I am my mother's daughter...

Okay, as many of my friends can tell you, my mother makes amazing soups. They are practically a food group. (My brother is a good spokesperson for mum's soups - along with many other of her meals.) 

Anyways, there is just one thing that my father often teases her about: her soups run out of broth. I don't care how much she puts in to begin the soup, she always runs out. One other thing is that usually, they start in small pots and grow till we've run out of pots. All throughout my childhood, I've grown up with Mum's soups and their broth-less, pot-conquering existence of yumminess.

As I made dinner, my boss had asked me to use up some of their canned food. Due to the chilly weather, I decided that soup was a good thing to have. After a long interpersonal debate between Nanny and Chef (aka, me and me) over whether to have chicken noodle soup or vegetable soup, veggies won out. And that was only because Chef pointed out to Nanny that there were simply not the right sort of noodles to add to the chicken soup to be found anywhere in the house. Ahem, anyways - enough on my Nanny/Chef bit.

I opened the can and dumped it into the small pot that my boss suggested for the eating size of the three kids. And oh man, did it ever look pathetic. I mean, watery broth with little limp pieces of what looked like something that had been vegetables in a former life. That simply wouldn't do...

In went a few carrots, some celery, some garlic, pepper, salt, Italian seasoning, parsley, some chives, diced tomatos, frozen (don't worry, I thawed it) corn, some chunks of chicken and just the tiniest hint of quite a few other seasonings. 

And my soup had grown. So out came a bigger pot. Really, it was all an accident that the soup was now twice the amount as from the can. Whoops... let's let it simmer a little now. That always helps. So down on low the burner went, and I stirred it occaisionally while watching Lil and Canyon playing with the dogs in the other room. After half an hour, I decided that it was plenty of simmering and probably time for the kids to eat. And that's when I found out I really am my mother's daughter.

I had no broth left. 

Of course, I added some after that and the kids loved it. (Canyon told me I'm his favourite souppest... whatever that means.) Even I had to admit, for being built off of a pathetic can of soup, it wasn't really that bad. 

So, I'm Mum's daughter in that I make soups that grow and have no broth to their name. 

Is it genetic, you think?