought…over a bowl of lemony turkey kale red lentil soup.