It began with a strange interaction. There I was shamefully standing in line at the awful grocery establishment known as Trader Joe's. Yes, Trader Joe's, home of many snacks that have no place in the kitchen. A stunning lack of soups, except for a French onion soup which I am sorry to admit that I quite like.
Surrounded by monstrosities like Everything But the Bagel Chips and Everything But the Bagel Nuts, I waited patiently as an overtly friendly cashier bagged my groceries. I've long had serious issues with the amicable nature of Trader Joe's employees, but I digress.
Frankly, every time I am at a Trader Joe's cash register, I would like to argue my case for a Jewish Trader Joe's brand. Whenever I go, I see "Trader Jose's" on containers of Mexican food, "Trader Giotto's" on Italian food, and of course, the quite controversial "Trader Ming's" on Chinese food (as an aside, they should have gone with "Trader Zhou's"). But where is "Trader Mordechai's" for their surprisingly good black and white cookies and pastrami lox? Again, I digress.
My aim was to make a cabbage roll soup. I have seen many a reel touting this deconstructed Jewish delicacy on reels, sadly often described by gentiles. But I was intrigued. I bought cabbage at another supermarket (because of course, Trader Joe's does not sell cabbage). I then headed to Trader Joe's to buy many of my other ingredients.
That's where I found myself, standing in line waiting for the disturbingly friendly cashier to finish her job. All of a sudden she began a conversation that I would most unwillingly participate in, on that would change my life profoundly.
"Are you making soup with these ingredients?" she rudely intruded. "I see a vision coming together."
I paused. Sadly, I had to respond.
"I have a cabbage in my car," I said sheepishly. "So I guess I'll figure it out."
I was met with complete silence. I had just said one if the strangest sentences in human history.
"You have a cabbage in your car," she said, somewhat snickering. It was like I had just said I had a dead body in my car. "Okay, I guess."
"Yep, cabbage roll soup," I stated.
"Cabbage roll soup, huh? Sounds Irish to me."
I could not believe what I had just heard. My world came crashing down. Had she just said I was making Irish food?
Now I know many a European culture enjoys the cabbage. I understand this. However, had she just compared my proud Jewish heritage to the potato-eating island to the north. I held my gaze, but soul retched. Five thousand years of history, just to be insulted in Trader Joe's, in a place with no Trader Mordechai's.
This woman should be disgusted with herself.
I left Trader Joe's with a sick feeling in my stomach. Another complaint to add to the long list of transgressions which this unfortunate market has levied against me.
The next day, I began my task at hand. I was to make cabbage roll soup.
I must begin with an aside about the role of cabbage. Cabbage is the most perfect vegetable. On my list of favorite vegetable options, it comes just after the onion, but before the brussel sprout.
Its perfection comes from its malleability. It is like the most malleable of foods, something I deeply appreciate. It has a quite inoffensive taste. Like spinach, it wilts, allowing for compaction. And quite uniquely, it absorbs the flavor of those culinary elements around it — making it the perfect accompaniment for the greatest invention of all: soup.
Yes, many will argue against my inalienable assertion. Often, sorrowful people will opine that toast is the best souply side. Others wills say noodles are the perfect addition to any soup. Against all that is holy, other cretins and troglodytes may argue that the sandwich is an ideal pairing for a soup.
But nay, I say, they are all sorely mistaken. For the only correct answer is cabbage. Cabbage absorbs the flavor of the soup around it, making for a heavenly combination. The most malleable food shows its worth again.
I began my cooking of the soup I was eager to consume. Connoisseur of cabbage that I am, I began to cut this great vegetable. I was enveloped with leaves, but I paid no mind. Here I was, in my element as a soup sultan.
I then prepared carrots, celery, and onion. I chose Impossible meat as my protein. Yes, yes, I know, I was creating an entirely gluten-free and vegan meal. I forged on. I added tomato sauce, vegetable broth, various spices, lime juice, and thyme. I did not use a recipe. For that is for amateurs. Like a musician with perfect pitch, I have a natural affinity for soup. I need no recipe, no apportioning amounts. I trust my God-given, divine ability to make broth. I had the Mandate of Heaven.
I last added rice. It was time to simmer, and simmer I did. Sadly, the rice took a little too long to cook, forcing me to add extra vegetable broth to the soup. It took about 40 minutes in total to cook, far too long for a soup of this nature.
At long lost I opened my Promethean creation in a cauldron. The soup had taken on the texture of a true stew, the rice and cabbage absorbing the many liquids I had added. But no matter. Stew is still soup.
The moment of truth was upon me. I began to taste.
The stew was quite viscous. A most excellent viscosity. The flavors welled on my tastebuds. Here was a soup to be proud of. I could scarcely believe my tongue.
What a soup it was. I had proven that crass cashier wrong. I was no Irishman. Five thousand years of history I had honored. Mordechai himself would have been proud. Like Aaron stepping into the broth of the Red Sea, so had I taken the virgin step into the broth of cabbage roll soup. And I was rewarded.
Soup Score: 8.9/10
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