Yesterday I chopped onions and celery and carrots. I peeled potatoes and sliced them into quarters, then eighths. I unearthed a bay leaf from the spice cabinet and found some parsley from the fridge.

The potatoes were snowy white, and the large carrots made ducat-like rounds, fell from the knife with a crack and a burst of sweetness. The puny celery (is there a shortage this year?) needed little skinning. The onions were less pungent than some, so my eyes didn’t water.

The kitchen filled with the aromas of simmering beef and marrow bones, as I added canned tomatoes and the sliced vegetables to the broth. The mixture simmered, and with each stir, the vegetables softened, adding their juices to the broth. The individual ingredients began to give way, to meld, to become one.

It took most of the afternoon, but by dinner time there was a passable vegetable soup to sip. It was delicious, but it will be much better tomorrow. And even better the next day.