Dripping off his chin, the clear broth trickled through his bushy beard. He put down his spoon, momentarily, to wipe the liquid with the back of his hand. “Mmm,” he commented to no one in particular. The warm liquid warming his cold body.
He glanced over at his brother who still hadn’t touched a drop. Wasn’t he glad that she still wanted to cook for him at least?
The murky soups of dreams are wonderful things. They drift in the back of your mind and occasionally something floats to the surface only to sink again. You have to be quick to take a bite.
His brain was splattered all over the pavement and a little of it was now coating the bottom of my shoes. I slipped in his pink brain soup while trying to pull his carcass out of the way so that we could get his son out of the crumpled truck.
Warming soups and stews, the very thought reeks prudence, poverty and penury. What is it about frugle living that rasps and jars? It is a good thing, but seems like a punishment.
You make the best soups, sometimes they are so simple yet so satisfying. Last night you said “this is from my region”. I’d never tasted anything so good, I couldn’t believe I didn’t stink of garlic this morning.
We were like a pot of stew – such a mixture of differing ingredients, some unlikely, but somehow coming together as one complete and amazing creation.
I think if we were a soup, and served to millions, everyone would come back for seconds.
I think we could be scrumptious.
I did not used to like soup, but now I love it. My favorite soup is tortilla soup. I love how the chips are crunchy.
When I get sick, I eat chicken noodle soup. I think of cold when I think of soups. Nothing is better than homemade soup on a cold day. MMMMMM I cannot wait until winter. Eating it with crackers and goldfish is awesome.
Soups. You know out of all of the soups out there, I still prefer the classic chicken noodle soup. You know, either the home-made one or the cambells one? To heat it up when you’re sick in bed one day… Or get someone else to get it for you when you’re WAY to iffy to get up. ;-)
The soups were bubbling and boiling in the seven huge pots on the stove, here at the soup kitchen it is Soup Day which basically means just that. We serve the poor and homeless soup and bread. Claire, the woman who runs the organisation bakes the bread at home, and everyone loves them. Its winter so we like giving the people food to warm their bellies. Some of the people who work at the soup kitchen believe that it gives them hope when they eat something warm. And maybe that’s true, when there’s a warm light,, the darkness and cold seeps away.
A professor once used soups to explain the difference between physical and chemical reactions. The question was, whether burning soup was chemical or physical. Arguably it could be either but she said that if it was tomato soup it was chemical. There was no going back from that. Like burning tomato soup, there would be no going back from what I was about to do.
Soup is tasty. My mum always makes it for me whenever I’m sick. It makes me feel happy and warm. My favourite soup is minestrone. I like miso, too. My grandma always makes good soup.
I love soups when its a cold rainy day, either in a restaurant with friends or at home. There are so many types of soups but I love minestrone or black bean from panera. So yummy its hot today but I could still go for one!
The scent of soups wafted about the kitchen. Many kinds were being made. Soups for the soul, and the spirit. Soups to fill an empty stomach, and love to fill empty hearts.
There was a louder cough and she looked down at the pot on the stove. She stirred it one more time before ladling the liquid into a bowl. It was hard not to sigh. She walked into the next room, smile plastered on her face. “Soup’s ready.”
the fog reminded her of the cream soups she enjoyed – before the accident- when soup was not the only food she was able to eat without searing pain. there had been bisques of lobster or shrimp. chowders thick with potatoes and clams or corn
The soups were thin and filmy, not much, but it would subside my hunger. I took it in, one spoonful at a time, grateful for its warmth and substance. I had not eaten a proper meal in weeks, and I had traveled through the coldlands for many a day. The kind lady who had given this to me had sacrificed her time and her home to help me. I was very grateful.
“Are you sure you are okay? You’re but skin and bones child,” she told me, squeezing my twig arms. I only nodded, not wishing to trouble her more.
Dinner, Mom’s best. Croutons and crackers, simmering in the pot. Savory, mouth-watering. I stare hungrily at the soup section at the restaurant, now thinking about fresh bread. Ahh, soup. A favorite. Rattatouille’s too, apparently. I have a raa… you have a rash?
