The Spiritual Practice of Making Soup

Jan. 27, 2024 Vol. 45

It may seem silly but before I make my menu plan for the week, I check the weather. If it’s going to be cold and rainy, I’m more likely to want soup than burgers. This last week, rain was in the forecast. Lots of it. They were spot on, as it’s mostly been raining for three whole days. Our river beds are slowly filling again, as well as our streets and ditches.

But I was here to talk about soup, not rain and ditches. Today I engaged in the spiritual practice of making soup. One of the things that has been quite difficult in my life is cooking. I’m a good cook but I don’t love cooking. Or rather, I don’t love cooking as much as I’m required to cook. Feeding five growing boys and one growing girl is a rather big undertaking. It could even be considered a full time job. In order to not hate this huge part of my life, I am trying to learn how to see the beauty and gift of feeding people. It helps if I view cooking as a sacrament.

This morning I began my sacrament by peeling potatoes. Growing up as the oldest of twelve children we would always peel an entire 10 pound bag of potatoes anytime we were serving them. Consequently, I am quite fast at peeling potatoes and it only takes a few minutes to peel, pare, and chop enough for the soup I’m making. I put them in water and set them aside. Next, I peel and grate two large carrots, dice an onion, and chop three stalks of celery. I place them in containers and put them in the fridge. Later, I’ll begin putting the soup together and everything will be ready for me. This practice of morning prep is something I began doing many years ago as it always helps the supper rush to go much more smoothly.

On this particular day I have to take my daughter to gymnastics from 5 to 6 pm and that means we’ll arrive home exactly at dinnertime. The soup must be ready before I go to gather my children from school. I tend to shortchange myself on time, usually caught up in some bit of writing or inner work, waiting until the last possible minute to head to my kitchen.

When I do arrive, I slice bacon into one inch pieces and begin frying them while also pouring the water off my cubed potatoes and placing them in a large pot with chicken stock. Potato soup is a simple soup, not requiring many spices, but a good amount of salt and pepper.

After my bacon is golden brown I remove it from the drippings and then add my onion and celery to the pan, frying them in enough bacon grease to give a nice flavor. It smells delicious and cozy. On my counter are two 9x13 pans of dinner rolls, rising. My family loves fresh bread so both pans will probably be gone by the end of our supper meal. I make my own bread, but this time I bought the dinner rolls to give myself a break. I hope they rise in time. My house is cold so I turn up the heat and also place warm towels under the pans, hoping it will speed up the process.

I like cooking alone in my kitchen. Sometimes I turn on music and dance while I cook. Other times I get lost in thought over some writing project I’m working on. Sometimes I’m present, enjoying the movement of peeling, chopping, grating and paring. Sometimes I notice the beauty of color, the smells, the feel of the knife under my skilled hand.

I’ve heard that walking and journaling unlock parts of the brain, similar to EMDR. I wonder if working in my kitchen — chopping veggies, kneading dough, layering meat sauce, cheese and pasta, whipping eggs, measuring, rinsing, tasting — does this also unlock parts of me? I have no data to back up my theory, but my experience would say yes.

The potatoes are simmering now, growing soft, along with the pan of celery and onions. I wonder if they have something important to say to me about becoming soft and nourishing under heat? While they are cooking, I mix milk and flour in my blender, and grate the cheese. I taste a cube of potato to see if it’s done. It’s almost there so I dump the celery mixture and the uncooked grated carrots in, allowing them time to simmer together. In a few minutes, I pull down a large glass measuring cup from my cupboard so I can scoop out a couple cups of the potatoes, adding them to my milk mixture in the blender. After pureeing it, I pour it back in the pot. Now it’s a creamy texture and I can’t help tasting a spoonful. It’s simple, but nourishing.

The last step, which I’ll do directly before I put it on the table, is to add the cheese. We’ll top it with bacon crumbles, green onions and extra cheese, and eat it alongside fresh dinner rolls slathered with butter.

This is my sacrament. This is my spiritual practice. This is my every day life.