As an unfortunate member of both the clumsy and the socially awkward communities, I often look at recipes and consider whether that would be something I could eat in public. Some recipes are clearly written to create a beautiful centerpiece of food, but woe to anyone who actually tries to eat the damn thing. That leaves the eaters with the dilemma: avoid eating and risk offending the cook or attempt to eat and risk ruining upholstery, carpet, tablecloth, clothing, and/or dignity.
So yes, this Beef Soup in 1978's Better Homes and Gardens Soups & Stews Cook Book looks quite attractive:
It is colorful, full of orange carrots, green beans, yellow corn and bright pops of parsley. It's almost enough to distract you from the undead chicken that is haunting the foreground, trying to fix you with its hypnotic eyes. Yes, pick the beef soup, the beef.... Not the chicken! ("Why should an undead chicken care whether I choose beef or chicken soup?" you may well ask. "It's already undead anyway. How could its predicament get worse?" What you fail to take into account, dear reader, is that the undead chicken is out to peck at the living chickens until it can extract their sweet, sweet brains. The undead chicken does not want to have to compete with you. It is not worried that you will find an undead chicken to be a tempting treat, either, unless perhaps you are a cookbook writer, in which case you are surely easy enough to hypnotize and thus not a threat.)
While you were off on the tangent about undead chickens, though, I was mesmerized by something completely different. Yes, I am afraid of the corn on the cob. Why, why, why must the corn remain on the cob in the actual soup? There will be no clean and easy way to try to extract corn from a soup bowl and eat it off the cob as it drips broth and parsley everywhere. While I could understand wanting the cob to flavor the broth, why not just cut the corn off the cob before cooking and boil both the corn and the cob in the soup and remove the cobs before serving? I guess it's not as attractive or as much fun as seeing diners sweat over ruining all clothing and furnishings within an eight foot radius.
Makes 800 servings for people like me who pretend to be completely unable to perceive foods we know we will be unable to eat without making a scene.
Oh, I missed the soup, but I'd love another roll.