Ever since we visited the homeland over the holidays, my mind has been consumed by mushroom soup. A signature dish of my boyfriend's mum, she made it as a starter to an astounding spread of roasted venison, root vegetables, mint sauce made fresh from the garden, and yorkshire pudding, and all my how-on-earth-are-you-so-wonderful's were answered. Incredible person that she is and that she made, she's also a mastermind cook. Self taught. No recipes. Enduring a relationship with my boyfriend means knowing that I can't compete. Because duh, you just can't compete with your boyfriend's mother. Haven't you seen Sex and the City?
So to get this soup recipe, instead of stalking the poor woman, which involves making her write down guessed measurements and then converting them, I did a search for one of
similar makeup. Here's the catch: in Britain they have double cream.
Here, we have heavy cream and whipping cream, the latter being more
common in stores. I figured whipping cream would work fine but, never
having made homemade mushroom soup before and therefore not realizing
that a whole pint of it might be an absolute abomination to my lactose
intolerance, did not grasp the severity of such an assumption. When I
used a fabulous fellow foodie's recipe and didn't think to adjust the
cream according to my own cursed digestive system, I honestly didn't
know it would be such a lethal event—a level of lethality I haven't
experienced since the Rocky Road Ice Cream Incident of '95. Ask my dad or best friend if you'd like to hear that story. I'm still trying to forget.
Why didn't I just make mushroom instead of cream of mushroom soup? Hindsight is termed as such for a reason. Why didn't my boyfriend tackle me as I happily dumped that whole carton into the pot? Maybe because I've trained him to give me some
room when I'm
mixing potions and cackling into green smoke experimenting in the kitchen. Had you asked me my opinion Saturday night, I would have kicked you in the shins, clutched my stomach and begged to be put out of my misery. But now I think, this is what it's all about. Adventures in an apron, learning from mistakes as well as successes. It was a great soup that should have been a light first course with a bit less cream, that's all. I shall try again soon. If my boyfriend will let me. And obviously, when it comes to the pedestal of amazing cooking, Mum's still the word.