Soup comes in many forms, but you can't beat those of a thick and chunky texture...
- Such were the thoughts of Mick Mastadon, as he perused the tinned goods aisle of Sainsburys, in search of the perfect accompaniment to the bread roll he had purchased earlier.
But what do I go for?
- his thoughts continued.
Heinz Big Soup?
Sadly, however, only two flavours were available in the variety. These were thus...
1. Chicken and Vegetable.
2. Beef and Vegetable.
Unfortunately Mick was not partial to anything whose flavour included the words 'and vegetable.' The reason being that the thing which preceded these words was most often a so-called 'meat' of a quality less than ideal to those of a discerning palate.
It was then that his eyes alighted on something different. Something altogether unconventional and unlike anything he had ever tried before. Something that would accompany his bread roll in such a way that it would seem that they were made to be together. Like the wings of an angel. Or the blue satin inlay of a pair of ballet pumps.
'By Crimbo!' exclaimed Mick; 'I've never tried that before!'
And before the Gods of Soup-Decision-Making were given the chance to implant evil and mischievous thoughts of Florida Spring Vegetable or, worse still, anything in the Batchelors Slim-A-Soup range into his head, he speedily whisked the aforementioned item off the shelf, popped it in his basket, scootled off to the till, made rapid purchase of such, got the no.33 bus home, whipped open the tin, plopped the gloopy contents into a pan, warmed thoroughly on a medium heat for for seven minutes (whilst stirring continuously), poured it into a bowl, buttered the bread roll which he had purchased earlier, selected the appropriate spoonage, transported soup-filled bowl + buttered roll (on a small floral-patterned plate) + spoon + hastily poured glass of Evian to the dining table, plonked his behind down on a white plastic garden chair (which had never actually seen a garden), took up the spoon and plunged it hungrily into the highly viscous, red, generously beany concoction before him.
And he felt that even Heaven, with its honey and ambrosia (whatever the fandooley that was) and milk-based whatnots, could not compare to this.
Then the doorbell rang.
'Oh saffron, salmonella and succubi,' exclaimed Mick. 'Who in the name of Henman's racket -restringer could that be?'
'It's me!' said the voice through the door; 'Your bestest pal, Larry!'
Mick looked down at his steaming hot soup and considered his options.
'It's Larry!' continued the voice; 'Lupin Lamentor Extraordinaire! And I smell soup!'
Sussed! - thought Mick. Larry sure has a nose for soup...
Mick got the door.
'Greetings, friend Mick!'
'Greetings, friend Larry...'
'What's cooking, me old mucker?'
'Soup. And what's with the Black Country parlance?'
'Sorry, I've just been watching Bargain Hunt. Or was it Heartbeat? Something involving accents. Now lead the way to that delightful aroma...!'
Sigh, went Mick, as he showed Larry into the dining area.
'Looks horrid,' said Larry. 'What is it?'
'Sainsburys 3-Bean Soup.'
'Would that be Sainsburys Tomato and 3-Bean Soup?'
'The very same.'
'I've never tried that before. What's it like?'
'Don't mind if I do!'
And he did.
And they both did.
And their lives were never the same again.
'Lupin Lamentor Extraordinaire?' said Mick, as he wiped a bit of soggy bread roll around the soggy remnants of the soup.
'Got your attention, didn't it?' said Larry, as he breathed on his licked-clean spoon and stuck it to his nose.
Mick laughed. 'I suppose it did,' he said.
They then shared cups of tea and chocolate biscuits, and spent the rest of the day watching old Burt Reynolds DVD's.
[ FIN ]