Pea Soup


I found out tonight that, yes, I can make thin pea soup.

It was not a premeditated crime against food. 

Actually, as with most evil acts, it started quite innocently.  This morning, before work, I set out the crock pot and the split peas I’d been soaking overnight.  I filled the crockpot with water, and I knew that I would have an effortless dinner to welcome me after a full day of stresses.  (If you have any gift at recognizing impending doom, this would be your claxon warning with flashing lights.)

I arrived home 12 hours later and asked my husband how the soup was doing.  He stared at me so blankly it was as though I was speaking Swahili.  So, I checked it.  I stirred it.  And just at that moment, at that very moment, I wished that I had a time machine so that I could take back that stirring action and instead simply scoop out the topmost strata of water.  But no.  No, I stirred it.  I took the lovely, beautifully cooked split peas, and I turned them into runny green water.

I am certain there is a circle of Hell reserved for people who stir when they should have scooped.


I also realized the pork chops which I had carefully planned this split pea soup around were actually steaks.  They were exactly the cut of meat that is so tough and tasteless that you could in fact mistake the beef for pork.  The thing is, had I known that these were steaks, I would have approached dinner from a completely different direction.  Instead, I had apple-marinated steak chunks and runny green water.  My level of yay just surpassed squished cockroaches.

On the positive side, I did discover a can of Campbell’s condensed pea soup abiding in the pantry.  I dumped in the whole can.  It made the green water marginally thicker.

But the astonishing thing?  The truly surprising aspect of all of this?  My husband just ate all of the strange beef-apple concoction and two bowls of the extremely thin pea soup.  And, to top that off, he took his own plate and bowl into the kitchen.  Hmm… maybe he’s ill.


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