Souped Up

I woke up at a weird time early this morning feeling mildly anxious and a little emotionally burdened. After the initial shock of "why am I up at this hour" and a few frantic mind circles, my brain started to calm itself down by determining what I had on hand conducive to making a big pot of soup. I fell back asleep after a few minutes, counting ingredients instead of sheep. This struck me for two main reasons. First, what is more comforting than a big pot of soup? Maybe it's my history of coming home on cold days to the house smelling warm and spicy and seeing the biggo soup pot on the stove, maybe it's the stigma of soup being a "sick" food and making everything feel better, maybe it's my tendency to attach certain emotions with certain meals - soup comforts. Second, I've always been all about eating soup, but now cooking it up myself is even more therapeutic. Not long ago I listed "making soups without a recipe" was on my list of positive changes to implement this year, and this morning I've been putting that into practice. It's kind of neat to see how a year or so of consistently cooking for myself and challenging myself to try new recipes weekly has developed my confidence in the kitchen. I used to only be able to bake. You put this much of this together, no more no less, in this particular fashion, and bake it for this long, no variation. It was straightforward and accurate. Now I'm surprising the heck out of myself by the frequency with which I'll glance at a savory recipe, take it into account, and move on to do it my own way. Somewhere along the path of being responsible to buy my own ingredients and provide my own meals I have transformed from a baker into a cook. I think it's pretty sweet, and I see it spilling over into other areas of my life, letting previously rigid things have some give. I'm thankful for constructive and calming hobbies. Especially of the kind that result in tastiness.