But Alice didn’t like what her mother made for dinner this night; soups were her least favorite food, especially vegetable soup. She would have rather had one of her imaginary cook outs with her friend Brain and her little non existing cat Mr. Edvard.
calda schifosa genuina, se fattacon verdure di stagione. ricorda gli ospedali e mia nonna. che ora sta all’ospedale. ricorda anche il filo d’olio a crudo che non manca mai e fa un po’ chic!
There are a lot of different kinds of soups. Sometimes I think that one day there will be more different kinds of soups then there are people. Everyone just has chicken noodle and tomato, but there’s so many really weird ones that I think should become household staples. Is that weird?
She loved the soup he made her, every day without fail at 7 in the evening. It was a nightly ritual, always silent as he made the soup on the counter and she sat reading a newspaper at the table.
Soups! A hundred thousand different types of soups! Oh the aromas, oh the colors! “What a sight!” He hollered happily. And they all pranced inside the kitchen, whirling about, taking spoonfuls of every kind of soup. “Oh, how delicious!” They cried as they swung about. But then the fire nation attacked.
I miss the shop that sold a variety of soups at the World Trade Center. On a cold blistery day I would head over there for lunch and devour a bowl of hot tomato soup. Those and so many memories come over me each time I walk near that hollow ground.
Soups are but a chunky broth stew. Soups can be a system of thought, or of choice, by stirring around ideas and options. Soups can help you heal when you’re sick. All kinds of soups are around to help you. But deathly soups of acids and poisons are made to kill. Be careful when you choose your soups
The shelf held all kinds of soups–from those in can, to those in plastic containers. Kacy figured if they ever did run out of soup, it wouldn’t be because they ate it all.
Many different soups are in the world. Different tastes and textures. All the different nationalities and countries they originated from have different soups. Soup can be something that makes you feel better.
The storm came in unexpectedly with harsh gray blue clouds swallowing up the trees. The runner weathered it out, bearing the hail that crashed down like the O’s in Alphabet soup. His socks slipped, his balance shook, and the cold ran shivers down his spine. He splashed his footprints onward.
Catherine gave her daughter soup when she was sick. She gave her granddaughter soup when she was sick. However, she would never have soup when she was unhealthy. She always thought she deserved to feel the illness make its course without having that warm liquid soothe her.
Oh hell no, I just did this one. I was the girl who liked kid cuisine. I never got some if you are curious. I haven’t moved from this spot. Cause I have no life. Long live tumblr. And Andrew Hussie. And Miso. Heck, it still lets you write after the buzzer went off. laaaaame.
The soup was hot, almost too hot, so she blew on her spoon a few times before tasting it. mmmmm…. She missed this. Chicken soup. The epitome of home, of comfort- when was the last time someone made her chicken soup? She’d made this bowl for herself. She set her spoon down, looking at the bowl. No one heard her when she cried.
I hate soup
Except Miso
I love salty miso
a lot
I want miso
I’m hungry
what time is I? I donno.
Can I have some chicken? I want some chicken. I think I have some kid cuisine. The fuck u looking at? I love that shit. Sooo much. I’m a real person. ET
I like soups. I had pea soup today. It was lovely. Had to wait for it to cool down though. I hate waiting. My tongue is normally in a perpetual state of being burnt. I am not the most patient person.
My favorite brand – well not my favorite, but the one that comes to mind – is Campbell’s. I liked Chicken Noodle as a kid, mostly for the noodles, but tomato always had some garnet colored allure. I don’t eat soups very often now, even though they fit my college kid lifestyle to a t. I guess I prefer solid food – maybe that’s a weird trait about me. Am I self obsessed? Nah, just don’t like soup.
Dripping off his chin, the clear broth trickled through his bushy beard. He put down his spoon, momentarily, to wipe the liquid with the back of his hand. “Mmm,” he commented to no one in particular. The warm liquid warming his cold body.
He glanced over at his brother who still hadn’t touched a drop. Wasn’t he glad that she still wanted to cook for him at least?
The murky soups of dreams are wonderful things. They drift in the back of your mind and occasionally something floats to the surface only to sink again. You have to be quick to take a bite.
