Soup: A Culinary Antagonist – Here’s Why I Hate It

It happens every year. As soon as the temperature dips and the leaves start to fall, something begins happening that we, as a society, should worry much more about than wintery cold winds and icy paths.

I’m talking, of course, about the inevitable onslaught of soup. For some reason, as soon as autumn sets in, the masses become overwhelmed by the urge to take perfectly good whole foods and puree them into glorified vegetable water.

A good friend of mine told me this autumn that as soon as the season began, his partner began to bring out her soup maker daily — a device that consumes delicious vegetables and water, and pumps out baby food. She then, he informed me, “forces” him to eat this soup every lunch time, a period that he now naturally dreads.

Reflecting on my own relationship, I pondered what would happen if my girlfriend did the same to me. (It would, of course, result in an immediate and permanent breakup).

When I asked my girlfriend, as the prolific soup enthusiast that she is, why people enjoy soup, she struggled to give me an objective answer. “It’s warming and comforting,” she told me. “And it’s easy to eat.”

As for the first two points, I don’t have a clue what that means. I’ve never felt “comforted” by soup. I just feel depressed and disappointed that I’m not eating something else.

In terms of it’s ease of consumption, I suppose there’s a point there. If you have no teeth — that is, you’re a baby, you’re old, or you’ve had them all knocked out in pub brawls — then soup may be a great choice for you. But that’s only for the simple reason that it’s one of the few choices you have.

But for the rest of us, ease of eating is hardly a selling point. I’ve never found myself eating, say, a stew and thought to myself, “christ, I wish I didn’t have to do all this chewing business.”

The inability to chew soup is, in fact, my main gripe with the dish: it has no texture. And, in my books, texture is one of the keys of a great eating experience. I like the contrasting textures in a stew that you get from the various vegetables, meat and the broth itself. It keeps things interesting. With soup, however, every mouthful is predictable. Even if it’s the “most delicious” soup in the world, it’s still boring to eat.

In fact, there are two things I enjoy about soup: the toppings, and the bread that it gets served with. Why? Because they add the texture and variety that soup is missing.

That’s why this argument doesn’t apply to the soup dishes that do have texture, like phở, French onion soup, or ribollita. These dishes blur the line between soup and stew. And they’re great.

No — I’m talking about the dishes that have been pureed into a homogenous gruel that some would describe as “velvety,” but I’d say is closer to dog food. In fact, even dog food has texture. (This dog food, for example, is fit for human consumption. I’d rather eat that for lunch than a boring potato and leek soup. I’d even rather eat sardines straight from the tin).

And yet, after all I’ve said, you might be surprised to find that I want to love soup. It’s a handy way to get veg in your diet, and a great way to use up leftovers. You can throw any veggies you have on hand into a pot with some water, blend it up and viola. You’ve got soup.

But I don’t love it. I hate it. I’ve tried a lot of soup — from tinned soup and J. Kenji López-Alt’s “universal soup” to Michelin-starred restaurants.

And yet, no. I still hate it. Soup, because of its lack of variety and texture, is fundamentally a dull dish. It has no place in my diet, and probably never will.

But I would love to see that change. So if you think I’ve missed something, let me know in the comments.