Anyone that knows me a little knows this about me:
I love soup.
Sure. Anything fried, greasy or otherwise bad-for-my-health ALSO makes me do a little happy dance. But on the whole, if I had to pick one type of meal to eat for the rest of my life…it would be soup. Soup rocks.
I have never met a soup that wasn’t (unless badly prepared or very spicy) not like a bunch of angels pissing on my tongue. I really, truly, sincerely and very passionately love soup.
Mostly because my grandmother is the QUEEN of soups (and has thus spoiled me rotten with her split-pea soups. Brown bean soups. Vegetable soups (and Sunday soups, with fancy marrow balls and meat). Chicken soups. Aspargus soups. And the list goes on. And on. And on). I sometimes dream of my grandmothers soups. I’m not even joking.
So usually when I do grocery shopping (which I attempt to avoid on the whole, on any given day, to be fair). I will acquire soups. Be they canned, or potted or bagged or still-in-ingredient-form – I will make sure that my life will always contain soup in the foreseeable future. As I did last week when I ordered in my shoppings.
In my haul this time was a new experiment. The supermarket butcher/grocer section here has a new range of ‘fresh’ made soups in convenient two person (which always translates to one generous one) portion soup bins. I, obviously, tried the entire range. And what I found today, after having prepared the last plastic container of Zucchini-soup – is that they all suck.
Each and every one of these store-bought ‘fresh and fantastic’ soups is a foul rip-off of the term soup. They’re flavorless. Barely stocked with any vegetable. And bland. Oh so bland.
Which got me thinking. About soup, for starters.
And then (as usually happens in my brain) about my own soup-like qualities.
You see. The thing about pre-packed, pre-cooked and pre-prepared meals as we tend to get in supermarkets these days….is that they’re awfully convenient. Convenient. But basic. And in their basicness: bland.
Because the thing about these ready-made contraptions is that they have to be suitable for the widest possible range audience as can be gotten. As long as the flavor is offensive to none, they’re a possible purchase for all. In order to be successfully sold – they need to appeal to the many.
Which means that they pretty much tend to taste like nothing. Or salt. Everyone likes salt, apparently (I definitely do, so that’s a win for me). Which also goes for soupland. Soups sold in supermarkets are just watered down (literally) rip-offs of the rich, flavorful and perfect soups my grandmother used to make. They’re easy to purchase, they fill the stomach and they get the job done. They barely have any content but are, in effect, soup. But afterwards you’ll have 0 memory of having had said soup, nor any happy joyful feelings remaining. They’re just there. Nothing more, nothing less.
Lo and behold when I realized that that is exactly what I’ve been thinking I have to do to myself in order to get back to the dating market and men in general. Somehow, over time, I’ve seemed to have come to the conclusion that I have to be supermarket soup to be considered successful in the dating-world. That I had to be an attractive-enough-and-convenient purchase for all of the suitors out there. Because if not EVERYONE liked me, what would my worth be, at all, right? Can’t be successful if no one wants to buy the product.
When I started taking the number of matches I get on Tinder, the number of messages I get on a dating site or the number of men I can seduce into my life as a measure of my own success (and validation of my ‘self‘) – that’s where I went from being grandma’s soup to supermarket cans. Because the thing is….it is (now that I think about it) NOT at ALL important to build up the perfect (but bland) dating profile. I don’t need to be on the shopping list for all the dweebs out there, I just need to find that one perfect purchaser.
Sure. You can have pretty pictures, basic bitch hobbies (like all of those barbie blonde ditzy chicks with their festival attendances, their barbecue lust, their ‘hanging out and watching netflix’) and an otherwise unremarkable profile text to be a great big success on dating apps. Rake in the men by the millions. Blend instead of stand out and thus be appealing to pretty much everyone. Be supermarket soup.
But in the end – aren’t we all looking for the guy with enough passion for soup to drive an hour to the next town to go to that small family-owned butcher-shop who still make their own soups according to grandmas recipe. And in that sense, the guy who will appreciate all of the actual qualities that make you so uniquely you. (I’ve been having about five people tell me this on a regular basis, so it oughta be true). Instead of the easy-going guy who just gets the bland bland soup….and bitches, because he frankly doesn’t really care that much as long as he gets his stomach filled?
From now on – I’ll be making a lot more of soup myself. And I’ll be making myself into a much better soup. Eh. Person.