Soup for the Soul

I do believe I need to order this print, have it professionally framed, and place it in my kitchen. This way J.R. will have a constant reminder of his options when he sits down at the dinner table.

A few nights ago I experimented with my own recipe for blue cheese-tomato-basil soup. I bought some ciabatta bread to go with it and was anxious for J.R. to try the soup. I laid out the place mats, lit a candle, and even remembered napkins. He came in for the night to a nice warm meal after a long hard day of standing in the garage staring at all of his tools (what a rough life).

He sat down, placed a spoonful of soup in his mouth, and twisted his face into all sorts or disgust.
"This is.... interesting."

"What, you don't like it?"

"What the hell did you put in it?"

"Food. What's wrong with it?"

"I dunno.. it's just... funky."

"Funky? You think my soup is funky??"

"Yeah. And what's up with this bread, it's tart."

"J.R. it's ciabatta bread. It's not tart."

At this point he grabbed his bowl of soup and made his way to the spice rack. He starts dumping in all sorts of stuff from salt and pepper to cumin. Eventually he came back with the sugar jar and just kept dumping and dumping and dumping in sugar.

"Hey it's perfect. It's a salty-sweet tomato soup. Try this Jo. It's fantastic. You just don't know how to season things."

And he wondered why I didn't care to talk to him for the remainder of the night. Men. So silly.

(And by the way, the soup turned out fabulous. Apparently J.R. just really dislikes blue cheese. News to me.)