Anything you need to know about somebody you can learn about by the kind of soup they make

(Gratuitous Halloween photo of cute kid making "scary" face)

And if they don't make soup, consider them not worth knowing.

The general consensus around these parts is that Sunday evening is a perfect evening for soup making. Soup you can eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner—if need be—for the rest of the week. Soup made out of whatever is found in the cupboards, fridge and garden. The kind of soup that can easily be extended and modified as the days progress. A soup that molds (uh, no pun intended there) to your liking, much like those pair of Levi's you've had since college.

As it sometimes happens, this Sunday evening I find myself still consuming last week's soup while at the same time beginning next week's. Unfortunately, last week's soup, a butternut squash puree, was less successful than usual. Puree is always hard over here, since we are lacking a food processor. For reasons I find hard to explain even to myself, I have never owned a microwave, a food processor, a garbage disposal nor a dishwasher and though some would swear by these conveniences of the twenty-first century, we over here like to do things the old-fashioned way. Or that is to say, we have been to cheap to date to make any such culinary advances. To wit, the butternut squash puree was not entirely my fault. But it did make it hard for me not to steal a bowlful of the steaming, aromatic, anything-goes udon soup.

It goes something like this: open fridge and look for ingredients that must be used immediately or rendered hazardous to one's health. The bok choy looked pretty good, the onions in perfect shape, but the mystery cabbage rescued from the bottom drawer and initially gotten by way of weekly-organic-food-box-shared-with-neighbor needed to be dealt with pronto. The ingredients, once brought out and modeled on the kitchen counter, spoke and when they did they decidedly said asian. What next, you might ask? Peruse the refidgerator again. Discover the packaged udon and packaged tofu that have been languishing in isolation unecessarily long. Realize wilted carrot that feels embaressingly familiar, shrivelled ginger and limp scallions would perk up nicely when combined with Trader Joe's Ginger and Soy Broth™. Become ebullient at thought of such resourcefulness synthesized with such gastric shrewdness. Note that dog doesn't much care for dropped block of tofu. Begin.

With some regret I remember the two mushrooms I so carelessly tossed out earlier. While small in number, it would have given me great pleasure to find a role in tonight's soup for those two homeless fellas. Once the ingredients have been chopped (somewhat) and tossed into the dutch oven, the seasoning should begin. This one is a no brainer. Look for asian-inspired condiments and begin pouring. Soy sauce: natch. Hoisin: we'll go with that. Sesame oil: a dash. Sriracha Chili Sauce: why not? Add more soy sauce. And then add some more. Realize low-sodium soy sauce is not much help when it comes to soup. Make way to spice jars. Vague recollection that star anise is key ingredient in favorite Vietnamese soup. Taste. Add more soy sauce. Vigoursly shake soy sauce into pot. Curse at now empty bottle of soy sauce and add more hot sauce to make up for it. Taste again. Congratulate self. Not too shabby! Enjoy bowl of soup and retire to living room smug, sated and full.