For years, I thought that good soup came out of a can. I mean, my mother made soup, but… Let’s just say that my mother’s favorite soup involved meatballs and cheeze whiz.

Yuck.

So I grew up thinking that soup was difficult, and, to be honest, I wasn’t too fond of it either, except of course for tomato soup, served with the obligatory grilled cheese (which I still love), and the Deviled soup that my Dad makes. That’s delicious. But that was about it. Then a couple of years ago I started ordering soups at restaurants, and was surprised at how good they were. I mean really good. Of course I presumed this was something that you could only do in restaurants, but then I started to think about it, and realized that it probably wasn’t.

And so I’ve started making soups.

And they’re not that hard at all.

The potato soup I made a couple weeks ago was okay, but rather plain. A problem that was easily amended with cheddar cheese.

This weekend I decided to venture further afield, and made broccoli cheddar soup, which shockingly, Michael liked. (When we got married, the only vegetables Michael would eat were corn and iceburg lettuce. His repoitoire has since expanded.) And then just for Michael, I made cream of mushroom soup.

Both took under an hour, and were quite good.

Because there’s really nothing like soup when it’s cold and you’re feeling under the weather.