Yesterday was moving day (more on that later). In a frantic rush to clean out both my fridge and pantry, I made soup. I chopped up every single vegetable (3 carrots, 1 onion, 4 parsnips, 3 stalks of celery, 1 yellow pepper, and a handful of snap peas) and threw in as many cans of kidney beans and chopped tomatoes as the pot would hold. The cookbooks were packed so I made it up as I went.

Piper wanted to help, so I let her sprinkle in cumin, chipotle, oregano, and basil. Turns out, I was making chili. I found a can of warm beer in the back of a closet so beer bread became a side dish for the chili. Piper stirred and sniffed and tasted. She added more pepper. She said it needed salt and honey. She asked if we could shred the rest of the cheddar block to top the bowls of chili. She’s brilliant like that.

And we ate chili and hunks of fresh beer bread slathered with the last pats of butter. The movers had taken our chairs and table so we sat on the empty dining room floor. It was the best soup I’ve ever tasted. Piper has the touch.

This morning we woke up in our new house in a maze of boxes. I found 3 bowls but we couldn’t find spoons. We have cereal but the milk is still at the other house. We drank our orange juice from crystal goblets. “What do you want for breakfast, Piper? I found bagels. Or you can have dried cereal without the milk. And I have one pear.”

“Soup,” Piper said. “I want chili.”

“I can’t find the spoons.”

“I’ll use chips. Or beer bread. Or both. Yummy!”

So Piper had soup for breakfast. She wants it again for lunch. It’s becoming her thing. There are worst things. If it were up to Piper, there would always be soup for you.