The secret is in the soup

“Hey Teresa, I saw this ad for a contest yesterday…”

“My dear Carla, I’ve just flown for over 5 hours and we’re barely out of the airport and the first thing you want to talk about a silly contest?” I say shaking my head.

“What now?” I continue. What crazy scam are you going to get me involved in this time?

It’d better just require writing down my coordinates on a form and plunking it in a box, or better yet doing that online!

“It’s actually pretty easy…”as she has that tell-tale grin that means the total opposite.

“I don’t have to remind you of the last time we did that stupid video for whatever contest and we got trolled soooo bad for weeks! And that stuff never disappears either. I, for one, do not want to go through that again.”

“No, no! No worries. It only involves making pumpkin soup – tis the season! Plus, there’s not much else to do this time of year.”

I’m already shaking my head no but she won’t be deterred.

“As I starting saying,” she persists. “It’s a contest for the best recipe for pumpkin soup. There is a basic set of ingredients which must be used and then you are allowed to add a maximum of 2 other “special” ingredients.”

“Ok, what’s the catch? And more importantly, what do we win?”

“There is no catch! You win an all-expense paid weekend for four at this new spa and resort!

AND, you’ll be featured in the local news bulletin.”

“Well, the spa thing sounds good but I certainly could do without the publicity. And what or who exactly is sponsoring that contest?”

“It’s this new fancy food market that opened near the edge of town, north of 25th avenue.” 

“Hmmm, I say with a furrowed brow.”

“It’s across the street from ‘Les pâtisseries de Sophie’ that lovely bakery.”

“Ah, yes! Giving me direction with food related landmarks is so much more useful.”

“They’ve been trying to attract more clientele to that part of town by putting on special events but it’s the first time that they have an actual contest. You bring in your soup this Friday and the winner will be announced on Monday. We have three whole days to get it done!”

I consider this for a short while. We do need to prepare some food for the family potluck coming up this weekend, I guess that could be our contribution. I guess we could just look up some recipes and maybe combine some of those and hope for the best.

“All right then. I’ll be your sous-chef as long as you provide nice treats and special beverages…”

“Of course!” she replies with enthusiasm

“I guess we have to begin by finding a recipe”

“I got that covered too. And I think auntie Helen will be able to help us. I’m sure she has a pumpkin soup recipe. If you remember, many times when we were going there for a visit and dinner in the Fall, she used to make that soup.”

“I might vaguely remember that, but what I do recall though is that she passed away over ten years ago, so I find it highly doubtful that she will be able to provide any help.”

“Guess who has in her possession her extensive collection of recipe scrapbooks and albums?”

“I never knew such things even existed.”

“That’s because you weren’t her very favorite niece! And no need to roll your pretty eyes at me.

She wasn’t always the easiest person to deal with. I helped her out a lot when she was having a hard time in her later years. Her personality changed a lot after her stroke and she became extremely demanding. Half the time she thought I was Mom and would call me by her name: Denise do this, Denise get me that. Must be nice to live far away…” she says looking directly at me.

I ignored that remark as I did and still do feel guilty about not living closer to family. Most aunts, uncles and cousins have a place within 20 km of each other while I live on the opposite coast.

We’re now on Carla’s street and I’m relieved to see that there are no other cars in the driveway or in front of the house. Relatives have been known to drop by unannounced on many occasions. For my first day here, it would be nice to spend time with just my sister and her family before the big family gathering coming up.

The following day, I get up fairly late in the morning, that three-hour time difference hits me every time I travel this way! I make my way down to the kitchen and no one is there, but there is still coffee left in the pot. I serve myself a cup with milk and sugar and start down the hallway. I find Carla sitting cross-legged in the living room among a sea of books and boxes of various sizes.

“Look who finally came out of her slumber!” announces Carla. “I’m searching for Helen’s recipe scrapbook. I could have sworn I stored it in a box in this bookcase.” as she points to one on the far left of the room. “But since I have the memory of a fruit fly lately, it could be anywhere.”

“Could it be in any of those big drawers in there?” as I point to a large storage cabinet standing on the opposite wall.

After emptying the first and second drawers of the cabinet of all their contents, she turns around with a huge smile on her face.

“Yay!!! That’s the one! Of course, now the living room looks like a crime scene. Oh well, we’ll deal with that later. Next, we have to find the famous soup recipe.”

