Thanks, Lara. I'll be happy to pay you back Tuesday for a large bowl of Testicle Soup (wish that had a less visceral name), and a side of crispy fried caterpillars (can I have them extra crispy?) and ... ummmmm ... looking, looking ... Durian. No... Oc len xao dua with some of Lara's fish sauce on the side. Yeah, that's the ticket. I feel adventurous and hungry.

As I wait for my order, my thoughts wander... I love soup. Any kind of soup. Is there a kinder, more adaptable friend in the food world than soup? I think not.

Who soothes you when you are ill? Who refuses to leave you when you are impoverished and stretches its resources to give a hearty sustenance and cheer? Who warms you in the winter and cools you in the summer? Yet who also is capable of doing honor to your richest table and impressing your most demanding guests? Soup does its loyal best, no matter what undignified conditions are imposed upon it. You don't catch steak hanging around when you're poor and sick, do you?

Soup breathes reassurance, it offers consolation; after a weary day it promotes sociability... There is nothing like a bowl of hot soup, it's wisp of aromatic steam teasing the nostrils into quivering anticipation.

I believe I once considerably scandalized myself by declaring that clear soup was a more important factor in life than a clear conscience.

Wasn't it Confuscius who said "Between soup and love, the first is better."