When In Doubt, Make Soup

One night a few months ago, two friends and I were feeling the onset of winter doldrums, and made a plan to address it with soup.

We had come together for some activity I no longer recall (movie? board game?) but everyone was feeling pretty low. Each of us was clearly addled by one or more ongoing life-woe—angst over relationships, money, health, aimlessness. Nobody wanted to ruin the evening by dumping their laundry on the floor, but it was obvious that we all needed to talk to someone.

So we made a plan to get together, on a different night, to do just that. Somebody would make a big pot of soup, then while we dined, each person would have a chance share their current struggles, and the rest of the group would listen and try to help.

This get-together could function as a kind of support group, only without the intense stranger-vibe of sitting in a folding-chair circle with fourteen anonymous people in a church multi-purpose room.

It would take the form, instead, of a humble dinner with two or three people you already know. But unlike other social get-togethers, you’d be free to bring up what’s really on your mind, knowing you’ve got a safe and supportive audience for it.

Why soup? Well, it’s something people can gather around. It’s easy to make. It’s warm, nourishing, inclusive, and simple.

I don’t remember which one of us coined the phrase, “Soup-port group,” but it stuck.

We’ve been doing it ever since, every few weeks. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever been involved in, and I think it should be happening everywhere. People need to talk, but there aren’t many places to do that. So we made one.

A Typical Soup-port Evening

We’ve always had three or four people, which seems ideal. Someone hosts, and someone makes a big pot of soup. Usually everyone brings something to round out a light meal—a salad, a loaf of bread, a tin of dessert treats. Once somebody brought a bottle of port, to great applause.

We usually chat for a bit before dinner, about ordinary stuff: what we’re reading or watching, weekend plans, deals on avocados.

Then we sit down to eat. Soup, bread, salad, sometimes wine. The spread is always comforting but never fancy.

While we enjoy the meal, whoever wants to share their woes or dilemmas with the group can just begin. “So, Soup-port, here’s what’s on my mind…”

We just talk, and listen. The goal is to offer support, perspective, and some rejuvenating social contact—not to aggressively problem-solve.

The soup itself is essential to the spirit of it. It keeps the tone right: humble, warm, and easygoing. A group based on hors d’oeuvres would evoke all the wrong qualities: order, ostentation, class-consciousness. Even the potluck-standard spinach-dip-in-a-pumpernickel-loaf would be too theatrical for Soup-port. Organizing the meal around humble peasant food lets everyone relax about everything, protecting against any host- or guest-anxiety.

After dinner—and I think this is a vital step—we set our issues aside and do something else. Play a game, watch a show. Again, nothing fancy.

This embeds the supportive aspect in an evening that’s both pleasant and easy for everyone. I don’t think anybody leaves with their problems resolved, but you do feel cared for, a little more understood, and grateful for the wisdom of other people.

Can Anyone Do This?

Soup-port is already a big success, and has even garnered a bit of buzz among our friends and families. I’ve been asked about it at parties.

I think it could really catch on. There’s certainly a demand for what it provides. Just about everyone has something they’d benefit from talking about, but dependable opportunities to do that are hard to come by.

Professional therapy is expensive and exclusive. And while you might have family and friends you can talk to, bringing up your struggles in an ordinary domestic moment isn’t always appropriate, or helpful.

Soup-port creates a regular time and place to let your troubles out of your head, plus you get to help others at the same time. You don’t have to worry about being a drag.

You also get to hang out with great people, and eat soup, both of which are good for you anyway.

It does matter who those people are, of course. They need to be thoughtful, decent listeners, and it’s probably easiest if you’re already friends or acquaintances. However, I can imagine a quartet of good-hearted strangers forming a successful Soup-port group, if they were all willing to be open and receptive. They wouldn’t stay strangers long.

In any case, three or four seems to be the right number of people. Five or more would give each person too much to think about, and it would start to feel like a meeting.

At the moment, ours is the only Soup-port group I’m aware of. Part of me wonders if it’s just an idiosyncratic creation of a few friends who are decent listeners and happen to like both soup and puns. But another part believes there’s room for millions of groups like these.

People need to talk, maybe these days more than ever, and this is one way to create that opportunity for each other.

The essential components—human beings, soup, problems—are in great supply, but when combined in the right way, they produce something rare and widely needed.

***

Do you think this is something that could fit into your life? If enough people are interested, I’d love to put together a resource to help people form their own Soup-Port groups.

In any case, later today I will post recipes for my two go-to soups in the Patreon feed. A curry lentil and a butternut squash.

Photo by Brooke Lark

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