The soup had given the aroma of comforting wintry days to the kitchen and thus, along with the fragrance of the fresh baked bread, began to call the family to dinner in its quiet way.
The soup was the colour of the autumnal vegetable garden outside - deepest green. In it was the kale and broccoli. Yet the hue was softened just a bit with the addition of cream and cheese; as mother always said, "Everything tastes better with cheese." It was a motto she cooked by, but maybe that was the west-country farmer's daughter in her. She cooked to the seasons and to the pantry - always generous servings, as if the diners had just walked in from a hard day working on the land. Oliver inhaled the air, stomach rumbling as he watched the soup ladled into dark wooden bowls, his mind already dunking in a hunk of fresh bread.
The soup was satisfying in its thickness, requiring eating more than drinking. It was the everything soup. The soup that took any and every vegetable that needed eating and made something wonderful of it.
The soup was a blend of the more golden of the root vegetables and all the more hearty for it.