Devonne Brown

My grandmother, Virgie made soup from whatever she had in the pantry, canned tomatoes, corn, green beans, potatoes, and carrots.  She cooked it down then thickened it up. It was sour with a hint of all the vegetables working in tandem. Soup days at Virgies’s were reserved for project days. We could work straight through, and eat when we got hungry. Quilting, or sewing, or stringing bushels of beans on the porch. She made a vat of soup in a beat up metal pot half the size of a bushel basket. Of course there was cornbread with fresh cow butter she churned herself to go with it. 

Whatever our project was took precedence over everything that day. It was usually women’s work. The men of the family had long gone. Grandpa left Virgie years ago, I don’t know where he went, because he was around all the time. At one point they even remarried, and stayed that way until he died. He or anyone else was welcome to the soup, though. That kettle held enough for a church homecoming, which she was loath to attend. 

It wasn’t often she’d put meat in her soup. When she did, it was big chunks of leftover cow she’d roasted the day before. I don’t know which was better, soup with or without beef. It was hot and filling and endless. Like the days on which it was served.

Her soup was never served for company. It was plain food meant only for family or if somebody hungry came by. She said it wasn’t “fittin’ for nobody else to eat.”  That’s kind of the way the boys feel about my soup. 

I quit trying to replicate Virgie’s soup thirty years ago. I had it down once and it got away from me. Once I added the beef base to it, it was all over. Her soup never had any additives like bouillon or msg. I don’t even remember her adding any spice other than salt, pepper, and onions to it. 

Soup is meant to warm and nourish the body and soul. I can create an indulgent dish that we can eat all day without caloric guilt. Growing up a weight watcher kid, especially on a cold day off, I have to have something to eat all the time. I’m a nervous, bored eater, and soup helps fill that void without causing guilt and extra weight gain. 

My soup is a far cry from Virgie’s soup, it’s warm and filling, but it doesn’t have that depth of texture and sour taste I crave. The projects are gone too. I could clean the house on soup days, but where would be the fun in that? Soup is meant to be social.