The Soup Nazi

If I were younger, I'd move to Paris and enroll in culinary school. I'd love to be a chef. Kind of strange, a love for cooking is something that developed later in my life. It was Hamburger Helper and hot dogs when I was young, now I want to explore ingredients I've never heard of and learn how to cook beautiful food. And serve it on red square plates. On the terrace of my villa in Italy.

But for now, I'll have to settle for this little book and all the delicious soups it can teach me how to cook.
This week before Christmas, my children are out out of town so I'm going to turn on some nice music, jazz maybe, or show tunes in honor of my new blogger friend, Mark, pour myself a nice glass of wine and make this...(sorry Mark, but the image of a guy down in the engine room kicking up his feet to the soundtrack of RENT is too priceless not to share).


and maybe a little of this...

And if they both turn out horrible, I'll whip up some Crawfish Etouffee because I know how to cook that with one hand behind my back, thanks to my cool sister-in-law, Lisa. The woman can cook, seriously.

And then I'll invite all of my friends over and make them stand in line, not looking me in the eye, and ask for the soup of their choice and if they don't speak up quickly enough, I'll shout

"NO SOUP FOR YOU!"