My inner chef appears with the changing of the seasons

The last weekend in September was the perfect weather weekend that defines fall in Wisconsin. That Saturday was bright and sunny, and I could enjoy strolling around at a local festival. Sunday was sufficiently rainy and cool so that it enticed me to warm up the house with some culinary creations.

Mom was an excellent cook ,and I learned a lot from helping her. I treasure those memories of cooking together and the multitude of index cards she kept with the recipes carefully recorded. Her cookbooks have gold stars or “good” or “very good” near the name of the recipe.

You would think that I’d be a good cook, too. I have been known for a tasty dish or two, but the sad fact is that, when you’re only cooking for one, you tend not to notice how low the bar has dropped. I think I redeemed myself with soups I made that weekend. Anyone who knows me well is laughing right now because they know soup is food that usually baffles me. Other than making chicken dumpling soup when I’m feeling a cold coming on, I never choose to eat soup.

Truth be told, I’m more of a peruser rather than a follower of recipes. I think of them as suggestions rather than important measurements and directions. This kind of thinking gets me a variety of outcomes. Surprisingly, most of them are good, but then again, I only have myself to please. I tend not to acknowledge or repeat my failures.

That Sunday was the perfect day to experiment with making soup. Other than chili — with macaroni and tomato juice and the kidney beans I would meticulously pick out — I don’t recall Mom ever making soup. My childhood memories of grilled cheese sandwiches included tomato soup from a can of an iconic brand. I do believe she would make split pea and ham soup on occasion, but that was not something any of us kids ate.

I belong to a CSA (community supported agriculture) group. The theory was I would eat healthier meals with the plethora of fresh fruits and vegetables it supplies for me every other week. It’s a good theory, and I’ve done some out-of-the-box consuming of things I would probably have never purchased in a grocery store. I’m pretty sure I’ll never get on the kale or Brussels sprouts bandwagon, but at least the boxes haven’t overflowed with those items.

My experiments with tomato soup and carrot soup were deemed a success — by me, the one with the low standards. Other than the questionable texture, the taste was certainly good enough to freeze the extra servings of both kinds. My tomato soup was a little runny, but that can be helped with some croutons and Parmesan cheese for garnish. My carrot soup was a little thick, but that can be remedied by adding some cream when I reheat it.

Needless to say, my kitchen smelled great, and it was warm and toasty on a day which was cool enough to turn on the heat — except that I kept hearing Mom’s voice saying, “Just put on a sweater.” I’m glad I listened to that voice in my head. The next day was 80 degrees and muggy, a typical autumn in Wisconsin.