Right now, the most perfect thing in my life appears to be a bowl of turnip soup. I know. Turnip soup sounds like a punishment, it sounds like near starvation or prison rations but I'm here to say that nothing can be further from the truth. As I sit at my table with the bowl nestled in my hands, its pungent earthy turnip scent swirls around me and steams up the kitchen windows. I listen to the wet, rough rainstorm just on the other side of the windowpane and I consider my good fortune to be exactly here, exactly right now, with exactly this bowl of turnip soup.