What do you get when you put a microphone in front of two Original Soupman Soup Club Members and best-friend-bloggers, Natalie and Dylan?

A declaration of their passion for the Original Soupman’s Soups?

A recipe for a warm, happy belly hugging your heart?

Or something else…

Int. Natalie’s Apartment – Evening

DYLAN: It’s so sad. The Olympics are over.

NATALIE: Really?

DYLAN: You don’t seem quite as distraught.

NATALIE: Me and the snow? We don’t get along.

DYLAN: I almost forgot.

NATALIE: Almost. It’s fresh in my mind.

DYLAN: This was years ago. You have to let it go.

NATALIE: Don’t know if I ever will.

DYLAN: Why don’t you tell everyone out there the story of you verses winter wonderland?

NATALIE: I’m considering so many bad, unrepeatable words to say to you right now. But I’ll save them for later.

DYLAN: Noted.

NATALIE: So, my family likes to take trips. . . together. And, some of the time it’s great. Other times? Not so much. This particular sojourn, they decide we’re headed to the mountains. Not just to the mountains though. We’re going skiing.

DYLAN: And you’ve been skiing…?

NATALIE: Not before or since have I been skiing.

DYLAN: I love this story.

NATALIE: You would. Now stop interrupting. My cousins are active people. They go out in the daylight and do things. Like golf. And boats. And… I don’t know… Mahjong in the park. Outdoor activities. My immediate family, we are hands on, creative people. We cook. We arts and crafts. We are crafty people.

DYLAN: I love your grandmother’s cooking.

NATALIE: Again, interrupting. Anyway… The cousins decide they want to hit the slopes. In the rush and confusion of the FIRST DAY, I somehow get confused and follow my oldest cousin up a medium slope. Whatever those are called. Do you remember?

DYLAN: I was told not to interrupt.


DYLAN: I think it’s a Blue something…

NATALIE: Blue square. That’s right. I remember now. I end up on this not-a-bunny-slope, slope. I didn’t pay attention. Or my cousin was having a laugh. Whatever the case, I’m staring down at this white abyss of certain death. And I push off. Don’t know if it was because I was worried about being made fun of or just fight over flight. Or flight over fight. Whatever it was, I was off.

DYLAN: Like a shot.

NATALIE: Not really. Slowly. I swear people were flashing by me, Blurs. I’m just praying that I don’t hit a tree. Or another person. After what feels like four hours I see the bottom. And that’s when I topple over. Just tip and fall. I lay there for what seems like ANOTHER eternity. Flat on my back. Skis pointing to the sky.

(Dylan cracks up laughing.)

NATALIE: What? What’s so funny, jerk?!

DYLAN:  I can just see them sending a Saint Bernard.  Sitting beside you, waiting for them to rescue you. Barrel around his neck.

NATALIE: But instead of rum in the barrel around his neck, it’s piping hot soup?

DYLAN: It always comes back to the soup.

NATALIE: That’s why we’re here in the first place. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

DYLAN: Especially if it has a spoon filled with soup. Cause that’s just a waste.

NATALIE: My lobster bisque?

DYLAN:  It’s back. Back in stock already!

NATALIE: And we’ll also be back next week. I’m Natalie.

DYLAN: I am Dylan.

NATALIE: #makeamemorywitheverybowl!



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