There is a Midgardian children’s rhyme about a footwear-obsessed woman punishing her supernumerary offspring by providing them only potage for their supper and then sending them straight to their nightly repose.*
Clearly, Midgardians view the consumption of soup as a penitential act. Or at least that’s how I read it. It makes sense, then, that the humans are preparing and serving a simple soup supper as one of the final acts of their yearly Lenten observances. (I’d say “festivities,” but Lent’s not supposed to be festive. Perhaps it should be Lenten “miseries.”
Oh. Hmmm. Perhaps it won’t be too bad. Look, Sigyn, there is a marvelous salad.
Which is apparently not for the soup supper. How disappointing! No, it looks as if we shall be saladless. And breadless, just as in the quaint little jingle about bad parenting.
Different mortals have concocted different soups. Vegetarian chili, potato, split pea… All homemade and lovingly simmered. What have the humans I know brought?
Look, Sigyn–they’re CHEATING! Yes, I know they’ve had “the busy week from Hel,” but everyone else managed to make the time to actually cook, so no sympathy from me. What kind of soup comes in a screaming yellow packet, anyway?
Made from scratch my eye! How lazy can you get?! Just add water and it’s soup already. Pfft. No love there.
Personally, I went for the chili.
*With surreal juvenile literature like that, Asgard’s tales of world-binding serpents, eight-legged horses, etc. seem distinctly less fantastic.