Dearest Mini,

I went to France and fell in love.  I wasn’t expecting to, but I must admit, when I slipped into your soft leather seats, donned a wine-colored Nike baseball cap, and took off, something happened. Was it the mesmerizing aroma of wild thyme mingled with hedge roses? Or was it the way you hugged the tight roads, purring beside plane trees and vineyards? After all, I was just visiting my sister, just planning on some jaunts on the back roads in her Mini. I had no idea what was to happen! But I fell and fell hard. Ooh, la la.

Mini, you captured my heart. Back to the States and Tahoe, Au Revoir! 

I’d never been a car person, really – more of a horse lover, but there were some vehicles I held dear. My first car: a Vega, sturdy little thing, purchased for $300, drove me through “salad years”; a bright blue Dodge Colt, versatile and plucky, navigated us newlyweds over D.C. potholes and into tight parking spaces; my dark green Isuzu trooper, rugged and renegade, blazed country dirt roads, and from childhood, my father’s sleek Thunderbird, something to admire, not drive.  But none compare to you, my darling, Mini. You are sleek and sophisticated, adventurous and spunky, romantic, yet practical.  C'est manifique!


Indulge me, Mini... Why do I love thee, Mini? Let me count the ways.

1.You make it June even in November. With just one button, down goes your canvas top and windows, and Voila! It’s summertime! The world just seems greener with you in it, Mini.

2. You are super smart. Your curious little musical scale warns of a loose gas cap, keys left in the ignition, an insecure seatbelt, low tires, and a host of little things which could become big things. A perfect quality, Mini, for we find ourselves caught up in the moment in your presence.

3. You seek adventure. It’s almost as you can drive yourself, pointing your cute round hood in the direction of Potomac ferry rides, pilgrimages to local bakeries, vineyards or orchards, or to places South, your compartments stuffed with beach supplies, suitcases, and groceries. And then there are your quiet rides on soft clear nights under stars.  (Sighing, yet?)

4. Children, dogs and older people love you, too. Do you remember the time we pulled over at a rest stop in Virginia and an entire school bus of teenage girls curled around you exclaiming, “How cute!”, “I love it!?"  then clapping as we roared away? 

   Dogs are lovers of minis. Maybe because most dogs love the outdoors and car trips, and with you, they get a bonus. My dog friend,   Penny, loved her ride in the country, wrapped cozily in a fleece blanket on my lap, her ears flapping.  And Mini, I know I caught her smiling.
 
  And what about my mother? (Remember... she owns a Tahoe.) You worked your magic, and Mama and her two miniature Chihuahuas felt right at home. I guess you are just their size and speed. “A little racecar,” Mama murmured.

5. Contrary to popular opinion, you can carry a great deal, especially with the top down. What I know possible: several large bags of mulch, various perennials, shrubs, bags of groceries, but probably much more. Once we fit 5 people, 2 in one seatbelt. (But sshhh. It’s our secret.)

6. Minis love to congregate. Venture into any parking garage or lot, you'll see several Minis hanging out. You are social creatures.


  Other little known facts about you, Mini:
            *Men in red sports cars like to race you. (They don’t know your power...)
            * Speeding tickets may be hazards. (That’s why your speedometer reads slower than your actual speed.)
             *Owners miss driving their Minis when away. (This is one of the few times other family members get to experience your fun-                           loving nature.)
             *You speak the Queen’s English: “boot”, “bonnet”, “lay-by” (cheeky , you are.)
             * Minis can fly if they want to. (Notice the wings ?)
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​ Darling Mini, I just can’t say enough about you and our love affair. Thank you for all the joy you bring me. Je t’aime.

             Love,    
            Summer xxoo

​But loving soup also comes from remembering. When a child, the soup making rituals of my mother and grandmother spanned days. Inventive and frugal cooks, they used everything- whether fresh or left over. And I do mean everything. To these two, throwing away a turkey carcass was considered a sin.  But let’s say the week’s selection is beef vegetable. First visit the market for the necessary soup fixins’. Purchase the perfect ratio of protein to fat - tender pink meat suspended off white curved bone wrapped in crisp, white butcher paper. Home to fill a large stock pot with water, just enough to cover the meat, sprinkle in salt and pepper, add parsley, a carrot or two, one onion, several celery stalks with leaves.  Combine in a gentle rolling boil for hours. In the county or city, the promising steam filled up the kitchen spaces, escaping throughout the rooms.  But it wasn’t soup yet, not until the meat “fell off the bone.” Then store the stock in the refrigerator overnight for the settling and next day fat removal. Expert carvers, Mama and Mimi, broke slick brittle slabs, thin and white, cold as ice slivers, and skimmed the top, leaving a rich base of flavorful broth and tender morsels of meat. Next the final stages: slice more carrots, onions, celery, sometimes parsnips or turnips, canned summer tomatoes, and simmer until just tender. Garnish with tiny peas popped in the end. How I loved this hearty soup, perfect for winter evenings, served in delicate bowls, partnered with thick slices of homemade bread, slabbed with yellow butter.
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When homemade wasn’t available, there was the Campbell’s variety, the bright red and white labels assurances of good things to come: alphabet soup, my early favorite, its tiny symmetrical squares of vegetables a marvel, perfect for the lunchbox thermos, comforting chicken noodle housed in a big steamy mug, or tomato - a ruddy orange wonder cupped in a low bowl, a grilled pimento cheese sandwich alongside, to this day, my youngest daughter’s comfort food. Even my gourmet mother-in-law succumbed to tomato, teaching me to blend water with milk for a softer more mellow tomato version. To this day, my military career uncle faithfully observes his lunching routine of a can of Campbell’s and a sandwich. Soup just satisfies.
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When my girls were little, we experimented with soups: tortellini in broth with sausage, crisp cream of celery, or an old-fashioned Brunswick stew.  As they’ve grown and become cooks themselves, our tastes lean more to a spicy black bean version topped with avocado, a chunky minestrone, or a tangy Mediterranean fish stew.  But whatever the occasion, pleasure and comfort may be found in “Soup’s on” and a bowl of goodness.

And in case you’re wondering, tonight’s menu: potato leek.