The experience was akin to an International Cafe commercial (Anyone remember those? “Jean-Luc!”). Sitting at the dinner table with my family – imagine it:
I’m holding a bowl of soup up, inhaling the rich scent, looking through the gently curling steam at my loving husband, chef and creator of this amazing dish. The buttery-richness of homemade stock mixed with kabocha squash. Every sip brought the soft focus back to this dinner time pastoral, blurring out the loud and fussing toddler just out of frame to my left, probably throwing food on the ground and shouting no or something like that. Another sip. I look out the sliding glass door to see the fading colors of yet another beautiful sunset. The perfect end to what must have been a perfect day. “Honey,” I didn’t say because I don’t call anyone that, “this soup is perfection. Every swallow is like going on vacation.” I actually did say that second part. And it was true. So rich and sumptuous. So yummy.
That’s when I learned that, in addition to kabocha squash and chicken stock, the soup also had an entire stick of butter in it.
Whatever. I don’t care. Calgon, take me away…