Gather round my pilgrims, for today I shall recount the tale of Soupsgiving.
Soupsgiving is my annual tradition of Th*nksgiving, but everything is Soup. It’s simple. Souper simple.
Unlike Th*nksgiving, a colonist propaganda holiday if you really think about it, Soupsgiving is a nondenominational, anarchist festival of nourishment that transcends cultures, as well as a souper douper great time.
The First Annual Soupsgiving: The Genesis.
It all began on a dark and snowy night, in a brownstone on the Upper East Side of New York City. I was living with a dozen other 20-somethings, many of whom had gone home for the holidays, and us stragglers huddled together to weather this cold and dark winter.
My housemate Emily and I brainstormed the most fucked-up twist we could put on Thanksgiving, and decided upon an all-liquid theme.
Coincidentally, our roommate Nancy had some temporary stress-induced face paralysis, which made her unable to feel her jaw. So soup was the perfect meal for her. We did not plan this, but let’s say that we did. It was a Soupsgiving miracle.
This was also the first extended conversation I had with Mehran (who I would later raise as a god-figure). A few hours prior to Soupsgiving, Mehran was helping another housemate Josh book a same-day flight to go on a date with a girl in another state. As a token of his gratitude, Josh gave Mehran a handful of gummies, and Mehran immediately took all of them. This caused him to become high out of his mind, a state in which he was either giggling or zonked out, his eyes watering with tears. It was quite the first impression.
Among all these characters and peculiar circumstances was one very normal person Emily had met a few days prior and then invited. I don’t believe we ever heard from her again.
I had planned to make a soup-themed dessert, and figured pumpkin pie was the move, as it’s essentially a baked soup. I put marshmallows on top of the pie, thinking this would toast them crème brûlée style, however, it instead made the pie catch on fire. Upon witnessing this inferno, I immediately shut the oven door and googled what to do, turns out that just closing the door and leaving it in there was the correct move.
At the end of our feast, my co-conspirator Emily summed the night up beautifully: “I’m sleepy from soup and the adrenaline from the fire has worn off.”
And so, from a group of misfits, that cold and snowy night, a beautiful tradition was born.
The Second Annual Soupsgiving: Soupburbia.
Soupsgiving II took place when I was living in Mountain View, and it was rather un-momentous. As one would expect of a celebration in the suburbs.
However, there was no oven fire this year, so that was a marked improvement from the previous.
The Third Annual Soupsgiving: Mega.
For the Third Annual Soupsgiving, a vision came to me in a dream. Megatable. Three long tables, aligned together as one, adorned with soup. A nice sit-down Soupsgiving.
I looked into renting chairs, and it was very expensive. So I figured I’d do Amazon rentals (buy them then return them after). Sorry Jeff. But also, I think you can take the hit.
This year, I introduced a Soupsgiving competition. Attendees were instructed to dress interpretively as their favorite soup, and the winner would be crowned the Soupiest Soupy Soup Boy of the Soup Party. Some people got confused and thought the competition was based on the soup they brought, which was ridiculous.
The winner of the Soupiest Soupy Soup Boy of the Soup Party was Jonathan, and I knighted him accordingly.
I also made alcoholic soup (mulled wine).
Towards the end of Soupsgiving, we combined all the remaining soups into Mega Soup. At first the mixture of different noodles, vegetables, and other chunky ingredients made for a rather unpleasant texture. Then Cool Alex blended Mega Soup together, double-strained it, added garnish with a flourish, and presented It before us. It honestly wasn’t bad. So we had a ritual Consumption Of The Mega Soup where we gathered around and in unison slurped from straws together. The sound of collective slurping haunts me to this day. It was beautiful.
In the aftermath of Soupsgiving, I returned all the folding chairs to Amazon, and this was a huge bitch to deal with. But t’was small sacrifice to pay for the glory of Mega Table, the legacy of Mega Soup, the knighting of the inaugural Soupiest Soupy Soup Boy of The Soup Party, etc.
The Fourth Annual Soupsgiving: The Souposium.
By the time the Fourth Annual Soupsgiving came around, I had run out of soup puns to include in the invite, so I just shoehorned “soup” into a bunch of words in a nonsoupsical way. I refuse to s(t)oup to repeating soup puns.
I figured, we were more mature now. Four years more mature. The time had come for a formal, classy affair. The Souposium. Black tie. And everyone looked sooo cute in their formal wear!
Since this was a distinguished event, we obviously had to drink the soup out of soupagne glasses. No bowls!! No spoons!! Such are the implements of cowards.
I made everyone prepare a presouptation, reminding them several times. For those who nonetheless neglected to come prepared, I assigned them a slam poem about soup written by one of eight AI models.
Some of the best presouptations included:
A saucy soup-themed erotica
Reading an excerpt from chapter 15 in Moby Dick, titled “Chowder”
Performing the song “Soup” by Remi Wolf
Playing banjo and singing “Jambalaya”
The thesis “How soup is responsible for decline of society through video games”
Having instated the Soupiest Soupy Soup Boy tradition at last year’s Soupsgiving, I figured that this year, we’d have pageant rules for passing on the title. The voting system was a constitutional monarchy, with everyone casting a vote, but me making the final call.
Sam and Greta (or as you may know them, “Thomas the Spank Engine” and “Jane Goodgirl” from Strippers for Charity) were crowned the Soupiest Soupy Soup Boys of the Fourth Annual Soupsgiving, and Jonathan passed on the crown.
After the presouptations concluded, as the projector was already set up, guests started heckling me to play youtube videos, so I let them do that while we mingled.
This year’s Soupsgiving was the best yet, and it warmed my heart like a simmering soup to have all my friends enthusiastically join in on the bit.
Although most of my stupid little parties for my silly little friends are one-time affairs, like a perpetual stew, no Soupsgiving is the same. And tradition is important, honorable. Sometimes.
Anyways, I hope you and your loved ones stay warm and soupy this holiday soupson.
For paid Soupscribers, I offer a preview of next year’s Soupsgiving theme: The Disouptation, the souperb soup-related challenge from this year’s Souposium, and various consouperations of what constisoups a good party.