Once upon a time in the charming land of domestication, there lived a fair maiden who was troubled all the day long. You see, one morning when the wind howled a story through her window panes and icicles threatened to kill, she ignored the cries of the laundry.
“Wash me! Wash Me!”
She shut up her ears to the groans of the floorboards.
“Scrub me! Scrub Me!”
She ignored the pleas of her children.
“Play with me! Play with me!”
And she made a pot of soup.
Her garden was withered and dry, so she turned to the freezer, and with a small cry of delight, pulled out a bag of mixed frozen vegetables. Then the fair maiden of domestication gathered two boxes of chicken broth, a can of black beans, one can of diced tomatoes with chilis, and she ran to her stove.
With a soup pot in hand and ladle to stir, she chopped up an onion and simmered it olive oil. The children cried out. The onions permeated the very walls of the castle. The maiden added the broth, tomatoes, beans, mixed veggies, and a dash of salt and pepper. Later she mixed in about a quarter cup of the tiniest pasta stars in the countryside.
While the soup simmered, the fair maiden whipped up a batch of these dinner rolls. Then she sprinkled some Italian seasoning into her soup, and her culinary masterpiece was complete.
The children clapped.
The wash waited, and the floor shrank into the backdrop as the sun set.
The fair maiden, prince charming, and the children lived happily ever after eating soup all their days.
Dum, dum, dum, DUM…
The fair maiden awoke to frostbitten toes and puffs of smoke billowing from her royal carriage. As temperatures plummeted into negative numbers, the royal carriage gave up her ghost.
At times her rattle and clunks can still be heard haunting the garage.
The fair maiden scrambled for warmth.
By the fire she thought.
The soup was no more!
She rushed to her cupboard and what did she find?
A little can of French Onion soup was only an arm’s length away.
The prince was chilled to his core. After all, he arose to the clamour and clatter of the royal carriage’s ghost.
“I’ll fix you my love! I’ll warm your heart with my breath, and your soul with my glance. Your stomach will I fill with my soup.”
Memories of the star soup danced through his imagination as the fair maiden pried open her can. While the microwave worked to warm the soup, his fair maiden gathered garnishes of garlic croutons and shredded mozzarella cheese. Bad breathe hovered near.
As her prince slurped his last mouthful of soup, he gazed into her honest eyes and asked for a refill.
“Why I have no more!” She blurted in fright.
With a smirk on his lips and warmth in his girth, the charming prince looked to his fair maiden and asked, “Did you add a can of water?”
It cannot be.
Campbell thwarted the kingdom.
The princess of domestication hung her apron on the peg.
“It may have been condensed, but it was Mmmm-Mmmm good!”
And that loyal subjects is the tale of two soups.
Although elusive, there’s a moral to be found, maybe even a recipe or two.
Perhaps it’s haunting the neighbor’s along with the ghost of my royal carriage.