I'm gonna catch a lot of crap over this one. I just know it.
Canned soup. With meatballs no less.
The hell is this guy thinking?
In my defense (I didn't hear any of you coming to it!), you will witness some important doctoring going on here. Doctoring which, I believe, takes an acceptable mass-market (i.e., el cheapo) foodstuff and moves it toward a legitimate, even crave-worthy lunch item. Besides, I'm away on a shamefully gluttonous food-and-drink ramble at the moment, and therefore cannot prepare for you all a proper meal this week.
What? I'm your meatball, not your mother.
I have long been a Chickarina fan; in fact, it's the only can of soup I bring into the house. In winter, I open at least one of them a week. (If you are unfamiliar, Chickarina is similar to an Italian Wedding Soup, comprised mainly of broth and meatballs, pasta and vegetables, like that.)
But I am incapable of simply cracking open a can and doing what the experts at Progresso Foods tell me to do. After all, in the not terribly detailed stove-top cooking instructions on the label, I am advised simply to "Heat in saucepan." I am also told, in no uncertain terms, to "refrigerate leftovers." But I have never followed that instruction before either. It's a can of soup. Not a vatful.
I can tell I'm losing you here, so what say we get on with it.
See these pieces of bread? They're stale. Cannot possibly get any harder. I keep stale bread around the house like other people keep crackers in the cupboard or milk in the fridge. I am never without it. Not ever.
The bread, if you hadn't already guessed, is a principal ingredient in the Chickarina soup that I eat. So is a very good bit of freshly grated cheese (Romano here), a healthy pour of extra virgin olive oil, and some freshly ground black pepper.
Go ahead, mock me. It's good, I tell you.
Oh, boy!
2HPHEZX7BES2
