When I was a kid, it was tomato. Nothing else. Nothing in it. Just tomato. I delighted in it’s smooth uniformity. The amazing part of that has to be my utter disdain for tomatoes themselves. I really don’t enjoy them. Texture, flavour, nothing.

But as time passed, my tastes shifted, broadened, as to be expected. Nothing is static.

Now that I think about it, the word static is a fairly strange moniker for the black and white fuzz of a tv screen or a radio station without proper connection, because I can’t imagine anything more in flux than that of something seeking connection, seeking to communicate a message and the frustration that comes with being unable to. Seriously, why didn’t someone come up with a better word for that?

And now that I think about it, my favourite soups these days fall into the realm of butternut squash, sweet potato, and the ever desirable carrot/cashew/ginger. Which funnily enough are all quite uniform in texture and colour. Perhaps I’m more of a static soup lover than I thought.