The Plastic Hippo

December 24, 2016

Carrot and Ginger Soup

Filed under: Cooking,Politics,Society — theplastichippo @ 2:25 am
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Lunatic soup

Lunatic soup

The children are finally home, the shopping has been done and the drawbridge lifted in the hope of keeping the hatred out for a couple of days. On the eve of Christmas Eve, a strict and meticulously planned catering schedule required the preparation of a Christmas Eve supper. For best results, Carrot and Ginger Soup should be made 24 hours in advance to allow the ingredients a chance to interact. The production of this tasty and healthy soup confirmed what the children have suspected for years; it seems that their father has completely lost his mind.

Take two and bit kilograms (about four and a half pounds) of preferably organic carrots and give them a good wash. Do not peel them as most of the flavour is in the skin. Instead slice them and leave them in cold water.

Peel and roughly chop three large onions and finely chop six garlic cloves and a six inch piece of ginger. Drain the carrots and heat about five tablespoons of vegetable oil in a large (five litre) cooking pot. Cook the onions and carrots on a medium heat for about 10 minutes continually stirring. Add the ginger, garlic and about six teaspoons of turmeric and cook for a further five minutes.

Pour in about three litres of vegetable stock and bring to the boil. Lower the heat, cover and simmer for about 15 minutes or until the carrots are tender.

Allow the soup to cool and then use a hand blender or a food processor to make the soup completely smooth. Cover the pan and leave overnight.

When required, heat the soup over a gentle heat and transfer it into bowls garnished with fresh coriander, spring onions, croutons or crème fresh. Serve with freshly baked bread.

It was not the fact that the gargantuan quantities of soup would satisfy two rugby 15s after a Saturday afternoon mud fight that aroused the concerns as to the cook`s sanity, but the fact that once to soup had cooled the blending was untaken whilst wearing a knee length kagool and wellies. Some sort of explanation was required to avoid being sectioned by the worried offspring. During the simmering, I ventured into the garden to load a scuttle of smokeless coal and pick a couple of logs for the evening. Sod the carbon footprint, it`s Christmas.

As storm Barbara battered Scotland, down here on the midlands fringe, the wind was up and the rain was lashing down. Always a fan of weather events, I donned the wellies and what the children call my condom coat which hangs at the back door porch and tramped up the garden quoting King Lear. I ventured beyond the rotting shed to the very border of my empire even past the compost where nobody dares to tread. With the rain bucketing and the wind howling, I looked back at the house. Although not yet dusk, it seemed that every room in the house was illuminated. Upstairs, bedrooms left unoccupied for months suddenly radiated light and through the back porch window, the kitchen looked warm and inviting.

Remembering that the mortgage was paid off this autumn and realising that those most precious to me were safe and happy within our walls, a feeling of smug contentment threatened to spoil the experience of the storm. Trudging back from the furthest reaches of the garden, I wondered what the view through my window would look like to someone without a home. What if we had nowhere to sleep this Christmas? What if we had nothing to eat? Would my children be different people if they had grown up experiencing hunger?

As I blended the soup in kagool and wellies, the Neanderthal back from university entered the kitchen to pillage one of my cans of Guinness from the fridge. He called to his mother and siblings to witness the deranged antics of a father beyond the help of a betrayed and murdered National Health Service. He stated that he would not have soup that was evidently too toxic to consume if it needed protective clothing to make.

Making four times the amount of soup required is not a sign of madness. The surplus will be frozen for another day and if the prodigals actually like the Christmas Eve supper, the frozen remains will return with them to the places they now inhabit. If not, then the frozen soup will be donated to a soup kitchen organised by a local mosque.

On Christmas Eve, perhaps a homeless couple fleeing from oppression and looking for work and a place for their child to be born and a place to make a life free from fear and indignity might find a stable where they can shelter from the storm. Sadly, the heated stables are reserved for the polo ponies of wealthy MPs funded by the working poor.

Never mind; in Britain in 2016, Joseph and Mary and their baby are figures of hatred and derision. In Britain in 2017, they will be dead from hypothermia and malnutrition by Easter.

So Happy Christmas…enjoy the soup.

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