Alright pilgrim, it’s 20xx, the shit has hit the fan and you barely survived the apocalypse with all of your limbs. You’re hunkered down in the bombed-out shell of some abandoned three-bedroom home, cursing your fate and your rumbling stomach. All you have in your bag is some twine, an empty bourbon bottle, a couple razor blades and a ratchet set. You can’t go outside for fear of raiders/marauders/thugs/sweepers/aliens. Time to check out the house for supplies.
This place has been well-picked over. After rummaging through junk drawers and broken cabinets, all you can find are condiments. Fucking condiments. Looks like you’re having ketchup soup for dinner, pilgrim. Here’s how to make the best ketchup soup your withered stomach will ever taste.
You will need:
- A tin can
- 5-10 ketchup condiment packets
- 1 salt/pepper condiment packet
- 1 parmesan cheese condiment packet
- Any other spices you can scrounge up.
1.) Slowly squeeze out the different ketchup packets into your pot. If you don’t have a pot because it’s the god damned apocalypse, then put all the ingredients into some sort of metal pot shaped container. A coffee can or mandarin orange tin (see picture) will do, as will an old army helmet. Do NOT use plastic. Chuds can smell burnt plastic from two klicks away. Add whatever spices and condiments you want. We used parmesan and salt and pepper.
2.) Now, find yourself a source of heat. If you can’t make a small fire, a candle will work, though it could take hours. Chances are you don’t have a portable stove or any fuel for it anymore after you used it to make some improvised bombs to decimate that squad of marauders trying to cannibalize those orphans. If all else fails, try find anything warm to heat your soup, such as old steam pipes or mildly radioactive soil. This soup tastes like shit unless it is warm.
3.) Cook, stirring occasionally, until well heated. Wait until it cools, then drink that motherfucker.
And the judges decide: Surprisingly good! It’s a good recipe to add to your post-apocalyptic skillset or if you wind up homeless or are Tom Hanks in a movie about airports. Maybe you should start hoarding ketchup now.
Madman, pseudo-psychologist, and itinerant mooch, Sebastian Stevenson is also a handsome Illyrian gentleman who wishes he owned a motorbike. Man, motorbikes are cool.
Got a weird, gross recipe for de’Lunula? Email them to [email protected] or drop them in the comments. Drop ’em like it’s hot.