“𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙜 𝙣𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙝𝙤𝙣, 𝙢𝙖𝙜-𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙖𝙬 𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙤.”

A soft thump of a fingertip on glass, and the small white heart from the video turned to a cheerful red. I turned my gaze away from the phone screen, setting it down on the table, to look outside at the damp weather. The content creator’s voice dissolved into the kitchen air as I made my way to close the window as the rain started to pour down.

Being drawn to that video was not because of the chilly temperature, but because of the promised soup—not just as a meal, but as a ritual on dreary days like this. 

𝘈𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘱.

In its initial—perfect—presentation, the broth shimmered in a deep, complex color. The liquid represents the fundamental structure of the reality we all inhabit. Its rich and heavy flavor came from a long and slow simmering, a patient extraction of its depth—the inherited wisdom, the culture, and the family we are born into. It is naturally savory, almost overwhelmingly so.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯.

As I picked up the spoon, the perfect visual decor—the delicate sprigs of herb, the neat cubes of vegetables, and the precise spiral of cream—was instantly disturbed. I dug deep to lift a spoonful of the jumble of flavor and texture: a slippery piece of a single noodle, a chunk of tender meat, and a piece of crusty garnish that stubbornly refused to soften.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯.

The soup loses its aesthetic perfection as it is mixed into the simple, ugly necessity of consumption. The fat globules that once provided a luxurious mouthfeel now cling inelegantly to the side of the bowl. The flavors, though, became more intense and real.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘺. 

The perfect presentation was just an illusion. The palatability lies not in the look but in the deeply mingled taste of every component working together in the bowl. We carry the burdens of our existence, the flaws and problems that get all mixed up—but it is this very mixing that creates the sustaining, hearty warmth that fills the body. 

It is, after all, the most satisfying and authentic way to be fed. It is, after all, what makes us 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣.

The hot served soup—heavy, messy, and perfectly warm enough to get you through life.

Written by: LeAnn Lauzon
Proofread by: jadamersss