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In the Soup... By Annabel Buckingham & Thomasina Miers

Our book, Soup Kitchen is the result of two year’s work and an incredible journey. We were somewhat cautious about taking the project on (we had known each other only two months and had no experience of the publishing world and no funding for the project) but there was an inevitability about it right from the start and we both felt a tremendous excitement about making it happen. Undeterred by the obstacles (Annabel couldn’t cook and Tommi knew nothing about design) we speed-read the ‘Writers and Artists’ Yearbook’ in an afternoon and got on the phone to talk to chefs about soup. The results amazed even optimists like us. Within a week we had 12 recipes, by the next we had 40. The collection now boasts 100 recipes by an incredible collection of Britain’s favourite chefs (over half the chefs have taken the time to create an original recipe for us). Click here for list of chefs

It’s been a trip. We’ve found ourselves in some amazing situations — from slick publishing houses and star-studded launches to incredible soup kitchens and blooming allotments. We’ve donned suits at Book Fairs and worn blue hairnets and white coats at the Maldon salt vats. We hope this book conveys something of the amazing story. Click here if you’re interested in some of our more bizarre encounters

The motivation behind Soup Kitchen is to raise money for the varied and wonderful work of homeless charities across the UK. Far from reinforcing the stereotypes of homelessness and soup, we hope that it will enable a widespread interest in seasonal cooking and top chefs to benefit the widest possible audience.

Annabel and Tommi

To read about the background to the book, and how it all started, please click here

A poem by Tommi’s brother

There was a disorientated moth,
that fell into a bowl of broth;
as it fought in the goop,
it tasted the soup,
and let out a startled cough:
‘My god’ It did cry
‘I don’t care if I die’
‘so good is this soupy froth.’
‘I’ve put up a fight’
‘but I’m drawn to the light’
as it was, after all, a moth