Soup of the Day

“You can lie to your friends, to your god, and to your therapist. But don’t lie to the Soup.”

— Lars, The Keeper

There are many things in the Pattern which defy classification. Some are eldritch. Some are divine. Some are bread that has developed ambitions. And then there is the Soup.

The Soup of the Day is served once per day, at the same time, though no one has ever successfully determined what that time is. The Inn simply knows. One copper gets you a ladleful. The ladle gets you a bowl. The bowl gets you... consequences.

It comes with bread. The bread is warm, crusty, and emotionally validating. Do not ask for seconds. You will not need them. The Soup knows how much is enough.

Mama Jori and the Pot

Mama Jori stirs the Soup. No one else is allowed to.

The pot arrived with her. It is made of a metal that does not tarnish, dent, cool, or participate in academic studies. Attempts to examine the pot have failed, been reversed, or resulted in philosophical revelations followed by silence. The Conspiracy Club nods solemnly when asked about it. This is considered confirmation.

Do not touch the pot. No one touches the pot. The last person who tried now answers to "Shrubbery."

The Soup Itself

The contents of the Soup vary daily. Sometimes it tastes like garden herbs and slow-boiled comfort. Sometimes it tastes like something you forgot to forgive. One patron once described it as “the smell of home on a coat you haven’t worn since childhood.” He cried. The bowl refilled itself. He cried again.

Whatever it contains, the Soup is always nourishing. Not just physically—it reaches further. It restores balance. Heals most mundane illnesses. Eases pain. Clears the fog of grief, guilt, or emotional bureaucracy. Magical ailments are handled case by case, with all decisions made by the Soup and not subject to appeal.

The Soup does not cure you. It aligns you. And sometimes, that means healing.

It has, on at least one recorded occasion, reversed death. This is not a recommendation. It was not deliberate. The man in question remained confused for several days and developed an aversion to cutlery.

Predictable Unpredictability

The Soup does not offer consistent results. It offers correct ones.

Many experience peace. Some get answers they didn’t know they were asking. A few leave the table and do something impossible, like apologise or finish a project. One woman remembered a lullaby her mother never sang and hummed it until the fire went out.

Side effects include sudden clarity, nostalgic sobbing, and the urgent desire to call someone you haven’t spoken to in years. Occasionally, rhyming. In one case, a brief but complete understanding of the universe’s emotional architecture, which faded by dessert.

You do not ask what the Soup will do.

You ask if you’re ready to find out.

A Note on Disrespect

The Soup does not react well to mockery, arrogance, or those who think they're above having feelings. If you’re lying to yourself—or worse, trying to bottle it for resale—you may encounter a condition known as Souplash .

Symptoms include:

• Speaking in involuntary poetry
• Confessing things you didn’t realise you remembered
• Seeing your past ladled out in front of you, metaphorically or otherwise
• Becoming emotionally transparent to bystanders
• In one case: precipitation

Bottling the Soup is, to put it academically, a very bad idea. Efforts to preserve, commodify, or “franchise” the Soup have resulted in silence, memory erasure, meteorological phenomena, and at least one instance of a travelling merchant becoming unrecognisably improved. He now lives as a folk song.

You do not take the Soup from the table.
The Soup decides when it is done with you. Not the other way around.

Mama Jori

She does not explain the Soup.

She stirs it, tastes it, nods once, and serves. That is all.

The kitchen is hers. The pot is hers. The Soup is hers in a way that suggests ownership, guardianship, and mutual recognition between ancient powers.

She is not a goddess.
She is treated like one anyway.
This is wise.

If she is unhappy, the Soup gets... testy. You do not want the Soup to be testy.

Final Thoughts

If you take nothing else from this entry—and experience suggests you won’t—remember this:

The Soup is not a cure, a weapon, or a shortcut. It is not yours to use. It is yours to accept.

Approach it honestly. Eat slowly. Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to answer. And for the love of the Pattern, do not try to take it with you.

You won’t like what follows.
The Soup will be fine.