Thursday brings us a rainy day and another
reminder that autumn has officially settled in. We may have seen the last of
eighty-degree weather until next spring. Time to put the shorts away and find
out if the furnace still works.
Today is National Cheese Curd Day, not to be confused with Cheez Whiz and that great line from The Blues Brothers, “Ya got my Cheez Whiz, boy?”
All this talk about cheese has me craving a bowl of Wisconsin beer cheese soup from Goldyburgers.
Years ago, while having lunch at Goldyburgers, my dad shared one of his great pearls of wisdom.
“Moose, you can tell a good joint by the effort they put into their soup. Good soup, good joint. Horseshit soup, never return!”
My Oldman wasn't a restaurant critic. He didn't need five stars, a glowing newspaper review, or some jagoff restaurant critic on channel two telling him where to eat.
All he needed was a spoon and a bowl of soup.
His philosophy was simple. If a kitchen cared enough to make a good pot of soup, chances were they gave a damn about everything else coming out of it.
…And if they couldn't get the soup right, why the hell would you trust them with a cheeseburger or a turkey club?
There is probably a bigger lesson in there about life, pride, and putting effort into the little things.
Or maybe my Oldman just really liked a good bowl of soup.
Either way, all these years later, I can still hear him saying it.
“Good soup, good joint. Horseshit soup, never return!”
Not bad advice from the Oldman.
…And certainly worth remembering the next time somebody puts a bowl of horseshit in front of you.
Have a great Thursday!
Today is National Cheese Curd Day, not to be confused with Cheez Whiz and that great line from The Blues Brothers, “Ya got my Cheez Whiz, boy?”
All this talk about cheese has me craving a bowl of Wisconsin beer cheese soup from Goldyburgers.
Years ago, while having lunch at Goldyburgers, my dad shared one of his great pearls of wisdom.
“Moose, you can tell a good joint by the effort they put into their soup. Good soup, good joint. Horseshit soup, never return!”
My Oldman wasn't a restaurant critic. He didn't need five stars, a glowing newspaper review, or some jagoff restaurant critic on channel two telling him where to eat.
All he needed was a spoon and a bowl of soup.
His philosophy was simple. If a kitchen cared enough to make a good pot of soup, chances were they gave a damn about everything else coming out of it.
…And if they couldn't get the soup right, why the hell would you trust them with a cheeseburger or a turkey club?
There is probably a bigger lesson in there about life, pride, and putting effort into the little things.
Or maybe my Oldman just really liked a good bowl of soup.
Either way, all these years later, I can still hear him saying it.
“Good soup, good joint. Horseshit soup, never return!”
Not bad advice from the Oldman.
…And certainly worth remembering the next time somebody puts a bowl of horseshit in front of you.
Have a great Thursday!