His brain was splattered all over the pavement and a little of it was now coating the bottom of my shoes. I slipped in his pink brain soup while trying to pull his carcass out of the way so that we could get his son out of the crumpled truck.
Warming soups and stews, the very thought reeks prudence, poverty and penury. What is it about frugle living that rasps and jars? It is a good thing, but seems like a punishment.
You make the best soups, sometimes they are so simple yet so satisfying. Last night you said “this is from my region”. I’d never tasted anything so good, I couldn’t believe I didn’t stink of garlic this morning.
We were like a pot of stew – such a mixture of differing ingredients, some unlikely, but somehow coming together as one complete and amazing creation.
I think if we were a soup, and served to millions, everyone would come back for seconds.
I think we could be scrumptious.
I did not used to like soup, but now I love it. My favorite soup is tortilla soup. I love how the chips are crunchy.
When I get sick, I eat chicken noodle soup. I think of cold when I think of soups. Nothing is better than homemade soup on a cold day. MMMMMM I cannot wait until winter. Eating it with crackers and goldfish is awesome.
Soups. You know out of all of the soups out there, I still prefer the classic chicken noodle soup. You know, either the home-made one or the cambells one? To heat it up when you’re sick in bed one day… Or get someone else to get it for you when you’re WAY to iffy to get up. ;-)
The soups were bubbling and boiling in the seven huge pots on the stove, here at the soup kitchen it is Soup Day which basically means just that. We serve the poor and homeless soup and bread. Claire, the woman who runs the organisation bakes the bread at home, and everyone loves them. Its winter so we like giving the people food to warm their bellies. Some of the people who work at the soup kitchen believe that it gives them hope when they eat something warm. And maybe that’s true, when there’s a warm light,, the darkness and cold seeps away.
A professor once used soups to explain the difference between physical and chemical reactions. The question was, whether burning soup was chemical or physical. Arguably it could be either but she said that if it was tomato soup it was chemical. There was no going back from that. Like burning tomato soup, there would be no going back from what I was about to do.
Soups are delicious, and hot- especially the delicious part, though. Don’t burn your tongue.
I prefer tomatoe soup, red, with a little cream and some cheese, yummi.
I slice of bread, that’s it.
Soup is tasty. My mum always makes it for me whenever I’m sick. It makes me feel happy and warm. My favourite soup is minestrone. I like miso, too. My grandma always makes good soup.
I love soups when its a cold rainy day, either in a restaurant with friends or at home. There are so many types of soups but I love minestrone or black bean from panera. So yummy its hot today but I could still go for one!
The scent of soups wafted about the kitchen. Many kinds were being made. Soups for the soul, and the spirit. Soups to fill an empty stomach, and love to fill empty hearts.
There was a louder cough and she looked down at the pot on the stove. She stirred it one more time before ladling the liquid into a bowl. It was hard not to sigh. She walked into the next room, smile plastered on her face. “Soup’s ready.”
the fog reminded her of the cream soups she enjoyed – before the accident- when soup was not the only food she was able to eat without searing pain. there had been bisques of lobster or shrimp. chowders thick with potatoes and clams or corn
The soups were thin and filmy, not much, but it would subside my hunger. I took it in, one spoonful at a time, grateful for its warmth and substance. I had not eaten a proper meal in weeks, and I had traveled through the coldlands for many a day. The kind lady who had given this to me had sacrificed her time and her home to help me. I was very grateful.
“Are you sure you are okay? You’re but skin and bones child,” she told me, squeezing my twig arms. I only nodded, not wishing to trouble her more.
Dinner, Mom’s best. Croutons and crackers, simmering in the pot. Savory, mouth-watering. I stare hungrily at the soup section at the restaurant, now thinking about fresh bread. Ahh, soup. A favorite. Rattatouille’s too, apparently. I have a raa… you have a rash?
soup soup soup i love soup it saves my soul and makes me poop soup soup soup soup oh dear how i love you, my dearest dearest soupy soup soup
But Alice didn’t like what her mother made for dinner this night; soups were her least favorite food, especially vegetable soup. She would have rather had one of her imaginary cook outs with her friend Brain and her little non existing cat Mr. Edvard.
