Archeology teaches us that humans already used fire sporadically, wherever it appeared, more than a million years ago. About 400,000 years ago we learned to control it, to turn it on and off as we pleased, and thanks to this our lives lengthened, because we were able to nourish ourselves more and better by cooking, and also because this allowed us to extend the days, scratch a few extra hours of light to the darkness, and stay awake, warm, see each other's faces, in the glow of the flames, at night.
In that space of fascinating radiance around the fire we simultaneously built, beyond the globe, wherever there was a human group sheltering from the cold, consciousness of being and belonging, social and cultural identitysharing stories, creating myths, reinforcing traditions, stimulating the imagination, cooking and telling stories.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a country far, far away, there was a war. A terrible war. As everyone knows, when there is war there are no people to work the land, the fields burn, the animals flee, the wheat is not planted, the grain is not ground, there is no flour, there is no bread. There is hunger. And fear.
In these, on a cold morning, a soldier arrives, ragged, dry, emaciated, tired, in a lost and lonely town. Starving, he approaches the first house and knocks on the door. He begs for a crust of bread from the suspicious little eyes that peek through the half-open gate, and it slams shut amidst expletives and insults, “crazy! for you if there is no one for anyone!” House after house, door after door, between blows and kicks, the soldier always obtains the same response to his request, “crazy! Get out!”
Head down, dejected, the soldier leaves and prepares to continue on his way to try his luck in the next village when, already at the exit of the town, he finds a group of girls doing laundry in the river and, around them, fluttering , a handful of children. He flashes a smile, has an idea, and shouts enthusiastically, “Hey girls! Has anyone ever tried stone soup? Ha! There is no better stone soup in the world than mine!” The girls burst out laughing, but the children… Oh, the children! They instantly leave whatever they had in their hands and run to gather around the soldier, “stone soup? What is stone soup? Is it delicious?” they shout around him. “Rich, no. Delicious! The thing is that in order to make it I need a very large pot, water, twigs to light a fire, a ladle and a handful of the best quality stones.” As soon as he has finished the sentence, the children run off in all directions to reappear, after a few minutes, with everything the soldier has asked for.
He lights the fire, places the large pot on top, fills it with water, and prepares to carefully study the stones that the little ones have collected. He separates ten, cleans them carefully and throws them into the water, which is already beginning to heat up, one by one. The children, impatient and curious creatures by nature, with wide eyes, do not miss any detail of the soldier's ceremonious movements and ask, “Is it ready yet? Can we try it? How much longer?” “Calm down,” he replies. Slowly, he takes a little of the broth with the ladle, blows, tastes it and nods. “Delicious. An excellent stone soup is coming out. “It would only need, perhaps, a pinch of salt.” A girl stands up instantly “My mother has salt at home!” She runs out and returns with a bowl full of salt, which they put into the pot. After a couple of minutes, the soldier tastes the soup again, “Hmmm delicious. Indeed. “It would only need, perhaps, a tomato tip.” A little boy immediately jumps out: “My mother has tomatoes at home!”, and the little one runs off and goes to his house to search through the pantry until he finds the tomato and takes it to where the big pot is boiling. The river girls, who observe the scene in silence from a distance, begin to understand what the game is about. One after another, the little children, who have always been creatures prone to participate in the extraordinary, bring ingredients and throw them into the pot, which boils, unstoppable. A few leaves of cabbage, a few stalks of lettuce, a couple of potatoes, a ham bone, a ball of suet, a handful of dried chickpeas. There are even those who appear with a chicken leg!
After four hours of cooking, that pot full of water, stones and things emanates an aroma that no one had smelled in the town for years. The soldier stands up, announces that the soup is ready and sends the children to go door to door, throughout the town, calling to the people, urging everyone to grab plates, bowls, pots, jars, spoons. and knives, and to help themselves to soup, of which there is something for everyone.
This story is, translated in my own way, Xesco Boix's version, which I listened to as a child on cassette, of a traditional story that has as many versions as people have told it. His first written appearance was titled Soupe au Caillou and was published by a French journalist, Madame du Noyer, in 1720. In English it was first published in a magazine in 1806, from where it quickly jumped to America two years later. According to the Portuguese version, the events take place in the surroundings of Almeirim. The same story is known as clove soup in the Scandinavian countries. In Russia, ax porridge. Today the story is yours.
Because it's Christmas, I have allowed myself the license to tell you a story, as if we were around a fire, as if to remember who we are. If only because it's Christmas, there's no shortage of soup for anyone.
Merry christmas.
#Don39t #soup #Christmas #it39s #stones