A pot on the hob makes the house lived-in

When it is grey and damp outside, a pot on the hob makes the house lived-in at once. It smells of onion, then carrot, then of something of its own: borscht, pea, chicken with noodles, or simply potato and a bay leaf. Soup in our house is not a punishment and not a “light day”. Soup is dinner.

I cook soup so that everyone sits down with a spoon, not running with a sandwich over the sink. In the pot — water or broth, onion, carrot, what is in the drawer. If there is a bone — I put the bone in. If there are chicken backs — the backs. If there are only vegetables — that is soup too, an honest one, if you do not forget salt and herbs at the end. Onion and carrot in a spoon of oil, while the lid steams up — that is the smell without which soup is like warm water. Tomato paste I warm a little so it does not taste raw-sour. Potato — in cubes, not into mash, if I want it still to be potato. Grain — a handful, not half a packet: it will swell and eat all the broth.

Soup on the second day is often tastier, so I cook a little extra — not five litres “just in case”, but enough to reheat calmly until it is hot tomorrow. In the fridge the pot lives with a lid, not open. Noodles for chicken soup I put in just before serving, not the night before: otherwise morning meets a porridge. Borscht without beetroot is not borscht in my house, even if the beetroot is not perfect. Pea soup loves something smoked, but if there is none — a bay leaf, onion and patience. I do not sell soup to the children with speeches: a plate that is not full, bread, sour cream if it is borscht. If bread comes first — let it, as long as the spoon goes afterwards. If it does not go — I do not stand over them. In the evening they sometimes eat it themselves when the smell walks through the kitchen again. Homemade is different from “soup of the day” in a café: I know how much salt, whether a cube is hiding in it, parsley from my own board.

Soup does not love hurry and does not love being called a programme. What is your most weekday soup — the one you cook not for guests, but simply because it is Tuesday?