The soup that voted

Mira Cole · Kitchen · 11.09.2026

I left a pot on the stove and went to find salt. The cupboard was a small archaeology site: three empty jars, one lid without a jar, and a postcard from a cousin who still owes us a pan.

When I came back the lid was off and the dog was sitting like a mayor. The soup had a wooden spoon in it, upright, as if someone had called a meeting. I asked the dog who had voted. He looked at the spoon. The spoon did not deny it.

We ate the soup anyway. It tasted of bay leaf and civic duty. I wrote the minutes on a napkin and pinned them to the fridge. Motion carried.