I love soup. It can be gumbo or split pea or chowder or gazpacho, and no matter the season I’ve got to have it. The first time Hanna met my parents I promised her that my dad would mess up his shirt at some point during the dinner, but I was the one who dropped a big spoonful of soup on my shirt almost immediately. It didn’t matter – I got the girl, I got my soup, and the stain came out in the wash.