Soup Day

It was March 22, 2004 and my roommate Sam and I were recovering from celebrating her birthday the night before. and the night before that. we decided to cook. Sam was making bbq chicken. I was making Minnesota Wild Rice soup from the Book of Soups mentioned here.

Sam's phone rings -- of course she would like to hang out (her new love interest); of course he can bring his roommate; and by the way, we're making a TON of food.

not long after, the boys arrive: Aram, who I had met, and his roommate, Tate. Sam's chicken was done first, and everyone had a taste but Tate. he was waiting for soup.

as the soup finished, and was devoured, the four of us chatted, listened to Tate sing and play his guitar, and generally had a good time.

we did not have a couch at the time, or many chairs for that matter, but I remember sitting somewhere where I was able to inch very closely to Tate, almost touching, like we were 14-years-old and knees touching meant you were dating. I was so nervous around him, and tried to laugh at his every joke. I was worried I looked frumpy in my baggy t-shirt and he didn't think I was hot.

but as Tate left early to another engagement, he requested soup and in all my 50's housewife glory, I packed some up and sent him on his way. without a knee touch. or even a handshake.

*sigh*

the next day, Sam came home to tell me she had left a note on Tate and Aram's coffee table reading, call Abby for "soup", with my phone number. apparently, Tate had talked to Aram about how he liked me (he likes me, he likes me!), who passed the info to Sam, who took it upon herself to make sure we met again.

three days later, the boys were back at our house hangin' out. Tate and I stayed up all night talking. and kissed as he left for work at 6am. and as the fairy tales say, we lived happily ever after.

the point of this story? besides the fact that it's really sweet to recount the meeting of the love of your life?

Soup Day.

since that time, March 22 has been known as Soup Day. every year, we invite all our friends over to share a giant pot of the soup, and force them to hear over and over how we met and how much we love each other, and give each other googly eyes and are the annoying cute couple in the room.

we are not of any religion, and our culture is very white, middle-class American. we feel we need holidays to celebrate so we are creating our own, and this is our first. it is a day and tradition we hope our children will continue with their families long after we are gone as a celebration of the day the family began and the soup that made it happen.

as a side note, I have found an added bonus to only making the soup once, maybe twice a year -- I haven't memorized the recipe. every time I make the soup, I also get to see this:

(added to the cookbook in time for the first Soup Day)