There's a way to my heart, and it's obviously by way of cheese. What I didn't know until yesterday, though, is there's a way into my schedule, inside-out through my morals and under and around every re-reading of Michael Pollan I've done by way of a curated mix of smooshy dairy curd on a wooden or tile slab.
I stopped by Buzzfeed Food & Campbells Go party last night (it was partially catered by Murray's Cheese, don't think I didn't plan my day around it) and, rather unexpectedly, leaving with a digestive organ filled with burrata didn't wind up being the evening's notable take-home. The concept of the event was something having to do with the crossroads between food and art or paintings or I honestly don't even really know, because clearly, I was beelining for the soft stuff and nothing, not sweaty attendees or pushing past enormous purses nor a lack of crackers and plates was going to get in my way. But, with urns of the co-sponsored stews bubbling around the room like a live-action cafeteria-centric version of Hocus Pocus, I gave in and tried that new Campbells soup — you know, that Campbells soup — and as much as I hate to praise a sack of broth that's 70% of your daily sodium and bound to leave you sausage-fingered, it was good. It was GOOD!
Given, I hear Stephen Colbert's voice brilliantly ringing in my ears while watching every serious food writing opportunity instantly melt away by admitting its non-terrible-at-all-ness, but however sad, however true, this stuff is not nearly as wretched as I had expected from the Freshman-Year-ex-boyfriend prototype on the front of the sack. (Yes, it comes in a plastic satchel like those insta-Indian meals that magically cook in the microwave despite being an impossible vessel to use a spoon inside of.) These baggies of soup may kill your body's water surplus, cause you to chug a $5.99 1L bottle of Vita Coco and leave you destined for constant dehydration headaches, but! They're maybe sorta kinda worth it. Emphasis on "maybe" and "sorta kinda", since I took three bags on the way out and called them lunch 1, 2 and 3 for the rest of the work week. (I ate a half-frozen burrito for breakfast yesterday.
Will I turn into a human jerky stick from my already-dehydrated cells shriveling up at the first bite of chorizo-filled zalty zoup? Possibly. But as long as I get to feel youngish (watch the video, I beg you) while avoiding a four-hour roasted vegetable bonanza in preparation for a week of sack lunches, I'm willing to submit myself to the cause.