Mexican SaucePosted: November 7, 2013
A while back, our friend Lynn posted on Facebook that he was making a batch of Gazpacho. He even had a video. It got Bill’s juices going since he hadn’t made this wonderful cold soup in years. For weeks he kept muttering about how much he liked it and repeatedly asking himself why he hadn’t made it for so long and declaring over and over that it’s a perfect meal for a hot Arizona summer dinner.
His muttering and musing finally propelled him into the office, where he cranked up his PC and dove into his favorite cooking sites to begin the quest for the world’s best Gazpacho recipe.
With growing excitement and anticipation he eagerly perused recipe after recipe, from typical tomato and vegetable to the wonderful world of fruit flavored Gazpacho – strawberry, pineapple, watermelon and mango. He called out recipe titles and ingredients to me as I nodded and uttered the occasional cursory “yup, sounds great,” from my side of the office while I played The Sims 3 on my computer.
He finally landed on a traditional tomato-based recipe and off we went to the grocery store for the fresh veggies.
Once we got home, he began immediately slicing and dicing and chopping tomatoes, onions, peppers and other ingredients so he could mix everything together and allow the flavors to ‘meld’ during the afternoon.
Dinner time finally arrived and he baked some crusty French rolls and reverently dished out the cold Gazpacho into soup bowls. I set up Mom’s lap tray, returned to the kitchen and placed the bowl and roll on a large dinner plate, took it back to the living room and set it in front of her.
“What’s this?” she asked, staring into the bowl as though she’d seen something swimming below the surface.
“It’s Gazpacho. You’ve had it before but it was a few years ago,” I said, going back to the kitchen once more to retrieve my own bowl.
Bill settled onto his recliner, carefully balancing the plated bowl of soup on his lap. As he lifted the first savory spoonful toward his mouth, Mom suddenly announced, “This soup is cold.”
He stopped, the spoon half way between the bowl and his mouth, and slowly turned his head to the right to look at Mom.
“It’s supposed to be,” he said, lowering the spoon back into the bowl. “It’s Gazpacho.”
“Is that Mexican?” she asked.
“No, I think it’s Spanish,” he replied. “Why?”
“Well, maybe it’s Spanish for sauce, not soup,” she said. “Because this is more like Mexican sauce.”
“Do you mean salsa?” I asked, coming back from the kitchen.
“Yes, that’s it. Mexican salsa,” she said. “Maybe it should be heated up to turn it into soup.”
“But then it wouldn’t be Gazpacho,” Bill grumbled through gritted teeth.
“Oh? What would it be?” she asked innocently and appearing somewhat befuddled as she glanced at Bill.
“I don’t know. Vegetable soup maybe?” he offered with a shrug.
“That would be better,” she said, holding out her bowl. “Just put it in the microwave for a minute or two, Patty.”
I took her bowl and glanced at Bill on my way back to revisit the kitchen once again. He was glaring straight ahead at empty air. He muttered under his breath as I passed by on my way to ruin his lovely Gazpacho, “And now I remember why it’s been years since I’ve made this!”