The Perfect Song Blog

I recently got hooked on Chinese soup, the kind that comes in Styrofoam bowls wrapped in plastic or in those little cellophane packs.  I know they have more sodium than the Pacific Ocean, but I love the flavors.

And I love eating them alone.  It just occurred to me today as I sat hunched over my bowl with a noodle hanging out of my mouth, that the whole process of eating a bowl of pork and mushroom soup is sloppy fun that you do alone.

Other adults, I’m sure would not approve of my technique

Here’s the process:

I open all the dried contents, add water and heat the soup for four minutes.  I take it out and grab a fork.  I discovered early on that it’s futile to try scoop a wad of these noodles with a spoon.  Use a fork first.  I take the first bite which is always too hot, and immediately spit it back into the bowl.

I stir it for awhile, then take a cautious second bite.

The fun begins.

I’m sitting at the table, my down turned head hovering over the bowl with a gob of noodles dangling from my mouth.  I bite down to sever them but there are always two or three noodles who escape the choppers.  I tear them off with my fingers.

The whole process is gross, sloppy and really fun.

Think about it.  When’s the last time you really engaged in your food in such an undignified way?  Watch a two-year-old – and I’m talking girls and boys – and it’s immediately clear that they know how to have fun with food.

We’ve lost the ability to interact in a meaningless, happy way with our food.

Tactile joys!  Touch it!  Tear it!   Taste it!  Play with it!

By the time I’m done with my soup, I’ve wiped my face a dozen times and my fingers are sticky with noodle starch.

And I am, in some weird, pre-adolescent way, completely satisfied with my solitary dining experience.

Try it.