Soup it to Me

Fall CSA share pickup was on Thursday! Even though this is my first fall share, I’ve determined that I fucking love them more than the summer ones.  Fall means root crops means potatoes and rutabagas and turnips and carrots meansSOUP.

I love soup. For the record.

I found a hearty root vegetable soup recipe at Epicurious and basically doubled it because I figured I had about double the amount of potato-rutabaga-turnip-carrot it called for. (I was incorrect about that, but whatever.)  Then I followed my own soup making method with their ingredients and made approximately a million quarts of soup.

A large stock pot full of orange-ish puréed soup-like liquid.

I like to call my method, “Chuck everything in a pot, cook until soft, purée the fuck out of it, eat.” It’s quite effective. And probably how you make baby food.

Then I realized I don’t like the taste of rutabagas or turnips. Whoops.  So, this soup is going to undergo severe changes before I actually eat it, including adding a shitload of cream and cheese to make something deliciously rich and hearty and also not tasting of turnip. Or rutabaga.

In case that picture above is not clear, that is a lot of soup. Way more than I could ever eat, so I immediately got out the pressure canner and started filling jars.  I went out briefly to grab another box of jars, and came back to find this:

A small grey kitten peering over the edge of a large pressure canner in a vaguely menacing way.

This is how she watches me, constantly, when I’m cooking. She just sits there. And stares. Over the edge. I’m kind of concerned she’s picturing how she’d cook me.

That is right. Ragnarök decided she was going to help me can things! Like a helpful cat in that way only cats and small children can be! I kept filling and hoping that she would get out on her own

A small grey and cream tabby kitten sitting in a large pressure canner with five pint jars in a circle on the edges staring at the camera. The kitten is staring, not the pint jars.

This kitten has no self preservation instincts whatsoever.

to no avail. That cat loves sitting in the pressure canner while I’m working in the kitchen, and apparently doesn’t  believe that “there are cans of soup on top of me” is a reason to vacate the premises. Although, to be fair, she probably couldn’t get out at that point, so I picked her up and moved her, but still, the internet.

But still.

So that is my adventure in soup making yesterday. Today: I feast!

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