tomato pottage

The only particular thing I remember from last night’s dreams, though I remember more vague things around it, is that I was with a mixed group of people at some kind of place to stay, maybe, I don’t recall whether an inn or a hostel or not really anything like that, but at any rate we were at a set of picnic-like tables against a north wall; the tables were of a warm blond wood. One of the guys sitting at my table was eating a plate of brown stew of a fine chunky texture that looked like meat, but he said it was tomato pottage, so I tried some, and it was very good, I think maybe with a thick curry flavor. I had to check just now whether “pottage” was a real word and, if so, whether it meant what it meant in this scene, which it does. My brain dragged it out from a semi-unconscious area to put in there, which is kind of cool.

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