I’m a soup convert. I work with a band of soup lovers. When I first arrived at The Washington Post in 2019, my colleagues would extol the virtues of a well-made bowl, and I’d smile and nod as I suppressed a shrug.

I’m not sure where my lack of enthusiasm for soup began. Maybe it was the lingering memory of the canned chicken noodle soup I ate as a child when I was sick with a cold. Maybe I was turned off after the cabbage soup diet craze that I embraced in the 1980s.