Sloppy, messy, crazy life. All the tears, confusion and happiness all stirred in to one pot.
calda schifosa genuina, se fattacon verdure di stagione. ricorda gli ospedali e mia nonna. che ora sta all’ospedale. ricorda anche il filo d’olio a crudo che non manca mai e fa un po’ chic!
There are a lot of different kinds of soups. Sometimes I think that one day there will be more different kinds of soups then there are people. Everyone just has chicken noodle and tomato, but there’s so many really weird ones that I think should become household staples. Is that weird?
He dropped the spoon and it clattered to the floor, spilling thin red liquid across his shoes.
“Alan?” His wife poked her head in from the bedroom. She looked concerned. Newly awoken.
“I won’t do it again,” he said quietly.
She loved the soup he made her, every day without fail at 7 in the evening. It was a nightly ritual, always silent as he made the soup on the counter and she sat reading a newspaper at the table.
Soups! A hundred thousand different types of soups! Oh the aromas, oh the colors! “What a sight!” He hollered happily. And they all pranced inside the kitchen, whirling about, taking spoonfuls of every kind of soup. “Oh, how delicious!” They cried as they swung about. But then the fire nation attacked.
I miss the shop that sold a variety of soups at the World Trade Center. On a cold blistery day I would head over there for lunch and devour a bowl of hot tomato soup. Those and so many memories come over me each time I walk near that hollow ground.
Soups are but a chunky broth stew. Soups can be a system of thought, or of choice, by stirring around ideas and options. Soups can help you heal when you’re sick. All kinds of soups are around to help you. But deathly soups of acids and poisons are made to kill. Be careful when you choose your soups
The shelf held all kinds of soups–from those in can, to those in plastic containers. Kacy figured if they ever did run out of soup, it wouldn’t be because they ate it all.
Many different soups are in the world. Different tastes and textures. All the different nationalities and countries they originated from have different soups. Soup can be something that makes you feel better.
The storm came in unexpectedly with harsh gray blue clouds swallowing up the trees. The runner weathered it out, bearing the hail that crashed down like the O’s in Alphabet soup. His socks slipped, his balance shook, and the cold ran shivers down his spine. He splashed his footprints onward.
Soups. Soup of the day. Beautiful soup.
So rich and green. Waiting in a hot tureen.
Boom. Alice in Wonderland.
Catherine gave her daughter soup when she was sick. She gave her granddaughter soup when she was sick. However, she would never have soup when she was unhealthy. She always thought she deserved to feel the illness make its course without having that warm liquid soothe her.
Oh hell no, I just did this one. I was the girl who liked kid cuisine. I never got some if you are curious. I haven’t moved from this spot. Cause I have no life. Long live tumblr. And Andrew Hussie. And Miso. Heck, it still lets you write after the buzzer went off. laaaaame.
The soup was hot, almost too hot, so she blew on her spoon a few times before tasting it. mmmmm…. She missed this. Chicken soup. The epitome of home, of comfort- when was the last time someone made her chicken soup? She’d made this bowl for herself. She set her spoon down, looking at the bowl. No one heard her when she cried.
I hate soup
Except Miso
I love salty miso
a lot
I want miso
I’m hungry
what time is I? I donno.
Can I have some chicken? I want some chicken. I think I have some kid cuisine. The fuck u looking at? I love that shit. Sooo much. I’m a real person. ET
I like soups. I had pea soup today. It was lovely. Had to wait for it to cool down though. I hate waiting. My tongue is normally in a perpetual state of being burnt. I am not the most patient person.
My favorite brand – well not my favorite, but the one that comes to mind – is Campbell’s. I liked Chicken Noodle as a kid, mostly for the noodles, but tomato always had some garnet colored allure. I don’t eat soups very often now, even though they fit my college kid lifestyle to a t. I guess I prefer solid food – maybe that’s a weird trait about me. Am I self obsessed? Nah, just don’t like soup.
Her ladle left a dent
The curvature of an onion
In his skull that put an end
To the start of his bitter jibe
After, the blood added a tang
To the simmering soup