SOUP POT

This pot was my parents' soup pot. It's an inexpensive pot, and its handles perpetually hot to the touch. It had one sole function: to always serve scalding hot soup. We were always encouraged to eat the soup before it got cold. Soup never got cold or even cool. My father took charge of the initial soup preparation while seasoning fell under my mother's domain, often sparking "discussions" in Hungarian. I never understood the words, but I knew the debate. With Csirkeleves (chicken soup), a sizable bundle of parsley and turnips was ever-present, a component I disliked as a child but grew to love as an adult and would reluctantly share with my dad. Soup graced our table at every meal, with breakfast being the sole exception. That's where we drew the line.