Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble

I'd wanted to post this last night but my ftp client was misbehaving, which sounds rather like I'm a dominatrix and had an unruly man show up for a little f+t=p.

You fill in the blanks.

Anyway, what I did instead of that last night was make soup. Soup is one of those elemental things that brings me back to myself when I am feeling far away. In this case, the personal drift was caused by not being able to eat the things I normally eat, by a week of having to live like some kind of 1950s bourgeois teenager being fed peanut butter and grape jelly on white bread by his beaproned mother.

Yuck.

So I gathered the entire contents of the vegetable drawer - a single giant rutabaga (seriously, it had to be eight inches tall), a passel of white baby turnips, three sturdy carrots, a handful of yellow fingerlings (potatoes), two celery roots, and a small beautiful bunch of kale - and made them into white bean soup.

While I was at it, I made stock from the ends and peels for next time.

The whole pot of soup is now in the fridge, a much-larger quantity than I have tupperware for, and probably more than I can eat in a week, even if I have it for both lunch and dinner. But damn, I needed to do that. I also need to bake some bread, a thing which I've not yet done in this apartment, though I've lived here for a few years.

But I have this friend with a bread fetish, and...he keeps nudging me about it. You should have seen the look on his face when he found out that I can bake bread. It was as if I'd told him I know how to shape the very clouds of the sky with my bare hands. (Well, I can do that, too, but it's a story for another time.)

Stayed up way too late last night, obsessing.

Again, you fill in the blanks. I tell ya, the blog, it writes itself some days.