I did make Kyle special soup yesterday, but it wasn't just for him. I've been eyeing this recipe for a while now. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that it's a New England Soup Factory recipe. I love that place and that cookbook. [aside: if you are local, go have her pumpkin crab bisque. She had it last week at the Newton location and it is out of this world!!!]

Anyway... the soup that caught my eye this time was Onion, Apple, Cheddar soup and nothing sums up fall in New England better than those ingredients. Made with slow-cooked onions, apples, grated cheddar and seasoned with apple cider, thyme and cumin, it is so good. None of the flavors overpower the soup; it's just a great melding of fall in a bowl. Kyle and I were both big fans and we've polished off more than half of the pot in the last 24 hours. I sliced the onions thinly in rings, and I will rough chop them a little more next time; intact rings are a little tough to maneuver on a spoon. But other than that... no changes needed.

I will say that the soup was hard-won. I started slicing (onions and apples) yesterday morning and was having a great time cooking and watching GameDay on ESPN [another aside: ohmigoodness GO VANDY!!!]. Kyle was feeling a little less than 100%, but was curled up on the couch also enjoying GameDay. In fact, I might have been composing a blog post in my head about fall and football and good soup and yay Saturday mornings at home together.

Anyway, about halfway through the soup I realized we didn't have any more chicken stock. Of course I'm irritated that the box of chicken stock is still present but empty, but as this is likely my fault, I pull on a sweatshirt and shoes and go downstairs to run to the grocery and buy stock.

When I get downstairs, I open the front door to a completely empty parking lot. Not a single car. Including mine. Hmm.

I run through the options in my head: someone has stolen my car. Unlikely. Kyle parked it on the street for some reason? Also unlikely. And then it dawns on me...

I consider calling Kyle on my cell phone, but decide that this news is better delivered in person. Up three flights of steps I walk into the apartment and ask, "Do you where our car is?" He is silent and I'm sure he's running through the same options in his head. "No." So I tell him, illustrating one of our finer moments as a union of two reasonably intelligent people.

It is parked at the T. In a parking lot .79 miles away from our house. That's farther away than the grocery store where I need to go buy the chicken stock for the soup that is already on the stove.

On Friday we took the T (subway) into Boston for dinner and we left our car, like we always do, at a lot next to the stop. On Friday night, friends offered us a ride home and we happily accepted. They pulled into our parking lot. They parked in our parking space. And never once did it strike us as odd that car was not there.

So on Saturday morning, halfway into a soup recipe I've been craving for a week, I realize that not only do I need to go to the grocery for one last thing, but I need to walk three-quarters of a mile in the opposite direction to get my car first.