“I think that women just have a primeval instinct to make soup, which they will try to foist on anybody who looks like a likely candidate.” ~ Dylan Moran
I have become a prodigious cooker of onion soup this winter.
To be honest, it’s because I planned to make a pot for a dinner party once and ended up buying roughly a gazillion more onions that I needed. This is because I grocery shop like my mother: with plans to feed a small country instead of a few guests. It’s a bad habit, but luckily onions last forever and so I’ve been able to get quite a few batches out of that one mishandled shopping excursion.
The general rule of thumb for conversation is: avoid the weather. If small talk has taken a sudden turn into cloud formations, levels of sunniness and air moisture, you know you’re in for a hasty and unpleasant retreat to the conversation exit door.
… even though it’s so cold and misty. The clouds have fallen asleep on Cape Town, and the achingly cold bite of winter is in the air. The rains have arrived (and are messing up my perfectly styled straight Meeting Hair. It’s ‘mincing’ now, as people from the Cape say). My flat mate told me rather direly that I should budget for three umbrellas being destroyed by Cape Town’s windy, wet, miserable winter. Three umbrellas. I bought one umbrella during my gap year that I expected, rather idealistically I now realise, to last me for the rest of my life.
In this cold weather, I know what to avoid to stay on Mission Succexy – all things delicious, unhealthy and slathered in chocolate. Soup somehow isn’t quite the same as…