Fillip: Broth

I finally know how to soup up my life.

I have felt for some time that I need a change of career. With the exception of a few wonderful people (this is as close to philanthropy as I get), I detest the world of academia, so everyday working life in a university has become something of a chore. And now a fillip has come my way.

I happened to read in Saturday's Guardian newspaper that the famous Seinfeld character of the Soup Nazi is based upon the real-life owner of New York's Soup Kitchen International, which can be found at 259 West 55th Street. (If any readers of Ink Quest are not familiar with the Soup Nazi, they can watch him in action by clicking here.)

Intrigued, I emailed honorary Penquod crew member Stefan, who lives in New York, to ask if he has ever visited the soup outlet in question. In his reply he said that he hasn't, but he did suggest that I might consider setting up a branch in South Wales by pursuing the franchising option outlined on the Soup Kitchen International website.

I have always loved soup. A restaurant, for me, lives or dies by what it serves in its soup bowls. Every trattoria needs a masterful minestrone; a French bistro is rien without a decent soupe à l'oignon; and a Chinese restaurant will be in the soup if it doesn't serve a balanced hot and sour soup. And I think that I have what it takes to be a Soup Nazi: I make a spectacular carrot and coriander, and I share the Seinfeld character's misanthropic contempt for those who do not see and do things my way.

But what does this have to with ink? Is there even a soupçon of a connection? Well, dear readers, I'm souping up Soup Kitchen International into Soup Kitchen Inkternational by also selling ink to take away in small polystyrene containers. Alongside the vats of the day's lunch offerings will be inkwells filled with shades that neatly match the soups for sale. (Tomato=Noodler's Antietam; Pea and Mint=Private Reserve Spearmint; Lentil=Omas Sepia, and so on.) Hungry office workers will be able to scurry back to their desks, warm their souls with soup, and then refill their pens for the afternoon's scribblings. Drink it and ink it will be my motto.

Ink fact, as part of my work towards the renaissance of the nib, it will be compulsory to accept ink with each lunch order, and every customer will be required to show his or her fountain pen before being allowed to step up to my counter. Should anyone dare to wield a ballpoint, I will shout 'No soup or ink for you!' and send the imbecile away. I don't care how gruel this sounds; if people don't like it, they consommé for damages.

Inks in use today: Diamine Indigo; Noodler's Walnut.