Monkey Shines

Sunday, February 1, 2009

I’ve talked a little about our neighborhood. Truthfully, the neighborhood is divided into three sections.

We have the upper crust who live in the streets to the north. They have big houses, landscaping, maids, masseuses, part-time jobs and more fun. That’s where Maryanne and Kennon live.

In the middle of the neighborhood, where Jane and I live, are the regular folk. We have decent houses, yard guys, dishwashers and heating pads. We work our asses off and never go out at night.

To the south are the unfortunates. They have little houses, cut their own grass, do their own dishes, use a lot of aspirin and look longingly to the north. We don’t know any one who lives there.

Each year, on Super Bowl Sunday afternoon, the most elite of the upper crust – the “North Haywoodians” – gather together for the annual “Souper Bowl”. Everyone who lives on North Haywood Street is invited. Jane and I are “outsiders” but we are invited because we have naked pictures of most of the elite and are not afraid to use them.

The family that won the Souper Bowl the previous year are usually the ones that host the gathering.

At about two in the afternoon, the parade begins. The cooks in each family march up the sidewalk, proudly carrying their pots of homemade soup before them. Family members follow behind, looking reverent. Soup pots are lined up in the kitchen with numbered Post-It notes applied to them so that no one really knows who made all the soups.

Usually, there are between ten and twenty entrants and the soups are decidedly different. There are cream soups and stews and chowders. There are bean soups and fish soups and sometimes soups that are unidentifiable. Some entrants place little bowls of toppings next to their bowls in hopes of making their entries seem more interesting.

The tasting begins immediately. Each person in attendance is allowed to taste the soups and then to vote for their favorite. The host collects the little pieces of paper with the votes on them, tabulates the winners and then announces the top soup maker of the year. The prize is a basket shaped like the state of Texas, which the winner must carefully protect so it may be presented again the next year.

A few years ago, I made Cream of Roasted Poblano soup. I made it without a recipe. I made a huge mess in my kitchen when the hot liquid I was pureeing in the blender shot up onto the ceiling. I overcame the obstacles and ended up with a beauty of a soup. I won.

You would have thought that life on this earth had ended. The upper crustians could not believe that an outsider had taken the prize. I suspect this was because they didn’t want to come into any house in the middle of the neighborhood the following year. What’s the sense of being upper crust if you have to associate with lesser beings?

The following year, it was decided that there would be two categories – one for North Haywoodians and one for outsiders. I learned of this before the big day and took what I considered to be appropriate measures. I made a cream of peanut butter soup. It was visually beautiful – creamy to the point of being velvety with a rich, brown color. I watched as people ladled out their sample, raised their cups to their lips and then tried like hell to not disclose that the flavor was just plain vile. The uppercrustians are nothing if not polite. Needless to say, I did not win.

I have gotten over the segregation imposed on the soup contest. This year, I am making cream of spinach salad. Again, I have no recipe. I roasted carrots, onions and jalapenos, then pureed them along with frozen spinach in chicken stock. I added half and half and seasoning. It’s got a bit of a kick to it. I plan to serve it with toppings of fried onions, chopped eggs and sliced almonds on the side.

There are two soup options I considered but passed on:

Cream of KFC – I could debone a bucket of chicken, reserving the crispy crust as a topping. I could use the mashed potatoes to make a cream base with the chicken pieces. The soup ladled over a biscuit and topped with fried chicken skin might be a hit.

Passive Aggressive Alphabet Soup – This would be a basic chicken broth with alphabet noodles, but I would only add the letters “F” and “U”, then wait for people to try to make words with their noodles.

It is five hours till show time. Jane is my only competition and she is making Tom Kai Gai – a fabulous Thai soup with chicken and coconut milk. She has made this before and it is exceptional.

I plan to put put a big ole cockroach in her soup but I have to find one first.

Donna