Start the day before by hitchhiking to town, 40 km south, to get groceries or wheedle a ride from the neighbors. Amuse their precocious six year old in the backseat with rock paper scissors. At the supermarket, act alien to modern society and stare at the the produce sprinklers with deep puzzlement and fear. Shudder in disgust to imported kale. Find BRAGG. There is no soup without Bragg. Tell the cashier about the great snow boots you're wearing. Refuse any bags. Spend ten minutes by the bottled water stuffing the groceries into your mountain hikers' backpack with ergonomic precision. Hike along the beach for forty minutes, in those too-great snowboots, to the hitchhiking spot while praying to get a decent ride back home. At the spot, another neighbor almost runs you over in her jeep. Scream in mirth all the way home from this miraculous blessing of a ride.
The day of the soup.
Chop half an onion. Fry in grapeseed oil. That's the cheapest of the fancy oils. And it's not the rapeseed oil kind. Grapeseed. Use Bragg with the relish of Martha Stewart dousing her cooking in red wine. Toss in a gallon of water. Have mind short circuit from this point on and run on hunger and instinct. Chop carrots.. no.. peel beet.. no.. squash! damn the squash! Hack at the spaghetti squash with several knives until the carved pieces are flat enough to fit into a pot. Steam squash chunks. Chop a potato, handling the fish-filet knife with the finesse of a thumb-less toddler. Wonder if you're really losing it when most of the potato bits free-fall to the ground. Toss them in, and some yam. Gotta have the yam. Floor-yam that is. Hike the temp to high and spice up the soup's life with dry dill weed and turmeric, the only two spices (/grass bits) you're really comfortable using in cooking.

Chop half a head of red cabbage. Chop carrots. chop the damn beet. Those guys go into the soup at the almost very last because overcooking vegetables leeches out all the nutrients and vitamins and you're really actually quite protective of those nutrients and vitamins. You're their only attorney in this kitchen. You've anguished over the vitamins denied all their right to be, from seeing parent after parent after grandparent blanch the bejeezus out of all vegetables as though exorcising demons in scalding water. Not this time. The beets and carrots and red cabbage remains to the last. Almost very last.
Oh crap the potatoes and yams have been on a rolling boil for the whole of the inner lecture on vitamins.
Turn that shit down and pry open a can of super awesome organic chickpeas packed in Kombu Seaweed(!)...(kombu?) not salt. Toss in the beans and ... Millet, sure, pour in some millet. Good ol' millet.
Scoop the handfuls of squash slime and seed, onion paper and outer cabbage skins from the counter and into the compost.
Weigh the risks of stealing over the other neighbor's to collect some kale. That neighbor is building himself a house, and has backhoed a whack of dirt from where the foundation is. That dirt now grows the best dam kale for miles around. Besides the frosts have already hit it and now it's fantastic. Decide against it because it's dark and there is an insane DOG with an insane owner that are visiting the neighbor with the fabulous kale.
Go for the leek. Leeks are green. Plenty of vitamins in Leeks. In fact leeks are high in manganese and protect against ovarian cancer... (according to whfoods.com)Fry the leeks, separate from the soup, with ginger and garlic, expecting the caramelizing effect of the leeks and garlic to take the soup by storm. (It did)
The yams are now perfectly soft and the millet's not, but screw it, it will get there yet. Turn the heat off, move the pot off the stove and tumble in the cabbage and carrot pieces. The beets get fried separately. Then added. Borsh trick. Enhances the red color.
Cover the pot. Let the newcomers stew passively in the hot red soupy juices. Leave the soup stand while you gallop over to the chicken coop to shut the coop door for the night. Come back inside smelling like chicken poop. Scrub hands while muttering a la Lady MacBeth "out! out damned spot!".
Stretch out the kink that set into the lower back while snatching food fallen from the chopping board.
Patience is a virtue, that cabbage won't soften itself. Heat will. And time.
Eye the soup. Make eyes AT the soup. Edge closer to the soup. Lift the lid. Peer inside. The leeks have gone a brighter vital green, the chickpeas are floating.
Scoop a bowl.. spoon to mouth..
Something is amiss. This is close but not quite "The Best damn Borsh Ever". Search the fridge... for.... Indonesian Pineapple & Mango Curry Sauce... hot damn!... ingredients: Pineapple, mangoes, peaches, roasted peppers, onions, shallot, garilc, ginger, vinegars, olive oil, coconut milk, fesh hers, mustard flour, lemon grass, hot habanero peppers, kosher salt. God.. even the salt sounds sexy. consider drinking the the curry sauce instead..
Splash some into soup.
Taste.
Fuck yeah.
It's making sweet love to my tastebuds.
Feel proud. Feel very proud.
Spread the tale.