“By now I imagine you are fit and well again?”
Bruhahaa, *cough splutter … spotz* – sorry.
No, MsScarlet. I am tired, weak, and my throat hates me.
My neighbour brought me yesterday a can of vegetable soup, thankfully a small one. Afore I already had cooked the last noodles, and ate them with mayo and ketchup (“rot-weiß”, the pommes classic), so the soup experience was left (spared ?) for this morning.
I hereby state that “Kania Hochzeitssuppe” is one of the most vile concoctions I have encountered in a very long time.
I should have been warned when I poured it into my cooking pot. I dutifully heated it, and then filled a small bowl with the stuff, and ate it : A classic case of der Hunger treibt’s ‘nei, der Dorscht drückt’s ‘nunder (if you are hungry and thirsty enough …, yeah, exactly). When my stomach was filled with the warm fluid, and thankfully decided not to become mutinous, I stared into the pot, the “soup” stared back, and I knew that I had to kill it. Everything about this stuff was vile : The yellowish colour pendant somewhere between bile and purulence, the smell somehow reminiscent of cleansing material(s), the tiny “meat”-balls – no, I refuse to imagine what they may have consisted of.
Because now I had run out of anything only remotely eatable ; because I could not reach another neighbour, who possesses a car, is friendly, and would surely had helped me, I was left with no other choice but to step out and visit the supermarket.
Quite an experience. What usually takes 60 minutes (twenty one way, twenty return, twenty to buy stuff) today took more than 90 minutes. I had to stop several times on my way, not to grasp for air (I am remarkably good in this respect), but to recover, to recuperate : I am just too weak.
The terrible brew did not help. To give you an impression, here the hardly less redoubtable & rightfully forgotten title Witches Brew by a person called Janie JONES (Eng.), who spent time in the can, according to her wikipedia article. Maybe she was in the soup business.
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