Souper Science

Raylynn stared at the homemade volcano, pretending to think deeply. "Wow! That is an impressive volcano. Thanks for entering this year."

Fortunately, she dealt with middle school kids who lacked savviness when it came to body language or subtle sarcasm. The girl beamed. Please! Could she have something interesting? No more volcanoes or foam ball universe models. Something truly interesting.

She moved to the next table. She'd noticed it earlier and had been dreading coming to this one. Why was it even here? She forced a smile.

"What have you got here, Theo?"

Theo was a nerd defined. No tape wrapped around his glasses. It was on the bridge of his nose, instead. Red wavy hair, way too many freckles, ears that stuck out a little too far, quarter-inch-thick soda-bottle glasses--could you create someone geekier?

"It's chicken soup, ma'am."

"Chicken soup! Wow! I think you'll get the most unique entry at the science fair for sure. Have you been watching a lot of Bobby Flay?"

Her humor was wasted.

"No, ma'am. Is he on TV? Is he a scientist?"

Kids. They were clueless. "Never mind. Tell me about your scientific chicken soup."

"Sure ma'am. It's the best chicken soup ever made. At least from my calculations."

He couldn't be more serious. She sighed as she glanced briefly to her left. Only four entries left. There had been twenty-seven total. Four more and it would be time for wood fired pizza at Vinny's and then gelato across the street. But she had to finish this first.

"So you've done some deep calculations and come to the conclusion this is the greatest chicken soup ever made. What criteria are you measuring? Let's say against the--and I'm completely guessing here--six hundred million other pots of chicken soup over the last say just six, seven thousand years?"

He didn't blink. "It's the quality ma'am. None of those could begin to match the quality of this chicken soup."

If she were in a better mood, his sincerity would be touching. But she had no time for that now.

"The quality. Okay. I consider myself something of a foodie. Although chicken soup is not in my top ten dinner choices on a given night, I've had a few bowls in my time. I would certainly need to test the validity of this all-time winner for quality."

He nodded and started to move toward the end of the table. Her arm darted out stopping him.

"Hold on there, Iron Chef. First I'll need to challenge you on the best quality ever. Of course you realize you are competing with the greatest chefs who have ever placed a bowl of chicken broth, chicken, and noodles in front of their hungry patrons?"

"Oh yes, ma'am. I've considered all of them, but I beat 'em all on time. It isn't even close."

"Time?"

"Yes. Time to make the soup. I'm literally hundreds or even thousands of multiples beyond them."

Words fled. What was he talking about?

"How long did this take you to make? Maybe a full day? Two or three? That would be a long time for chicken soup."

"Oh no, ma'am. Much longer than that. It was seven years, four months, and six days... and fourteen hours, if you really want to be exact."

Raylynn saw another student she knew. "Samuel! Can you bring me one of those chairs over there? Thank you, sir!"

She still felt the call of the wood fired pizza, but a seven-year pot of soup intrigued her. She sat down in the chair and leaned forward.

"You have my full attention. How in the world do you make a seven-year pot of soup? Start with a three-thousand-gallon stockpot?"

He laughed. "It's a long process. Why don't we start with the vegetables?

"Fine. Tell me about the carrots."

"I tried Dulcinea, Little Fingers and Tender Sweet, but I found the best carrots to be a cross between the Kuroda and the Neapolitan Nantes. The cross is..."

"Wait, wait, wait! You cross pollinated two carrot varieties?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"For a pot of soup?"

"Yes ma'am."

She nodded slowly. "Cross pollination goes into the chicken soup. Incredible. Keep going."

"Sure. And carrots are important. They add contrast to the pot. Everything else is savory or subtle. So the sweetness of the carrots carries a lot of weight by contrast. It highlights everything else. And of course, it does the same thing with color. It is the most contrastive element for color. And even texture. Of course, the carrots have to be roasted to bring out the most intense flavor."

"I guess we'll call that the science of contrasting flavors and color. I like it. And I've got to start using 'contrastive'. Quite a word!"

He barely nodded. "The celery has two purposes. Its flavor is subtle, probably the least flavored of all. It gives the tongue an occasional rest which helps the other flavors pop more. It also adds important flavor to the consommé stock. And celery can't be mushy or too firm.

"And you came up with all these thoughts on your own?"

"Well, sort of. I have a big family, ma'am. Lots of uncles and aunts and even cousins who are older than me. They all have opinions and taught me lots of things about cooking. And my mom. She's the best cook in the world."

"But not your dad? He doesn't cook?"

"Yes and no. He's never made chicken soup. Or at least, not that I know of. But he's great with a smoker or a grill. And he's a rancher. So he knows animals. He's who helped me with breeding my chickens. And smoking them."


