More Soup, Please
Martha, this soup is exquisite. You simply must give me the recipe. I will not take no for an answer now, so don’t try to wiggle out of it. I must make this for my husband Harold. You know how picky he is and he seems to be lapping this soup up. Don’t hold back on me now. Start talking. You won’t get away with keeping this to yourself.
Finely chop three carrots. I thought I tasted carrot in there. It’s kind of a distinctive taste in this particular soup. You know what they say about a good carrot, right? Poor Harold’s carrot doesn’t live up to its billing though, I’ll tell you that much. I’m bad. I know. I’m so bad. You egg me on. That’s what it is. You provoke me. O.K., so finely chop three carrots. Got it. What’s next?
Is that what that was? I would never have guessed. Dill! I never did care for dill as a spice. It sort of offsets taste but you’ve done a wonderful job of hiding it. You know, I had a cousin named Dill. Yeah, a snarky little bastard. His parents were Mormons. Yeah, the door-to-door bit and everything. They used make us pray for 45 minutes before we could eat. HAROLD! Remember my cousin, Dill? He never remembers anything.
What happened to him? Well, a wolverine chewed off his left leg. Yeah, it was a real shame too. Not too surprising though. Who keeps a wolverine as a pet? O.K., so two cloves of dill. Good.
Dice two stalks of celery. Easy enough. Did you hear that celery is negative calories? I never understood that. Harold’s crazy aunt Bernice heard about it and decided she was only going to eat celery all day. That’s it. Nothing else, just celery. She’s still over 600 pounds. I guess when you eat 17 pounds of celery a day it doesn’t make a dent. The only dent that she’s making is the one in her sofa. Of course, her husband Larry works on the road 16 hours a day. No, no, asphalt. O.K., celery.
I know there’s a secret ingredient. Is this it? Orange juice? No! O.K., so a teaspoon of orange juice for flavor. I must say this is an exotic recipe. Harold loves orange juice. It’s virtually all he’ll drink. HAROLD! There’s orange juice in the soup. Don’t “Yes, dear” me. You love orange juice. Martha, I’m telling you that man won’t take his eyes off of the TV for two minutes. It’s O.K. When I poison his orange juice, he’ll have no idea. Oh, Martha. Martha, I told you I’m bad. You need to stop coaxing me.
Goat cheese? That has to be the secret ingredient? It’s not? Goodness, you just keep coming up with surprises. Goat cheese. Very, very exciting. Where do you get it? I used to go to Newman’s all the time but since we moved across town, I haven’t been back there. Oh, but isn’t Mr. Newman weird? Yeah, I went into the store once and I caught a glimpse into the back room. One of the stock boys was sodomizing a male blow-up doll. I thought it was strange too. You know what? What they do is their business. All I’m saying is that they should maybe lock the door. O.K., a tablespoon of goat cheese.
Tiger penis? So that’s the secret ingredient. Martha, you cad! It’s not! I can’t believe that there’s more. I used to get my tiger penis at Sheng-Tao’s but since they closed down, it’s virtually impossible to get quality, affordable tiger penis. You know who loves tiger penis? Well, aside for the female tigers. Oh Martha! I did it again, Martha! I am bad to the bone! No pun intended. Two in a row! Zing! Oh, I’m having a wonderful time.
What’s that, Harold? “More soup, please.” You heard the man, Martha. Let’s refill his bowl.