The book is quite big with a shiny light green cover and the word “recipes” written on the cover in big black bold letters. It’s one of those old-fashioned photo albums with the sticky pages with a detachable clear pellicle cover. Inserted under the transparent plastic are colored sheets of paper of varying dimensions with handwritten recipes on them, as well as annotations in the margins. Other pages hold yellowed newspaper clippings with food-related articles, recipes and some have accompanying illustrations. It definitely has seen better days…The pages are discolored and the ink has faded so much in some places that the contents are almost un-readable. And there doesn’t seem to be any type of order to the contents of the album other than they were put in year after year. That is my deduction since oddly enough, interspersed among the recipes, are pages of school pictures of all the nieces and nephews over the years. 

Between trying to read and decipher the handwritten stuff, looking at the dated newspaper clips and laughing uncontrollably at the hairstyles of the cousins, and ours, over the past few decades, it took us a couple of hours to find the pumpkin soup recipe. 

One whole page is dedicated to that recipe. There is a neat and tidy list of ingredients, which I assume is the main recipe. But then there are all kinds of notes in the margins in different colored inks. For the most part, the notes consist of two or three food items each with a specificied quantity. Some of those notes have a check mark next to them, others a star and others have a diagonal line across them. After careful consideration, we decide to take into accounts only the starred annotations that contain two or less additional ingredients and that don’t require too many extra steps.

That leaves us with three alternate versions of pumpkin soup:

One recommends to put a medium-sized granny smith apple (peeled, cored and chopped) and a small avocado in the food processor together with the cooked ingredients of the main recipe.

The second one suggests adding 15-30 mL of maple syrup and a 200 mL of heavy cream just before serving.

And the last one says that you can put in 30 mL of smooth peanut butter and 250 mL of orange juice once the broth containing the main ingredients start to boil. 

“Which one should we make? Some of those extra ingredients seem weird.” I say to Carla.

From the vantage point of his favorite recliner, Carla’s husband coughs discreetly.

“I didn’t even realize you were there Norm. Does your little cough means you have something to say?...” asks Carla.

“Maybe… why don’t you guys make the three recipes and I could let you know which one to enter for the contest.”

“I never knew you were a pumpkin soup connoisseur?” I add with a note of sarcasm.

“Not necessarily but I do have great taste, see, I married your sister. Plus, you know me, I’m generous to a fault and I am always willing to pitch in whenever there is a need.”

“Sure…”, I tell him.

“Trying the different versions of the soup might actually be a decent idea. But perhaps we’ll get a few more people to try them with you Norm. Not that I don’t trust your impeccable sense of taste, but other opinions would be good too.” she says while winking at him.

“It requires more time and effort but whatever soups we have leftover, provided they are edible, could be served this weekend for the family potluck dinner.” I offer.

The next day, we go out to get all the necessary ingredients and set up the kitchen for the soup making extravanganza. I clean, chop, measure what’s needed and Carla will put it together. I hate following recipes – it seems like I always misread the instructions and miss things or do them in the wrong order. It’s so frustrating!!! Carla loves to be in charge, oversee everything and really enjoys the step-by-step process of recipes. We make a great team that way.

I get to spend quality time together with my big sister and we get ready for the annual holiday together so she can help me with my contribution.  The first year I made it to the family gathering after I had moved away, I made the terrible mistake of arriving last minute and bringing some pre-made food to the party. I hear complaints, light-hearted as they may sound, every year since then. I’ve learned my lesson and now arrive a few days earlier and hang out with Carla’s family and we prepare food together, among other things.

It took the bigger part of the next day to make large pots of each of the soups, but they were ready for tasting by the time our chosen guest judges made it for dinner that night. Mom, Dad, aunt Jocelyne and uncle Bruno arrived together since they live close to each other and Mom is the only one who can be relied upon to drive to the right destination safely and in a timely manner.

Once they are seated at the table, we tell them that the soup portion of the dinner will take a little bit longer. That they are asked to be “guinea pigs” to try out our soups for a contest taking place on the weekend. We explain that there are three slightly different versions of pumpkin soup and we want to know which one they feel is the best one to present for the contest. 

Emily, Carla’s daughter was designated as the server for the occasion. She was tasked to present everyone, including Carla and me, with three small bowls of soup in the same order from left to right without telling us which one came from which pot.

