Taking a break to tell you about my day, then back to it....
Packing to move, boxes of all sizes stacked everywhere... and I'm getting hungry. I have some food in the refrigerator from which I could rustle us up some homemade soup in a hurry, but I have no idea which box has our cooking utensils. Husband saves the day calling to say he's going to stop by and pick up a gluten-free pizza. He calls back and says they're closed for the day. Our kitchen counter is cluttered with everything I pulled out of the cupboards, boxes and bubble wrap, along with today's mail. So, I push what I can aside and work quickly to be able to say "Soup's on!" thirty minutes later when DZ walks through the door with my empty suitcase to fill with clothes that are folded neatly in the landlord's dresser drawer.
I love soup and figure that we must have enough produce to make a Moving Day vegetable soup using whatever hasn't been packed up. So let's take a quick look and get busy... for ingredients, we have:
fresh picked, local assortment of green beans
several vine ripened tomatoes
a couple of large white potatoes
yellow and green bell peppers
a couple of yellow crooked-neck squash
a bunch of celery and part of a zucchini
a part of an onion sliced and half of another onion
a couple of fresh mushrooms and a can of sliced mushrooms
a can of corn and a part of a jar of vegetable stock base
I found my soup pot, but I can't find my knives. The landlord's collection, which I just unpacked and put back in the drawer...all as dull as butter knives. This is the time to be very, very careful not to cut myself. Dull is dangerous. I hack at the vegetables more than cut them, then furiously tossed them into the pot filled part way with water, two tablespoons of vegetable stock base and two large pinches of sea salt.
My nifty, red rubber tube to remove garlic skin is lost to a box somewhere, so I use my hand towel to loosen the peel, rolling it around four plump cloves of garlic and rolling furiously back and forth with the palms of my hands. My garlic press is probably buried with the roller, so I slivered the garlic rather than attempt to mince them with a dull blade and blended them into the mix of fresh ingredients with one of three wooden spoons that will remain in our loft apartment kitchen. I could have mashed them, I suppose.
I pinched in some cayenne and tossed a liberal amount of the Italian herb blend sitting on the counter by the sea salt. All the other spices were... of course... packed.
Having replaced our personal dishes, bowls, glasses and flatware with that of the landlord's assortment, we enjoyed a fine lunch on the deck with the simplicity of a bowl, a soup spoon and a glass of water... all because DZ scrounged around until he found the soup ladle!
I don't know when I will have to pack and move again. I hope not any time soon. But when I do, I need to remind myself to withhold just a few more basic items and provisions during the exodus with which we can cook and feed ourselves with for a few days.
Despite the lack of kitchen equipment, gadgets, cookware, food and spice selection, the soup turned out great - though simple, has wonderful flavor... proving yet again that more doesn't necessarily mean better. And we have enough soup left in the pot to last us for the next couple of lunches during our move.
Now back to packing.
Now back to packing.