Soup is a constant. From slurping French onion soup at Gatwick as a child to being blown away by the sour spicy hit of Tom Yam on my first trip East, soup appears all over the world. It must answer a deep seated need for nourishment and warmth that goes beyond simple degrees celsius.
Sometimes, particularly when I’m under the weather, I crave a clear meaty broth, simple chicken and ginger or a more complex Pho – which many consider to be the ultimate soup. Clean, crisp and subtle flavour. Other times, when it’s cold and I’m hungry, I need a soup with substance. Something that will slide thickly over the tongue, smooth and soothing and full of taste. Continue reading