<< prev = comments [5] = pings [0] = next >>


soooop of the eeevening, rally edition
08/07/2010 = 08:27 AM

I am on vacation.

Eight months of forty- to fifty-hour work weeks, and in exchange, I get eight days off in a row.

You think I'm not grateful, think again. Having a previous position eliminated due to budgetary constraints will make you highly conscious of how lucky you are to be working at all.

Nevertheless, I was feeling pretty burned out when the day ended on Tuesday morning, and now it is Saturday and I'm feeling much better.

It isn't just the bit about not being at work.

Or the bit about being able to nap at will.

To be honest, it's mostly the bit about BBC America starting Doctor Who over from the Doctor Nine episodes and I get to watch every day instead of trying to sleep so I can go to work that night.

I'm kind of giving Christopher Eccleston another chance — I didn't care much for him the first time round, but since I've seen his lap on Top Gear, using an automatic transmission, I have taken some pity on him. He can't help being an inferior Doctor; he doesn't even know how to drive a clutch. The TARDIS must have made him insane.

Also, Captain Jack Harkness, when he was a new character. He is just delicious.

Speaking of delicious, a show of hands: who here has had snapper turtle soup?

Do not get on me for eating cute little turtles. I also like cute little lamb (curry) and cute little (Peking) ducks.

I am omnivorous. I would not eat deep-fried Elvis, but only because that (especially toward the end of his lifetime) is way too much food for anyone, even Adam Richman, to consume in one sitting.

But turtle soup.

I first had it in Philadelphia, and I cannot remember the name of the restaurant in which I had it. I wasn't paying, or I'd never have had the bottles to order something that unfamiliar. Our host, who spent over a grand on the meal, recommended that I not leave Philly without trying some; that it was infinitely more important than who was better, Pat's or Geno's.

(I liked the Pat's sandwich better, but Geno's had Coke products. Pat's is a Pepsi house. But I digress.)

Our host was spot on. The server brought me a tiny, perfect bowl of what looked like thick beef stew, drizzled a spoonful or so of good sherry over the top of it, and left me to my own devices.

My own devices, for about the next fifteen minutes, consisted of letting warm, nutmeg-spiced, sherry-infused, tender, brown, oh, my gourd, where has THIS been all my life transfer from bowl to spoon to mouth to throat to stomach to toes, which were curled in absolute bliss.

Incidentally, one of the other reasons I was hesitant to order soup of any ilk was that this was a very upscale-casual restaurant, and that I was in a group of very upscale-casual corporate people, wearing a not-upscale but new and pretty sweater, and I was aware that my various and sundry ills could make me lose control of my spoon. I am a natural-born spiller.

Not one drop of turtlicious ecstasy got lost betwixt spoon and mouth.

Nay, the only reason there was still any in the bowl when I finally disentangled myself was that I was still just enough cognizant that I did not pick up the bowl, stick my face in it, and lap at the dregs.

Which is not to say I was not tempted.

I remember how to use the software that our host was selling us, and I remember other bits of the meal, such as the fact that I had wanted a steak for dinner, but wound up ordering seafood because he had ordered such a nice Chablis that I didn't want to stop drinking it.

I also remember that the bartender had Bushmill's 1608, and made me a proper Irish coffee, with not too much sugar and with hand-whipped cream, applied via pastry bag.

But those things are like subplots — I don't remember the name of the software; I don't remember what kind of seafood I had, or the brand or year of the wine; I don't remember whether the bartender sugared the rim of my coffee mug, although I tend to think he probably did.

Mostly, I don't remember the name of the restaurant. I could absolutely smack myself upside the head once an hour for the rest of my life, having forgotten that.

I do, however, remember every single nuance of that turtle soup, and have pined for just another spoonful for the past eight years.

That said, someone suggested I look for Bookbinder's turtle soup at the supermarket, because it has something similar to the flavor I am describing, plus it is very possible that Bookbinder's was the Philadelphia restaurant at which we dined.

Our local supermarkets didn't have it, but I was planning an order for some east coast foods not available here (Vermont Common Crackers specifically, pronounced "vahmawnt cawmin crackas") from the Vermont Country Store's website, and whilst I was browsing, I chanced upon The Soup.

I was not confident enough nor solvent enough to order a case, but a three-can pack seemed safe and affordable.

Last night, when That Man of Mine was working overtime and I was sitting in the lovely central air, thinking about what I would have for my supper, the thought of The Soup crossed my mind, and once it crossed, it could not be gotten rid of.

Never mind the hot desert outdoors. I had to see.

The very second the opener had penetrated the can, the spicy, sherry-laced scent wafted up to my nose and it was all I could do not to upend the can and drink it cold.

I did it properly. Set the table, just for myself. Heated the soup, served it, sat down to eat without book, music, or telly to distract me, and savored for about a good hour.

I also had to fight tears of joy throughout the meal. Shut up.

The restaurant version had had more pieces of meat in it, and I think our server put in a bit more sherry than was present in the can. Otherwise, it was identical.

I don't know what is currently making me me happier: the fact that I have two more cans in the house RIGHT NOW, or the fact that I know where I can get more when I need it, or the fact that, maybe next time, I will add some cooked beef or chicken and perhaps a little more sherry, but probably it's the fact that I was fortunate enough to be able to find (and pay for) The Soup again, and to have it whilst I was on vacation from a very good job, which will be waiting for me next week and not eliminated due to budgetary constraints.

This, for any of you wondering, is why I never give up. In 2008, I was tired and scared, I was a burden to everyone in my life, and I had lost everything. If I had followed my instincts then, I could not have had this.

But, before I get too glurgeful, the brain confetti strikes back, and I have to ponder the following:

If one were to ask me if I am a Turtle, I can answer in the affirmative.

If you don't know what this means, by the way, you're not one. Sorry. Find one and get them to convert you.

That said, though, does my love for turtle soup then define me as a cannibal?

You bet your sweet ass it does.

Tags: turtle soup

drinking: coca cola de Mexico
listening to: a history of galileo on television
tonight's plan: movie night with that man of mine (translation: dvd and homemade stovetop popcorn)