I found myself the hapless prawn of fate today, suddenly making more soup than I ever have at one go before.
First, Hungarian cream of mushroom soup. Pretty much the same as any other c of m, but it had paprika. It's really good, so maybe the paprika was a good idea. Also I made a cornstarch and milk thickening, so the cream of part was particularly good.
And garlic scapes are the usual garnish nowadays, still growing like mad.
Then while I had all the tools out I thought why not make that leek and potato soup I've been talking about, before the potatoes get past it. I didn't get all posh and call it vichyssoise. This is more homey, doesn't talk furrin'. and it used all the potatoes and most of the overstock of leeks.
No pictures of the process, you've seen it before, but here's the upshot in the freezer
There's more under there. Ten helpings of mushroom and l and p. No need to make soup for a while.
My neighbor stopped in again today to continue the restaurant review of the plum jam which he says is perfectly balanced! I'll never reach this peak again. Maybe I'll quit while I'm ahead.
I also sorted a load of lovely silk and linen and velvet and organdy scraps for freecycling. Or the thriftie. There's also some batting in there.
I'm improving the shining hour. Or something. This activity was accompanied by an audiobook of At Bertram's Hotel, a favorite Christie.
I wonder if this cooking and winnowing and reading and not making is related to my horoscope. It's humbling to think of all the planets organizing themselves in order to warn me against my friends, and to make soup.