First of all, you want that gourmet type tomato soup. It comes in a box, not a can. The one I buy comes from Trader Joe’s and they say it also has roasted red peppers in it. I empty the contents of the box into a pan, which is to say I squirt the soup from the box into the pan. It ends with a rather disgusting noise, the kind that simply pleases the hell out of any four year old boy child. All you have to do at that point is heat the soup. I use a modest flame. I don’t believe in rushing good food. And the microwave is for reheating a cup of coffee.

 

So, I have done, or am doing all this. It’s lunch time. I can tell because I have this empty feeling. And a bowl of tomato soup doesn’t quite look like enough. So I get out the Orville Redenbacher’s original popcorn. You will find no Jiffy Pop in this household. And you will not find any microwave popcorn of any brand or kind, either. I am a popcorn traditionalist and make it on the stovetop, in a pot, a single layer of kernels plumping in a bit of hot peanut oil. Lid on, mind you.

 

This is where the butter comes out, too. Not margarine. I don’t just melt it. I brown it. This was one of my wife’s discoveries, and it makes all the difference. That and sea salt. Ahhh. The perfect snack.

 

So. I put the two bowls of tomato soup on the table, then the bowl of popcorn. Joyce finds this amusing. She digs around in the refrigerator for the grated Parmesan cheese, and brings that to the table. I am happily eating my soup, and enjoying fingers full of popcorn. Joyce sprinkles her soup with the cheese, which seems like a good idea, and then dumps a handful of popcorn onto her soup. Et voila! This is where culinary discoveries come from! A perfect marriage.

 

The next time a child of any age shows up at my house, I know exactly what I am going to serve: tomato soup and popcorn.