I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked – I’m coming back soon, I promise – but as I was sitting down to lunch at Dallas BBQ on 8th Street, I inhaled a steamy whiff of my chicken vegetable soup and was suddenly reminded that there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a very. Long. Time. Warning: this may come as a shock.
This is what soup is supposed to look like. It is not meant to look like mash. It is not meant to look like strained baby food. How many times have I ordered “spring vegetable” or “chicken” soup at one of your restaurants and been served a bowlful of mystery glop? Too many times, Ireland. Too many times.
Look; you can actually see the ingredients advertised by the soup’s name. Pure. Honest. Slurpable. You can’t imagine the deliciousness of soup in its true form. I want you to know. I need you to know. So, Ireland – mams at home, café cooks, Cully & Sully – put away the blenders. Let the ingredients be.
I know. I’ve just blown your mind.
Yours in hunger,