Tomato soup

I got stopped on Paul street in Cork by a lady that I thought was looking for directions, ‘May I ask you a question?’ She’d already asked me one, so I didn’t see the harm in listening to a second. Too late I realised that it wasn’t directions she was looking for – such a person would normally say excuse me, and then just ask; there isn’t this ‘lead in’. My immediate panic was that I’d been caught by someone collecting for charity. They normally identify themselves with clipboards and coloured vests, stringing themselves out across the street like a human chain in that childhood game Red Rover. I’d make a dash to break through the line, but as in the schoolyard, I was more often caught than not.

‘Do you like tomato soup?’ was the question. Was I being asked out to lunch by a middle aged lady? I was debating which was more PC - to tell her I was too young for her or tell her I wasn’t attracted to other women when she continued with, ‘Would you like to take part in our market survey, you’ll get a fiver?’

At that, I was sold. This was one of those games where the loser was the winner – I was glad to be taken over to the other side. I said I would love a free lunch and texted the person I’d planned to meet to tell them I would be late; I’d something important I had to do. I was instructed to go upstairs to a room above a popular restaurant. There were a number of tables for one, and I was shown to my seat, given a questionnaire, and told to put up my hand up when I required service. I was going to be given three different bowls of soup. First you had to look at the soup and before tasting it, assess it on smell and appearance, then take just a spoon or two and give a first impression of taste, then consume the remains of the bowl and answer a host of questions.

I enjoyed my first bowl, sent back the second bowl half sampled and tolerated the third. A gentleman across the way seemed to need help with his questions. I wouldn’t blame him. I was smacking my lips together asking myself about the quality of the soups aftertaste. Some of the questions were confusing – what exactly was the difference between a soup that tasted freshly made and a soup that tasted homemade? I had to ask for the questions to be clarified and freshly made apparently doesn’t taste like it was in the fridge two days sitting.

The gentleman was talking so hard and hand waving he couldn’t be doing much tasting. Finally, he finished the last of his soup and left the building. I was cleansing my palate with a cracker getting ready for the next course when I noticed him come back in again with the lady from the street.

There was a bit of a kerfuckle. I put down my soup spoon the better to follow proceedings. The gentleman had gone out on the street, after consuming all three bowls of soup, and told the lady that was wooing people into the web upstairs, that he did not like tomato soup and that he had said as much to the people upstairs – when he was finished. She had made him come back upstairs with her to explain that he had lied to her and that she had not sent him up knowing he did not like tomato soup. Everybody seemed to be on the high key about whether this would affect the outcome of the tasting. I suppose, if you don’t like tomato soup, you’re not going to tick the pleasant box for aftertaste and when asking yourself does the soup taste like its been in the fridge for two days, you'd be bound to be wishing it would have stayed there. The poor lady from the street looked panic stricken, afraid of how she’d look to the team I’m sure, but arguing with the man really wasn’t helping her case. Now it really did look like she was harrassing the passer-bys on the street.

        The gentleman seemed very put out about consuming three bowls of soup when he didn’t like tomato soup. he really did seem to be taking it personally. Similar happened to me as a child - I can remember being forced to eat onions that weren’t fully cooked by a visiting relative. As a consequence I got sick. I have no doubt the expression on my face reflected his – and I don’t just mean green around the gills, but a look that says ‘Do you see now? I tried to tell you, but would you listen?’ I would have been about three, but I suppose that desire to please can be hard to shake off. And that sense of indignation afterwards even harder. In truth, I'm not the greatest tomato soup fan myself; I just like a free lunch.
So I finished my soup, ticked the rest of those boxes, and headed back out into the sunlight, kinda glad I hadn't broken that red rover line - I enjoy a bit of lunch time theatre.