mushroom and farro soup

Barely two weeks ago, I used the following phrases to describe soup: vegetables boiled to death, assaulted with too much cream, whatever healthy things in there cannot be tasted, and even what must have been a practical joke about an especially awful one Id ordered recently. I admitted that I found soup boring, and my relationship to it has been on especially unstable terms this year after repeated disappointments.

We then proceeded to eat soup for dinner for the next 14 days. What happened? It turns out that baked potato soup is a gateway drug, in that when we finished it, we wanted more soup. Different soup. We swore we could stop any time we wanted, but three batches of soup later, we realize we might have underestimated the power of good soup, the kind that is filling but also freeing of the nightly Whats for dinner? because, its already made and only needs to be reheated. Ill admit that the fear of The Swimsuit when we go on vacation in a few weeks may have also egged on this habit, but it was the soup come on, you know you wanna! that really kept us engaged.

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