“Before we proceed,” I intervene, “do any of you have seen or been in possession of auntie Helen’s pumpkin soup recipe?”

“No”, they all answer in unison.

“She was such an excellent cook.” says Jocelyne wistfully.

“She was also rather protective of her recipes if my memory serves me well.” adds mom.

“And one last thing. You all have a small piece of paper and a pen in front of you. Once your decision is made as to which bowl of soup you think is best, write down the bowl number, fold it and place it in this empty tin can.” I instruct the group.

“We can officially proceed…” declares Carla.

“Before I pass out from hunger…” whispers Bruno in Dad’s ear.

“What was that uncle Bruno?” I ask looking at him suspiciously.

“Oh nothing…Bruno was just saying that soup tastes so much better when its hot.” answers Dad with a smirk.

Every diner starts to take a spoonful of the first bowl of soup, then the second and finally the third. The atmosphere is pretty quiet at first and all we can hear are slurping noises, and appreciative groans and there is also the occasional nodding. 

After a short while I see Dad looking at Mom and I can tell that he is about to talk to her, likely to ask for her opinion.

“No talking amongst ourselves! And hide your answer when you write it down!” I say perhaps a little too forcefully.

We try the soups a few more times.

“They are all quite good, I don’t really know which one to pick…” laments Jocelyne.

“There has to be one that stands out just a little more.” replies Carla. 

Eventually, seven pieces of paper make it inside the tin can. Emily takes it to the living room to tally the results while Carla and I lay out the rest of the meal on the table “à la bonne franquette” and we resume eating.

“We’ve got a winner!” shouts Emily as she makes her way back to the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Thank goodness for small miracles,” mutters Bruno under his breath.

“Come on dear,” Jocelyne tells him, “it wasn’t that hard and you got extra soup and a better meal than I would have cooked at home for you tonight.”

“Emily, would you mind doing me one last favor before you go back to whatever you were doing? asks Carla.

“Sure Mom, but I may keep this favor in mind next time I want something…” she says with a shopping spree twinkle in her eye.

“Could you put 500mL of the winning soup in the labeled container next to the fridge. Then write down its two special ingredients on that blue piece of paper and put it the envelope sitting next to it. And seal it, pretty please…Tomorrow, we will drop that off at the market for the contest.”

“By the way, can we now find out what are the winning ingredients are?” asks Mom.

“That’s true, we don’t even know either!...” I add while looking at Carla.

“Just to make it more fun…for me…” Emily says with a snicker, “you’ll have to wait to find out when the winner of the contest is announced.”

“What? But that’s two whole days from now!” I interject 

“Are you open to a bribe?” Jocelyne inquires with interest.

“Nope! Everyone needs to discover the mystery items at the same time,” replies Emily.

“Never mind that mystery, what I would like to figure out is if there will be a little sweet dessert coming my way,” interrupts Bruno while waving his spoon.

“Fine, let’s eat dessert and wait impatiently for the next couple of days…” I say grudgingly.

We arrive at the fancy market just a few minutes before the winner of the contest is to be revealed.  There is already a lot of people crowding the aisles of the veggie section. In front of a large display of pumpkins of various sizes stands a man on some kind of a wooden pallet.  He is holding two envelopes, one in each hand. At 11am on the dot, the man raises his hands up and asks for silence.

“Good morning everyone and welcome. My name is Christopher West and I am the owner of this market. I am delighted at such a turnout for our pumpkin soup contest! Thank you to all who submitted an entry, the selection committee and I had an absolute delicious time judging them all. So many good ones! It was a very difficult decision to make but we finally came to a consensus. So first, I will open the envelope containing the name of the winner and then I will open the second one which contains the one or two special ingredients.”

He slowly proceeds to tear open one envelope. 

“The winner of our pumpkin soup contest is… Carla Richards! Is Mrs. Richards here with us? “

Carla waves her arm up and makes her way towards the store owner.

“Congratulations to you! I’m certain that your stay at the new Serenity Resort and Spa will be most enjoyable! he declares as he is handing her an orange gift packet.

And now, before we go, let’s discover what she added to her soup to make it so delectable?”

He looks at the content of the second envelope.

“Wow! I would never I guessed!!! That is interesting, very interesting indeed!”