Burnt Soup

I watched Julia as she shared with us the art of soup making. There it all was, the fennel, the carrots, the onions, the chicken broth, all displayed elegantly in front of her. And the slicing began, thin slicing.  She spoke with firmness and I followed her every move as one by one, fennel and onions and carrots were tossed into the saucepan to become tender in the olive oil. She would wipe her very large hands against her skirt and smile at us all.  We were there, she Knew we were there, watching with moist eyes (onion tears) And then, over in another pot, she showed off the chicken broth she had made early that very morning, having taken the EL to the studio so that the broth would be finished in time. And it was (finished in time) and with a gigantic flourishing motion the broth was added to the vegetables.  She had a little watch hanging from her wrist that she looked at once in a while. We were relieved when the pot was pulled off the flame and the pureeing begun.

The story could end there, Miss Blue, but unfortunately it does not. Little Yellow and Black bowls (honoring the New York Cabs) were filled with the elegant yellowish soup, topped with fennel fronds and a swipe of black pepper and served to the guests. Julia, being the Perfect Hostess, waited until the show was off the air for her soup.  And this is the very sad part, for the pot had just kept on simmering and all was scorched and lost.  Not a drop did she taste. This is a True Story,

Pearl (Never Knowing)