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My name is Leanne, and I'm a soup addict...
I'm not kidding. I love, Love, LOVE me some soup. I dream about soup. I plot and scheme on how to get more soup into my day. I write about it, daydream about it, I've even made up sketchy poems up about it (one included here for your bewildered amusement).
Seriously, this soup obsession of mine, well, it's just a little over the top; even I can see it.
See the thing is I don't just care for soup; I'm fanatical about soup. Did I mention I'm obsessed with it? I'd marry it if I could figure out how to make it legal. Soup and I are like a great love story, Romeo and Juliet (no wait, that ended badly); okay, like Bonnie and Clyde (also a bad ending). Well never mind... you know what I'm trying to say.
And I'm not just a fair-weather soup lover either - you know the kind who loves soup in the winter and turns their nose up at it in the middle of summer. I will actually make and eat soup in mid-July when the only thing the weather is good for is cooking eggs outside on the sidewalk. I'm the one with the air conditioning set on polar, pretending it's cold outside so I can enjoy my hot soup. I'm the weirdo hoping against hope for a cold snap in the middle of August, just so I can make soup and not sweat while I'm doing it. Yes, I'm that consumed by soup.
Here is a recent soup poem about making French Onion Soup (recipe included):
Oh soup, my friend, my lovely minion
Today is the day for French Onion.
I'll chop and slice those bulbs so plenty
And cook a huge batch; enough to serve twenty.
I'll make it quickly, it's just a cinch
Full of onion, broth and thyme, just a pinch
And with it I'll serve grilled cheese with avocado
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