The Soup Swap

By Kathy Gunst

A few years back, a friend called and asked me to be part of a soup swap. I figured it was just another version of a potluck (and, after living in New England for over 30 years, I am just plain old sick of potlucks), but I let her explain. What if we each made a large pot of soup, got together at a different person’s home each winter month and had a party? At the end of the night, she said, we all go home with many different types of soup. You cook once, get to hang out with friends, and fill your fridge and freezer with a bunch of meals. Do the math. It’s a win-win.

Winter in my small town in southern Maine can be cold, gloomy and isolating. A soup swap sounded like a great way to give the season new focus. All that winter (and for years after), 12 of us got together on the second Sunday of each month. Bundled up, we trekked through blizzards and sub-zero temperatures schlepping pots of soups to one another’s kitchens.

At first the soups were basic—chicken noodle, tomato, vegetable purees. But everyone became more adventurous with each swap. “I started using new herbs and spices, and got into experimenting,” said a friend in our group. “I just started cooking more, in general,” said another.

Each time I arrived at a friend’s house and there were pots simmering on the stove, many bottles of wine and local beer chilling, I tended to forget about the weather. The gray world suddenly smelled like sweet, earthy winter onions, simmering chicken, chiles and mushrooms.

One of the rituals we developed at our swaps was to share a story about the inspiration for the soup we brought. Some of these stories involved finding a special ingredient at a winter farmers’ market, or discovering a new recipe on our travels. But the majority of the soups, and the stories that went along with them, had to do with family traditions and nostalgia.

Much has been written about soup as comfort food (its healing properties are undisputed), but there’s also no denying soup’s ability to evoke powerful memories: the Campbell’s tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches that my mother served up; the rich bread-and-cheese-crowned French onion soup I tasted on my first trip to France; and the matzo ball soup with fresh dill my mother-in-law taught me to cook for Passover were some of what inspired me. And, of course, there were the soups I made for my own daughters when they were young and craved the salty canned variety their friends were eating. Slowly, over time, they took to loving their mother’s homemade versions.

After a year of trading soups, recipes and stories with friends, I decided to write a book about this tradition. Soup Swap (Chronicle Books) is more than a collection of favorite recipes; it’s also a guide to throwing your own party and learning how to build community—whether with neighbors, family or your book club.

At the end of every gathering, when I braved the elements to return home with my stash—a Turkish vegetable soup with lamb and beef meatballs, a roasted pumpkin soup for lunch the next day and a hearty cauliflower soup for dinner the day after that (not to mention a freezer filled with the others)—I knew I had meals to last all week, but so much more.

I like to think that soup is capable of more than just sustenance; it also feeds your soul. Sharing soup with friends and neighbors, and going home with the leftovers, is like taking home bowls of friendship and comfort, nutrition and warmth.

KATHY GUNST is a James Beard Award–winning writer and regular contributor to NPR. She lives and swaps soups in South Berwick, Maine.