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Jarod Kintz

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“Gloria's soup is the same creamy white as her mousse, and dotted with crispy haggis croutons arranged in a half-moon shape. The "tattie scone" isn't the classic tattie scone, which is a flat potato-and-flour pancake fried crisp in a pan, but more like the risen scone you have with afternoon tea. Susan picks up the spoon and dips into the soup. "Ohhhhhhh. The soup is perfect, smooth and luscious, with a slight tang from the turnips (the "neeps" of the title) that keeps it from being too heavy. The finishing flavor is smoky, peaty. A little whisky, perhaps? The haggis croutons crunch as she bites into them, and the burst of spice further tames and complements the velvety richness of the soup. She devours every bit, sopping up the last of it with the scone, which is surprisingly fluffy for something made with potato. Like that morning's amuse-bouche, she's sorry when the dish is finished. But then Gloria appears, whisks the bowl away, and replaces it with a plate of seared trout with a lime-green sauce. On the side is rainbow chard and a small potato, split open, insides fluffed, topped with tuna tartare- a cheeky nod to a favorite Scottish meal of tuna salad-topped baked potato. "Trout with a lemony samphire sauce”

SoupPotatoesFlavorsSconesScottish Food
Book:All Stirred Up
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“We also really enjoyed the sunchoke soup and the slow-cooked black bass," said Luke. "Which chef made those?" My fingertips tingled as I raised my hand. "I made them." Luke nodded, his face serious. "The sunchoke soup was creamy, earthy, and smoky all at once, and those bacon croutons were crunchy and added some much-needed texture. We all liked the hint of thyme----it was just enough, as any more would have sent it over the edge. "And the slow-cooked black bass was so tender it almost melted in our mouths. The preserved tomato broth was a touch salty for our tastes, and we thought the cauliflower could have been cooked a little less, but the texture of the nutty farro stood up against the broth and the fish quite well." He swallowed hard and looked me in the eye. What was that I saw now? Admiration? "Very nice, Chef Sadie." I gave him the barest nod in response, but I felt like jumping up and down.”

JudgingAdmirationSoupSeafoodFlavorsFish
Book:Sadie on a Plate
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“When it comes to lunchtime... we gather to eat a bowl of fresh soup every day. At some point mid-morning, the question "what soup shall we make today?" will have arisen... The soup then gets made in our office kitchen by the volunteer of the day, and devoured around the meeting table amid much conversation and debate!... It feels wholesome and nourishing in more ways than one; we get health from our meal, and well-being from our sense of community.”

OfficeSoupConnectedness
Book:Design A Healthy Home: 100 ways to transform your space for physical and mental wellbeing
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“Clara shrugged and immediately knew her betrayal of Peter. In one easy movement she'd distanced herself from his bad behavior, even thought she herself was responsible for it. Just before everyone had arrived, she'd told Peter about her adventure with Gamache. Animated and excited she'd gabbled on about her box and the woods and the exhilarating climb up the ladder to the blind. But her wall of words hid from her a growing quietude. She failed to notice his silence, his distance, until it was too late and he'd retreated all the way to his icy island. She hated that place. From it he stood and stared, judged, and lobbed shards of sarcasm. 'You and your hero solve Jane's death?' 'I thought you'd be pleased,' she half lied. She actually hadn't thought at all, and if she had, she probably could have predicted his reaction. But since he was comfortably on his Inuk island, she'd retreat to hers, equipped with righteous indignation and warmed by moral certitude. She threw great logs of 'I'm right, you're an unfeeling bastard' onto the fire and felt secure and comforted.”

RelationshipsSelf RighteousnessArguments
Book:Still Life
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“It's macaroni soup. Curls of pasta swim in steaming, fragrant broth, and pieces of boiled chicken are all tangled up with them, the meat nearly fallen off the bones. It's comfort food, the kind my parents brought over the ocean with them twenty-five years ago, and the kind that doesn't fit westernized Chinese restaurant menus. My mother used to make it for us for breakfast, before we got older and told her we had no time to eat in the morning if we wanted to make the school bus. For years now it's been only the occasional snack, a rare treat. But I still like it best made with sugar, and so does my brother Lei. Only our older sister Yun asks for it this way, savory and salty.”

SoupComfort FoodChinese FoodPreferencesMacaroni
Book:Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love
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