Crackers in Your Soup

It’s lunchtime. I’m seated at the kitchen table cogitating over a bowl of steaming chunky vegetable soup with black beans. Funny how a jingle from a commercial can transport you back. That song you heard was from the 1960s Campbell’s soup commercials.

On this cool cloudy afternoon, soup just sounds good, “And it’s so good for you.” Without giving it a thought apparently, I mosey to the pantry and rummage for the crackers. Then back to the table, open the box, pull out three crackers, and crumble them closed fist into my soup.

I'm curious, have you ever stopped to ponder why we add pulverized chunks of crackers to soup? Stick around and we will uncover this mystery of my delectable dish.

Maybe it’s not really a mystery, but a habit that developed when we were young. I vividly remember my mother painstakingly twisting that manual can opener to crack open a can of soup. (Today I was able to just flip a tab and pop the top).

Then the crackers would appear on the table. I was just following Dad’s lead. Three crackers per bowl, no more, no less. We always sat together as a family to eat dinner (we called it supper). In the 1960s that just the way it was. Dinner time was family time. TV was out of the question. “No - you’re not eating in the living room. You don’t want to spill on Mom’s carpet.”

But why crackers? No one ever explained that to me, of course I never really asked. Anyway, here's my theory.

First of all the soup is hot. If you’re really cold and hungry from shoveling snow off the walkways in winter and try to shove a large spoonful into your mouth - it's like eating hot magma. Instant reaction - yow, plop, spitting the soup back into the bowl. Did Mom see that?

Second, if you were served the meatless Campbell’s soup, there wasn’t much to it, mostly water. So the crackers would add substance to the hot watery flavor. Also the crackers served as a heat sink, dissipating the heat. When you gobbled up the soup it, “warms the way for the rest of the meal.” Oops, sounds too much like the commercial.

What about chili you ask? Well, that’s another story altogether.

Crackers and chili just don't go together. Chili requires fresh chopped carrots and a little milk. Where did that come from? Who knows. Of course, we all have quirky eating habits.

Anyway, upon reflection, yes, I'll admit it's luxury having the time to contemplate something as simple as crackers in your soup.

Please excuse me while I enjoy my lunch.

This is Patrick Ball, thanks for listening. See you in the next episode . . .

Comments

Epictetus, Ego, and Acronyms

In this episode, Destroy Communication, One Three-Letter Acronym at a Time This week, I want to explore a deeply relatable, universally feared workplace character: the "know-it-all." Now, I’m not pointing fingers here. If we are being completely honest, we have all played this role. We've all uttered some version of, "Yes, absolutely, that aligns with our strategic objectives," while our internal monologue is screaming, "I don't even know what the objective is, let alone the strategy." What got me thinking about this was a chapter in Ryan Holiday's book, Wisdom Takes Work . Holiday leans on a powerful piece of Stoic truth from the ancient philosopher Epictetus: "It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows." It's a brilliant quote that strikes right at the heart of the human ego. You can't learn what you already know, and you certainly can't learn what you pretend to know to save face. Though to be ...

Breaking the Script

In this episode, The Art of the Short-Circuit. We spend a surprising amount of our lives on conversational autopilot. You see it everywhere. At the hardware store. At the post office. In office hallways, where two people can exchange greetings, discuss the weather, and continue on their way without either one actually hearing what the other said. "How are you?” "Good. You?” “Busy." “Yep." It's less of a conversation and more of a system check. Most of us aren't being rude. We're just moving fast. We have emails to answer, meetings to attend, errands to run, and a hundred other things competing for our attention. Before long, our interactions become little more than verbal lane markers helping us navigate the day. I like to break the script. When I run into someone, instead of the usual greetings, I'll ask: "What's the good word?” The reaction is almost always worth it. You can practically see the gears stop turning. People pause. They blink....

The Yellow Legal Pad

In this episode, the Art of Refiring July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar. I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting? Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate. I think I've figured out why. A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism. For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I...

Truth for Sale

This episode is inspired by Elton John & Bernie Taupin On Memorial Day, I took my first bike ride since the accident , seeking proof that my legs, lungs, and nerves still remembered the road. The morning air carried that familiar Southern California mix of ocean haze, exhaust, eucalyptus, and sun-baked asphalt. My tires hummed across pavement I’ve ridden for years. Somewhere between the steady click of the chain and the rhythm of my breathing, Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s The Captain and the Kid found its way into my ears. There’s a strange kind of magic when the cadence of a ride syncs perfectly with a song you know by heart. Suddenly, the music and lyrics stop being background noise and become a lens. And through that lens, the road started talking. I've been cycling on this road some, Can't help feeling I've been showing my friends around. I've seen it grow from next to nothing, To a giant eatin’ up our town. Called up the tealeaves and the tarots, Asked the...

On The Fly

Search This Blog