A guest post from ManHappenings!
I remember thinking it was a joke. You expect me to eat THAT? Something that color? That thick? That’s not soup, right Mom? It’s gravy…gotta be gravy. Right…?
But it was soup. And I would soon be enlightened to the fact that it was, indeed, the best soup.
A soup that I would come to yearn for in the cold months of every new year. A soup that I would pray for after the Easter ham was picked clean. A soup that I would freeze and eat sparingly so as to let it last.
A soup that immediately transported me back to my childhood—to that first leap of faith that I took in my mother’s kitchen. The first of many. To that initial blossoming of my taste buds, which lead to my ever insatiable and always adventurous appetite.
A soup that I now make, simply, miles from home, out of the wide and rustic country hearth and on the tiny stovetop of my Manhattan kitchenette.
That color. That thick. Just right. My mother’s split-pea soup.
1 bag split peas
8 cups chicken broth
1 onion, chopped
4 carrots, chopped
1 tsp thyme
1 T garlic powder
chopped ham or chicken (optional)