The chorizo conundrum

Chori – tso? Chori – tho? Every time I have to say this word out loud, panic sets in. I have Googled how to say it, many, many times, and yet I always forget the correct way to say it. I refuse to look it up again, even when writing this article. Perhaps I should tattoo it, Memento-style, on my forearm so that when I invariably order it at a tapas restaurant, I don’t feel like a complete idiot. This is a shame, as I love chorizo and frequently mention it in everyday conversation. We all have our cross to bear.

Our solemn vow – there is meat in the soup

When I read that a soup is meat-based somehow (i.e. chicken, or beef or whatever), my eyes begin to slowly roll back in my head with cynicism. I am mentally prepared for the tiniest strand of chicken to float by, so insignificant that it doesn’t require chewing of any sort. I did, in this soup find the chorizo chunks, and although very small they are certainly detectable. They have been rendered soft by living in a tin of mostly water, but predominantly just lend a pungent chorizo smell to the whole room you’re eating this soup in.

Al-don’t-e

Pasta in soup is as classic as they come. Soup needs a carb like a car needs a handbrake. You can get by without it, but you wouldn’t really want to routinely. Pasta outside of the Tinned Soupiverse (this is what we’re calling it now) is generally at its best when slightly firmer with a good ‘bite’ to it – you know, just like nonna used to make. This is as sloppy and wet as a fisherman’s trousers. I’ve had jelly firmer than this orzo which you could barely call solid matter.

Wateriness

The scourge of the Tinned Soupiverse (starting to feel natural now isn’t it?) is wateriness. Watery soup reminds you that what you’re eating is mostly liquid, and actually, now that you think about it, not filling at all? “I should have made a sandwich” is all you’ll be thinking after you’ve had some truly watery Tinned Soups. This is on the verge of being too watery, but is saved by the sheer quantity of carrots. It’s thin ice though, as this soup is unrelentingly wet.

Pungenceness

Opening the lid on this soup is like plunging your head into a kitchen garden. Apart from being assaulted by a chorizo sausage (which I think would actually hurt a fair bit) you are showered with herbs of all stars and stripes. When I was a student, ‘Mixed Herbs’ would be thrown into whatever budget food I was cooking that night in the hopes that flavour would just somehow increase with no regards as to which herbs were involved. This soup is just like that basically. It’s Herbier than Hancock.

(this is a jazz joke)

Conclusion

The inclusion of lots of things in your soup doesn’t help when they all just strong flavours that don’t necessarily go together. It’s an all liquid flavour mess that isn’t too unpleasant, but not really a recommend.