KIOSK HELLO

I just had a order from some­one with ‘hunger’ in their name — they ordered the tremont nail sam­ple set, which reminded me of a tale we were told as kids in Swe­den: How to make a soup out of a nail (no not the one on your fin­ger, silly). It’s a won­der­ful tale of how resource­ful you some­time have to be to make ends meet, but it’s also a tale hit­ting close to home of what we are doing. Hit­ting the nail on the head so to speak… Thank you dear you for let­ting us make you some soup! Hope you liked it! We sure did have fun cook­ing it!

Once upon a time a tramp was mak­ing his way through a for­est. He had not seen a house for many an hour, and he won­dered where he might find shel­ter for the night. He thought to him­self how nice it would be to warm up in front of a fire, and to have some din­ner. But the sun was sink­ing, and there wasn’t a cot­tage in sight.

Just then he met an old woman out gath­er­ing branches and twigs for kin­dling. “Hello and good evening!” said the tramp, glad as he could be to see her.

“Good evening,” said the woman. “Where are you from?”

“Here and there, far and near,” said the tramp. “I’ve seen the world, and I’m on my way home.”

Is that so?” said the woman. “And what is it you want hereabouts?”

“Well, I could use a place to stay for the night,” he said.

“Just as I thought!” said the woman. “You had bet­ter keep on going, for my house is not an inn.”

“My dear woman,” said the tramp, “it is shame­ful to be so hard­hearted and cross. We human beings are sup­posed to help each other when we can.”

“Help each other? There’s a good joke. Who do you sup­pose will help me? I haven’t even got a scrap in the house! No, you’d bet­ter be on your way,” she said.

But the tramp did not give up so eas­ily. The old woman kept on com­plain­ing about her own trou­bles, and the tramp kept on urg­ing and argu­ing, until at last she said all right, he could sleep on the floor if he wanted to.

He thanked her for her kind­ness. “Rather be warm on the hard floor, than shiver and freeze out­side the door,” said he. This tramp had a quick wit and was always ready with a rhyme.

As soon as he got inside the house, he could tell that the woman was not as poor as she pre­tended to be, only stingy and greedy.

So he asked her in his most polite and pleas­ant man­ner for some­thing to eat.

“How do you think I can feed you when I haven’t had a bit of food myself all day long?” said the woman.

But the tramp knew bet­ter. He said: “Noth­ing all day long? Poor old granny, you must be starv­ing! Bet­ter lend me a pot, then, and I shall make din­ner for both of us.”

“You’ll make din­ner!” said the woman. “How will you make din­ner if there isn’t any food?”

“Leave it to me,” said the tramp. “I’ve learned things on my trav­els that most peo­ple have never even heard of.”

The old woman won­dered what it was all about, so she let him have a pot.

He poured in some water, put it on the fire, and blew with all his might to get the flame going strong. Then he took from his pocket an ordi­nary nail, set it on the palm of his hand, turned it around three times, and dropped it into the pot.

The woman watched the nail sink down to the bot­tom. “What’s this going to be?” she asked.

“Nail soup,” said the tramp, and he began stir­ring the water with a stick.

“Nail soup?” asked the woman.

“That’s right, nail soup,” said the tramp.

The old woman thought she had seen and heard just about every­thing in her time, but mak­ing soup with a nail–well, that was some­thing new!

“If you want to learn how to make it,” said the tramp, “just watch me. Then you won’t ever again have to go all day with­out a bite.” He went on stir­ring the soup, and she watched as hard as she could.

“You know,” he said, “I have been mak­ing soup with this same nail for over a week, so our soup may be rather thin. Of course, if one had a speck offlour or sifted oat­meal to add to it, then we could be sure of a good meal. But,” he said, “we’ll have to do with­out it, and not think twice about it.” And he kept of stir­ring the soup.

“Wait, I might have some flour some­where,” said the old woman. She went to fetch it, and it was the finest sort.

The tramp sprin­kled the flour into the soup and kept on stir­ring, while the woman stared first at him and then at the pot and then back at him again.

“It’s com­ing along,” he said. “It’s almost good enough to serve for com­pany. Add a few pota­toes and a bit of salted beef, and it would be a dish fit for gen­tle­folks,” he said. “But we’ll have to do with­out it, and not think twice about it.”

The old woman thought for a while, and then she remem­bered where she might find some pota­toes, and even a bit of beef. She got them and gave them to the tramp, and he kept on stirring.

“This will be a grand soup,” he said. “It’s not every­one that gets to taste such a grand soup as this!”

“You don’t say!” said the woman. “Is that so! And just imagine–all from a nail!”

“All it lacks now is a lit­tle bar­ley and a drop of milk. Then we could invite the king to have some, if we wanted to.” said the tramp. “This is what the king him­self eats every evening–the king’s cook told me so.”

“Dear me! The king him­self!” cried the woman, slap­ping her knees.

“But we’ll have to do with­out it, and not think twice about it,” said the tramp.

The woman went to look, and sure enough, she did have some bar­ley; and there was also milk, as much as was needed. The tramp stirred and stirred and stirred. Then sud­denly he stopped and fished out the nail from the steam­ing kettle.

“It is ready,” he said. “Now we’ll have a feast, just like the king and queen. Except, of course, when they eat this kind of soup, they always have a sand­wich with it, and wine. And a table­cloth on the table. But we’ll have to do with­out it, and not think twice about it.”

Well, by this time the old woman was begin­ning to feel like quite a grand lady. She thought that if the king and queen had it that way, then she and the tramp might as well have it the same. She hur­ried to the cup­board and got out the wine bot­tle, glasses, cheese, but­ter, smoked beef and veal. The table could hardly hold it all.

Never in that old woman’s life had she had such a good time, and never had she tasted such rich soup–and to think that it was all from a nail! They ate and they drank and they danced around the room, and then they ate and drank some more. And when they finally got sleepy, and the tramp was going to lie down on the floor, the old woman said: “No, no! Such a per­son must have a bed to lie in.”

“It’s just like the sweet Christ­mas,” said the tramp. “In all my trav­els I have never met a nicer woman.” And he lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep.

When he got up the next morn­ing, the old woman gave him cof­fee and a bun. And before he said good-bye, she handed him a bright sil­ver piece. “And thank you for teach­ing me how to make soup with a nail,” she said, “because now that I know how, I shall always live in comfort.”

“That’s all right,” said the tramp. “It’s easy if you remem­ber to add some­thing good to it.”

Then the tramp went on his way, and the old woman stood at the door, watch­ing him go. “Such peo­ple don’t grow on trees,” she said.

(Retold by Harve Zemach, Fol­lett Pub­lish­ing, Chicago, 1964) — From http://www.soupsong.com/snail.html