This is a tribute to a recently-lost friend.
I would be a terrible hoaxer, because I care too much about feelings. I shall state before matters become complex: the friend I am speaking of is soup.
The Real Tea Cafe does good tea (I’ve taken notes) but it also does good soup. Really good soup. It’s terrific soup, and I don’t mean “for a cafe, it sells good soup”; I mean that the soup that they sell is a really excellent soup.
Sometimes, it’s parsnip and sweetcorn and butternut. Sometimes it is tomato and red peppers. Once it was three bean and something, which I wasn’t so keen on because the beans were whole – but most of the time the soup is smooth, and thick, and.. I like it a lot. I like it almost, perhaps, maybe, more than I like soups that I have made myself and while that doesn’t sound like much of a compliment please be sure I am self-congratulatory enough that it really is.
I eat this soup when I go into town once a week to visit the job centre. Visiting the job centre is crappy and the journey is unwieldy but I look forward to eating the soup and that’s a good thing.
Except I should start saying “ate” and “enjoyed” and so forth. I ate this soup when it was three pounds for a hearty bowl (with bread and butter). Now it is four.
I do not write this post in anger or in bitterness. Business, I comprehend! I asked what the extra pound was for and apparently the soup now includes “more stuff” – it is probably more delicious now! Even more. If you are in Stratford-Upon-Avon you should go to the Real Tea Cafe, and you should buy the soup. You should buy the soup because then you will be able to eat the soup and then you will be happy!
This post is just a salute to something dear to me..
.. as it travels on the outbound ferry, leaving me mournful on the dock.