Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The names have been blurred to protect the guilty.
When I started Plog, one of my expectations was to have the big shot marketing execs at Campbell’s and/or Progresso vie for my endorsement with all kinds of exotic payola. That hasn’t happened. Yet. But I’m sure those savvy, MBA-waving Soupnozzles* are too busy harnessing the awesome powers of Facebook and Twitter to pay attention to what's happening in the Plogosphere. Perhaps they’re developing an iPhone app that matches soup flavors to soup eaters based on their zodiac sign, favorite color and degree of narcissism. Typical marketing stuff.
While I impatiently await the call from one, if not both, of the Big Two, I’ve managed to score some free stuff through another source. That stuff being home-made potato leek soup, and that source being a co-worker. A gesture that’s both generous and daring.
Before I started in on this bowl of mystery, there’s a couple of questions I needed to have answered:
1. Of all the people who want to poison me, who would have the cobbles to go through with it?
2. Where’s Ulrich? (My food taster)
3. Where did I set my scotch?
4. What the Hell is a leek?
5. Has anyone seen my britches? (I’m pretty sure I had them on earlier.)
I was able to get the answer to exactly none of those questions. But I was hungry. So I grabbed a spoon and planted my tighty, used-to-be-whities down on a chair and fed.
The verdict: It was pretty damn good. And I’m not just saying that because I’m sensitive to other people’s feelings. In fact, I’m quite annoyed and threatened by feelings, so I look to destroy them any chance I get.
I sucked this offering down as it were cheap gin.
As far as appearance, this was definitely the most unattractive soup I’ve ever masticated to. But I’m not one to judge a book by its cover. Unless it’s a really shitty cover, then I know the book is absolute drivel. At least that’s what my literate friends say. I don’t read and I try to avoid the libary.
So here’s the part that totally prison raped my mind: I was informed, post-consumption, that this soup was 100% vegan. Strange, because it tasted American. Now, don’t think for a precious second that I wouldn’t have enjoyed this soupy bestowal even more if it had big chunks of hog snout in it - I certainly would have. In fact, I hope the chef will consider this the next time around. But who am I to look a gift soup in the mouth?
Emilio “The Dealio” Jimenez Chupacabra una Manada de Lobos de Hombre, that’s who.
*A small homage to George Parker, a guy you can take home to meet your Mum. He just might seduce her.