"The chicken in the soup is smoked?"

"Well, there was chicken used for the consommé stock that wasn't smoked, although the carcasses and bones were roasted. But the chicken pieces are smoked."

She tried to put on a serious face. "And the chicken source? Is it Costco or Safeway?"

He looked a little offended. "Neither ma'am. As I mentioned, I raise my own, one breed for the stock and one for the meat."

"Which breed for meat?"

"The French Bresse, considered the world over as the best tasting. I feed them corn, wheat, and barley to really bring out their natural marbling."

"And which chicken breed for the stock?"

"That's why it's taken seven years. I use Orpingtons for my stock chickens, and specifically I used Fred and Barney."

"Fred and Barney?"

"That is what I named them seven years ago. Older roosters provide intense flavor for stock and so I've been saving them for the best pot of chicken soup ever."

"You knew you were going to do this seven years ago?"

"Yeah. My sister won fifty dollars that year for her greatest ever coconut cream pie."

"Theo, I want to come to your house for Thanksgiving dinner!"

He laughed. "I'll ask my mom, but I'm sure you are welcome."

"Well it's great that Fred and Barney made the ultimate sacrifice for your project."

He didn't look too abashed by it. "They had a good life. Better than most chickens."

She glanced at the noodles. Tiny. "You've chosen very small noodles. Why? I assume they're homemade?"

"Yes ma'am. They are spaetzle, a German noodle."

Of course that's what they were! Raylynn loved spaetzle. Especially with schnitzel.

"Spaetzle? Why spaetzle in a chicken soup?"

"One of my uncles is from Germany and he loves them. He's made them so many times for me. I guess it's just personal preference. But they go well with the soup and they're easier to get on a spoon than a long noodle. So they are functional as well."

"Tell me about your stock."

"Well, it's more of a consommé than a stock. But it gets flavored a little more after the full consommé process, for instance when I add the celery."

"And how do you make your consommé?"

"Roasted chicken bones and my vegetables for the stock..."

"Which vegetables?"

"Leeks, garlic, onions, celery, and peppercorns. I love pepper. Kind of a fanatic. After the stock is finished and strained through a double cloth, I let it cool overnight in the fridge or out on our front porch where the cats can't get it, if it's cold enough."

"The old stock-on-the-porch trick. I like it."

He smiled and even seemed to get the humor.

"For peppercorns I go with about sixty percent Malbar from India and forty percent Kampot."

"And Kampot comes from where?"

"Cambodia."

"Theo, I'm starting to think if I look up chicken soup on Wikipedia, your picture will be there."

He grinned. "Maybe some day."

"Okay. I'm ready for the greatest chicken soup to ever grace a soup bowl. Bring it on."

Theo bolted to the end of the table and grabbed a ladle, a styrofoam bowl, and a plastic spoon. The irony. Serving the GOAT chicken soup in anything but the finest servingware. He handed her the bowl and the spoon and dashed to retrieve a napkin.

She hesitated. Of course, she was curious to try it. But what if it tasted like Campbell's canned junk? She looked at the soup. Beautiful yellow color, but it was also clear, with tiny noodles, carrots, celery, and chicken chunks. She positioned a spoonful to grab some of everything.

Theo watched her intently. She realized everyone around was watching her intently. Pushing the scrutiny aside, she tried her first bite.

It was everything she could have hoped for. Even more. Stock, no consommé--so intense with a myriad of subtle flavors. The chicken had obviously been smoked and the carrots roasted. The celery and carrots had a perfectly soft firmness. A beautiful hint of pepper and an ideal salt level. Spaetzle! Not just any noodles, but spaetzle. With a hint of nutmeg! A wonderful choice to complement everything else. Everything was flawlessly flavored.

She realized that she was staring at Theo. Why was there a lump in her throat? She looked to the side and pretended to extract something from her eyes. Turning back, she cleared her throat and steadied her voice while forcing a disapproving look on her face.

"I'm disappointed..." His face fell and she waited for a moment and then changed her look to one of glee. "That I've never had such an amazing project previously at a science fair I've judged! Theo, I don't know how to describe what you've done here. A seven year pot of soup. Nothing less than stunning! It's amazing, beautiful, a true work of both science and art."

His smile radiated. "Thank you, ma'am."

Her voice rose as if she were making an important proclamation to the watching group. "As a fellow scientist, I've confirmed your chicken soup as the greatest of all time."

She leaned close to him and whispered. "You'll be a hundred dollars richer after the show."

She didn't need to see the last four projects before making that decision. They weren't topping this. First prize was his. And maybe, rather than wood fired pizza, she could find some decent bread and ask Theo for another bowl.