> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://absurdia.xyz/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Seven centuries spent making a royal soup no one eats. - URL: https://absurdia.xyz/no-soup-for-you/ - Published: 2026-08-08T01:40:14.000Z - Updated: 2026-08-28T15:36:51.000Z - Description: (*) there's always fine print. - Author: Mack Simpson - Tags: History Imagine you're Matilda of Flanders, the wife of Norman-French [William the Conqueror](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William%5Fthe%5FConqueror?ref=absurdia.xyz), and you're the newly-crowned Queen of England. You starred in the first-ever coronation of its kind to be held in Westminster Abbey. *Bigger than the King's own*, some [said](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coronations%5Fof%5FWilliam%5Fthe%5FConqueror%5Fand%5FMatilda?ref=absurdia.xyz). That had to be pretty heady stuff. I mean, in a dirty, grimy, *year 1,060* sort of way, sure. But *big, shout it from the rooftops,* **heady news**. For *you*, Matilda of Flanders, anyway. For the newly-defeated Anglo-Saxons, on the other hand, well they don't know what to make of you and your foreign customs. Plus, *you* speak French and they're just so... so *English*. *Sacré bleu!* My husband's[*champion*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baron%5FMarmion?ref=absurdia.xyz)rode horseback through the Abbey wearing full-plate armor, as is *our* *Norman Tradition!*, challenging anyone to a *duel to the death* in my husband's name should they daresay *I* wasn't the *lawful wife* of the King of England, ***and they didn't even know how to react!*** Slack-jawed yokels, *mon Dieu!* But it's a party, amirite, and, hey! Surprise-surprise! Here comes a rubber chicken course. *(Because event catering never changes.)* A soup of some sort. Sip-sip... wait a minute*... merde!...* this is *pretty fucking good*, you think. But of course you would. You're *super*\-into the whole "almond milk meets chicken meets sugar and spices meets rosewater" [concoction](https://piespuddingsandpottages.com/recipe-post/dillegrout/?ref=absurdia.xyz). *Clean eating.* And, really. Who isn't into *that* these days? *Delish.* So you call your Royal Cook, Tezelin, over to the table where hubs grants them, and their heirs, the title *Lords of the Manor of Addington,* in perpetuity *(\*).* *(\*) there's always fine print.* And the fine print was this: the cook's heirs (or whomever was in possession of *the title*, because nothing travels in a completely straight line, not even light) *must always* provide [the same chicken soup](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dillegrout?ref=absurdia.xyz) at future Royal Coronations. Like, the Official Royal Caterer for *one particular dish*. For eternity. Your children's eternity, too. And their children. And so on. Whomever held title *Lord of the Manor of* [*Addington*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Addington%5FPalace?ref=absurdia.xyz) had to show up at every coronation and serve the same soup, made from the same recipe, and in the same manner. Forever. Not "until it goes out of fashion." *Forever.* Forever turned out to be a nearly 800-year commitment. The title bounced around as you'd expect it might across multiple generations, mingling with marriages and whatever form of *primogeniture* England happened to be following at the time. The title was even strong enough to survive treason (though the [traitor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas%5FBardolf,%5F5th%5FBaron%5FBardolf?ref=absurdia.xyz) did not). Even the *Yanks* eventuallygot in on the action; the title was once proudly held by [someone raised in *The Colonies*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barlow%5FTrecothick?ref=absurdia.xyz). What I'm saying is, Tezelin's Royal Soup got around, man. Sowed some wild oats. Frequented the ports. Saw some things. But generation after generation, the holder of the title *Lord of the Manor of Addington* threw on an apron, fired up the soup-pot, and got to stirring until it was done, producing three bowls: one for the King or Queen, one for the Archbishop of Canterbury, and one for the newly-crowned King or Queen to dispose of at their pleasure. (Or disgust if you don't care for 11th Century tastes.) It was what was known then (and today), as a kitchen [serjeanty](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serjeanty?ref=absurdia.xyz). Thirty generations of *Lords and Ladies Addington* kept making the soup until, one day, *they just didn't.* The last bowl of Royal *dillegrout* was served in 1821, at [George IV's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George%5FIV?ref=absurdia.xyz) coronation, 753 years after Tezelin's first batch, and then, without ceremony, the tradition simply *stopped mattering to anyone*. Like it never existed. Though it had. *For 753 years.* More than three quarters of a millennium. Absolute *Absurdia*. All of it. *Soup to nuts.* ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/2e/f4/2ef499d4-e94b-4b36-987c-da9be1bf2b17/content/images/2026/08/M-smallsig-4.png) I said, hey sawbones I'm just carrying on an old family tradition.