In the introduction to the “Soups” section of his cookbook, Guy says, “Soup to me is a bit like pizza. When it’s good it’s really great, and when it’s bad it’s still kind of good … I’ll happily eat a piping hot bowl on a hot day.” I’LL BET YOU WILL. With your bare hands. And why the fuck isn’t there a recipe for pizza soup? I bet Rachael Ray beat him to it. But called it “stoup.” (Oh my god, she really did.)
Listen. If there’s a person who doesn’t play by the rules, it’s Guy “eats soup on the surface of the sun whilst also looking very much like the sun” Fieri. This is common ground on which we park our matching yellow Lamborghinis. I love soup. Almost as much as I love the phrase “piping hot.” I went to a bar this weekend and asked what the soup of the day was, and the guy looked at me like I was nuts because they don’t serve soup and he didn’t even work there. What I love most about soup/the making of soup: pureeing hot liquids in a blender and watching them spew all over my kitchen walls (a thing that happened). And accidentally pushing the hard plastic part of the blender lid into the blender while it’s running, not noticing that the lid cracked, and ending up with a gigantic pot of soup peppered with shards of plastic (also a thing that happened). This blog post is chock-fulla rollicking pratfalls. Piping hot ones.
So, Cheddar Trans-Porter Soup. Guy says, “This isn’t chunky, clumpy, gloopy ‘did I just eat nacho cheese’ soup.” I don’t believe for a second that Guy is averse to eating nacho cheese with a spoon, but it’s still fun to say things aren’t “gloopy.” And event though trans-gender soup is made with a shitload of cheese — 3/4 lb. — it wasn’t. Gloopy. It tasted cheesy, but it was pretty thin. If anything, it was frothy (off putting!) because of the porter and all the blending. Oh, and, I also do not play by the rules: instead of homemade chicken broth (yeah, right) I used store-bought, vegetarian chicken broth so my vegetarian friend could eat some. Such humane soup. Until she suffered an esophageal laceration from swallowing plastic and died.
The ingredients. Look how spoiled my cat is. Only the finest Friskies patés will he eat.
You know what is harder than ordering soup at a bar in the summer? (Harder than the tips of Guy’s hair? I don’t know. I couldn’t decide.) Finding porter at a store in the summer. This was literally the only porter Whole Foods had (Publix: none, Trader Joes: none). Notice it’s smoked. Which sounds gross. Speaking of gross, look at the asshole dog who sits in the kitchen while I cook.
I told her it was called “Ass Kisser Porter” and she thought I said “Ass Licker Porter.”
One of these pieces of cheese was grated into the soup. Guess which.
The other was for eating while the soup cooked. So, really, a whole pound of cheese went into the soup/my body.
Carrots, celeries, onions, peppers, and garlics (a mirepoix) in a mirepot. (Ugh.) Pretty!
Then I added the vegetarian “chicken” broth and it wasn’t pretty anymore.
Here’s where blending begins going very well! If Hamilton Beach is an actual place I never want to go there. Look at it. It looks like it knows it did something wrong. “Gluuuuur, I made an oopsie.”
This actually took two rounds of blending. You blend the vegetables and stock together, then add the cheese mixture (cheese, flour, white pepper, and dry mustard) and blend it all again. I think the blender lid fell in during the first round of blending. So, the bits of plastic got good and chopped up. Here it is while it’s still a thing I might want to eat (and after the porter and worcestershire sauce were added). There’s a layer of foam on top, in case that doesn’t translate.
Surprises. First bite!
I thought it was glass at first. But I figured it out.
There’s an entire gigantic pot of this still rotting in my fridge if you want any.