
I need to make a stunningly stupid confession: I love soup. Lest I sound too much like I was just discharged from a short yellow bus, that statement deserves some explanation. First off, let's be clear that we aren't talking about the canned crap, but I'm reserving my passion for the real, homemade variety. I'm not sure if it's the warm, savory goodness that appeals to me, its' efficient ability to combine several foodgroups into a complete meal in a bowl, or if it's the comforting way that it warms your soul as much as your belly and takes you to an emotional plain that evokes good memories from the past. I still fondly recall working at a place that I otherwise hated, that was made almost bearable because there was a great old fashioned deli close by that made great home-style soups providing many a cozy lunch.
As if I was trying to recreate those warm fuzzy moments, I've unwittingly joined the cult of
The Soup Nazi. After becoming an institution with his Soup Kitchen International on 55th Street in NYC and being immortalized on Seinfeld,
Al Yeganeh is now franchising "
The Original SoupMan" to a location near you.
Unfortunately, the new location near me just might prove to be my downfall. I find myself eating there daily, and although so far every flavor has been wonderful, the $9 price for a bowl of soup may require me to take out a home equity loan to continue to eat there. For now, I rationalize my decadence in purchasing this exorbitantly priced nectar as a way to pamper and treat myself. I'm sure the novelty will wear off sometime well before I become destitute.