Get a good cold snap and I cannot not cook soup.
This convenience store I frequent, it's owned by a family of Indians. Red-dot, not feather.
The place, when I moved to Gardner, was owned by a local redneck clan, and it was horrible. It was full of cigarette smoke in violation of two or three ordinances, and the people who worked there made no bones about what an inconvenience we customers were, coming in there and expecting them to sell us stuff.
The Indian family that bought it, when they re-opened and I first went there, I wondered if it was the same building. I had to ask myself, did they tear the old building down and build a new building and I just didn't notice? It was that clean. Or, rather, it had been that disgustingly filthy.
I love the new owners. They don't even make me prepay for my gas, and that's something these days. If they recognize the person, and don't recognize them as 'Hey, that asshole stole gasoline from us the other day,' they turn the pump on. I love that.
So back to the soup: I go in there the other night, and the smokin' hot Indian chick working the shift is making soup. She's chopping up all kinds of green vegetables and adding them to a big five gallon enamelware canning kettle on a big propane burner.
Parsley, kale, I don't know what-all. And cumin and cilantro and so on and so forth. I've got to make me some more soup.
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