Potato-skin soup

One of the benefits of being in a relationship and sharing a home with someone is that you’re able to really appreciate having the house to yourself for a couple days.  And one of the benefits of having the house to yourself for a couple days is that you can eat anything you want.

This morning I wanted 8 slices of bacon.   Thought about making eggs, too, but then I took my first sip of coffee and realized I had 8 slices of bacon in the oven, and that would probably do me.  I should mention here that I used to be a bacon fryer, but a few months ago I became a bacon baker, and I will never fry bacon again, unless I’m camping or I have some time to kill and just really want to savor the sweet aroma and lively sizzle of a burning house.

But this story isn’t about breakfast.  It’s about soup.  And the reason I wanted 8 slices of bacon this morning is because I really wanted some soup tonight — potato-skin soup, actually.  I love potato skins, loaded.  And by that I mean I love loaded potato skins, covered in cheese, sour cream, bacon and chives, but I also mean that I love potato skins when I’m loaded.  In fact I don’t think I’ve ever had them when not in a bar.  I’d say that’s one of the benefits of not going to bars much: you can truly appreciate potato skins.

Potato skin soup

Beer, cheese, sour cream, bacon grease -- what's not to love?

Given my esteem for this culinary classic, I was understandably concerned that it wouldn’t translate well to the liquid world.  In hindsight, I was a fool to worry.  Potatoes, bacon, cheese and sour cream?  Check. Corn?  Sure! Beer?  %*@# yeah! No chives on hand, but I’ve never met a problem that an onion couldn’t fix.  Cut it with a little milk and, well, even I was surprised by how well the soup reproduced the entire potato skin experience I’ve come to know and love:

  • Unhealthy and kinda worrisome: I think I lose points here for using light beer, but the dairy trifecta probably makes up for that.  Oh, and I didn’t actually use any bacon.  I used the grease of 8 bacon strips.
  • It reminded me of a dive bar:  A little greasy, not much to look at, but warm, comforting and full of beer.  Wouldn’t want to take a date here.  Or a fig.  They’d get beat up.
  • Delicious.

Best of all, there’s some left over, so I’ve got a great foundation for my next soup journey.  And this journey has a special challenge.  The girl gets back in two days; with any luck I’ll be able to transform the soup so that she’ll never suspect how decadently this journey started.


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