About 40 years ago I had just graduated from University.  I had nothing better to do than wander through Europe.  I started in Germany.  It was winter and very cold.  I ate a lot of soup to keep warm.  The language barrier was always present, but I muddled through.  One day I could see the soup pot as I walked into a Gasthaus for lunch.  It looked interesting, so I ordered some.  It was delicious!  To the waitress’ delight, I had several servings.  I had to be able to order it again so I asked her “what kind of soup?”  She didn’t understand.  My German was poor and she spoke no English.  After a pantomime she understood and triumphantly informed me it was Tagesuppe!

A couple of days later and in a different town, I confidently ordered tagesuppe for lunch.  I got chicken noodle.  I patiently waited for the waitress to return and explained that I didn’t order chicken noodle, but wanted tagesuppe.  She got angry and said a few choice words in German that I did not know but understood well.  I ate the chicken noodle.

Over the next few days I had similar, but less confrontational experiences.  I devised a strategy.  I found a well regarded restaurant where the staff spoke English.  I chatted up a friendly waitress and then explained my dilemma.  She laughed at me!  I was offended.  Then, in a manner reserved for small children; she explained that tagesuppe meant soup of the day…

Although I have had many wonderful soups since, I have yet to find my long lost tagesuppe.

Over the years I have often thought of my tagesuppe and have occasionally told the story.  Every day since, has been it’s own “soup” of experiences and observations.  I plan to write about a few of them here.  Some historical, some contemporary.  Some will be seasoned with enough fiction to protect identities; or to add needed flavor.   The soup of the day will be my own creation.  You may recognize the stock.  You may not agree, your memory may contradict mine, you may not believe; I hope you will be entertained.