Thermos Lunch Jars
Posted on: August 27, 2011
I'm a single of those persons who anticipate with glee the clear crisp autumn mornings. Give me gloomy gray clouds using a slight rainy mist moving over the blooms of spring and two issues will instantly occur: the closet will resemble an end-of-summer department store clearance rack as the drop wardrobe takes more than, and also the stove top will brim with consolation food. And of all of the politically incorrect comfort dishes bursting from my flour-dusted and grease-stained mid-1950's edition Betty Crocker cookbook, my favored drop cuisine would must be soup.
Soup (the creamier, the much better!) transports me to my grade college days, wearing my minor red jumper dress, where upon twisting the plastic cap on my Partridge Family thermos I'm rewarded having a whiff of mom's Slumgullion soup. To this day I'd lay bets that the smell of that soup wafting on a stiff drop afternoon breeze brought my test scores up at least twenty percent.
Once a week mom would magically create a soup our big pot she jokingly called "the cauldron." and also the resulting aroma that would seep into every single corner and crevice of our property wasn't of this world. Like the cartoons of the day, I could imagine my feet becoming lifted off the ground, nose sniffing the air, as I floated toward the simmering taste of heaven coming from the kitchen.
Mom had many names for her consomm? concoctions; Italian Delight, Every little thing but the Kitchen Sink, or my favored: Slumgullion Soup. And I loved each slurp, despite the outrageous names. When I grew older, and asked mother for the recipes to her incredible soups, she let me in on The Major Secret: each one of her soups was created from leftovers. They weren't precisely recipes, she stammered, somewhat embarrassed at the thought. How could she not have recipes for her unbelievable gourmet soups?
I couldn't fathom that these bowls of bliss which I so closely connected with my wonder years weren't going to be passed down for future generations. I was virtually incensed until I realized that whilst they may not have been pulled from the pages of a connoisseur magazine or from hand-scrawled notes long-stored in great grandma's recipe trunk, these soups were put together out of a mixture of monetary necessity and really like. I know that now. You'll in all probability even have leftovers to pour into the school Thermos, as well.
Soup (the creamier, the much better!) transports me to my grade college days, wearing my minor red jumper dress, where upon twisting the plastic cap on my Partridge Family thermos I'm rewarded having a whiff of mom's Slumgullion soup. To this day I'd lay bets that the smell of that soup wafting on a stiff drop afternoon breeze brought my test scores up at least twenty percent.
Once a week mom would magically create a soup our big pot she jokingly called "the cauldron." and also the resulting aroma that would seep into every single corner and crevice of our property wasn't of this world. Like the cartoons of the day, I could imagine my feet becoming lifted off the ground, nose sniffing the air, as I floated toward the simmering taste of heaven coming from the kitchen.
Mom had many names for her consomm? concoctions; Italian Delight, Every little thing but the Kitchen Sink, or my favored: Slumgullion Soup. And I loved each slurp, despite the outrageous names. When I grew older, and asked mother for the recipes to her incredible soups, she let me in on The Major Secret: each one of her soups was created from leftovers. They weren't precisely recipes, she stammered, somewhat embarrassed at the thought. How could she not have recipes for her unbelievable gourmet soups?
I couldn't fathom that these bowls of bliss which I so closely connected with my wonder years weren't going to be passed down for future generations. I was virtually incensed until I realized that whilst they may not have been pulled from the pages of a connoisseur magazine or from hand-scrawled notes long-stored in great grandma's recipe trunk, these soups were put together out of a mixture of monetary necessity and really like. I know that now. You'll in all probability even have leftovers to pour into the school Thermos, as well.