When I was a kid, I used to read “The Joy of Cooking” and imagine the elaborate parties I would someday throw for the friends I was certain adulthood would bring me.

One friend would debut a play, naturally, and everyone would come back to my apartment afterward for cocktails and canapés on the fire escape. Another would become pregnant with twins, necessitating a baby shower brunch in my garden. Someone else would fall in love and decide to marry quietly at the courthouse, after which we’d repair to my kitchen, where I’d produce a layer cake covered in edible flowers and generous plops of whipped cream. We’d eat it with forks, still dressed in our wedding finery.

The friends were hypothetical. Their milestones, however, had menus.

Then, of course, you grow up. And while I was fortunate enough to eventually find many of the wonderful people I’d imagined celebrating, I discovered that building community — and finding the money to entertain said community — could be considerably trickier than my childhood self anticipated.

Fresh out of graduate school, I wanted desperately to have people over, but I was working with a very limited budget. Soup became my solution. For literal dollars, I could put a couple of enormous pots on the stove, buy some good bread and oyster crackers, and feed a roomful of people until they were comfortably full.

The menus began modestly: my mom’s chicken noodle soup alongside store-bought tomato soup from the Whole Foods hot bar; my dad’s white chicken chili and a simple butternut squash soup scattered with chives. Eventually, I graduated to three soups — one favorite menu included vegan potato-leek, lemony chicken and orzo, and Guinness beef stew — with toasted sourdough, cornbread muffins and little ceramic bowls of parsley and lemon wedges.

The seating arrangements were somewhat less sophisticated. At one party, a neighbor of mine, a tattoo artist who had no tattoos of his own, generously lent me four tufted beanbags in a demure oatmeal color. He called them “poofs,” and my guests contentedly sank into them with bowls of chili. Thankfully, no one spilled. 

I’d send invitations by email (yes, email!) with “Soup and Movie Night” at the top, then put on something suitably autumnal: “Hocus Pocus,” “When Harry Met Sally,” “Practical Magic.” Always something familiar enough that people could talk gently over it without feeling rude. Someone could usually be counted on to bring ice cream from the shop down the street, and I encouraged everyone to bring plastic tubs or thermoses for leftovers. It wasn’t fancy, and the furniture situation left something to be desired. But there was plenty of food, everyone had somewhere to settle in, and people went home with another meal for the next day.

Years later, I’ve become a more confident cook and, I think, a smarter host. I’ve learned which things are worth making myself, which are better left to professionals and how much pleasure a few slightly theatrical details can bring to an otherwise ordinary meal.

But I still think the soup party is one of the finest ways to gather people without spending a fortune or exhausting yourself in the process.

So, let’s throw one.

Start with the three-soup rule

I like to build a soup party menu around different experiences: think something creamy, something vegetable-forward and perhaps something especially hearty. The idea isn’t to make three versions of roughly the same thing, but to offer a little variety in texture, flavor and heft.

If you were coming to my apartment this weekend, here’s what I’d make:

• Smoky black bean soup: My thick, deeply savory, pantry-friendly favorite, made with vegetable stock to keep it vegan. It practically demands lime, scallions and something crunchy on top. Try the recipe here. 

• Chorizo-chicken corn chowder: Rich, cozy and full of sweet corn, chicken and savory chorizo. This would be my creamy offering. Try the recipe here. 

• Olive Bar tomato soup: A bright, tangy vegetarian tomato soup with sun-dried tomatoes, marinated garlic and feta. A nice contrast to the other two, especially with good sourdough alongside. Try the recipe here. 

I always aim to offer at least one vegan soup, and I strongly recommend choosing varieties that reheat beautifully.

For an apartment gathering of six to 10 people, three pots make a lovely spread. Having 20 or 25 over? Add another pot or two, increase the quantities and consider enlisting contributions from friends. I’ve written previously about low-pressure potluck entertaining, and the same principles work beautifully here.

And don’t feel obligated to make three if two — or one — make more sense for your budget, available burners or energy. My original parties were scaled down, and they were wonderful.

Build a toppings cornucopia

Now comes my favorite part.

The soups are the foundation, but the toppings are where the evening can become a little playful. I like to arrange an almost ridiculous assortment of crunchy, creamy, salty, fresh and acidic things, allowing everyone to customize their bowls.

For our imaginary party, I’d put out:

Something crunchy: Ranchy, buttery Saltines; savory Ritz granola; and cacio e pepe oyster crackers — three party-cracker recipes I’ve shared previously, all of which you can find here — alongside tortilla chips, oven-toasted sourdough, cornbread muffins and White Cheddar Cheez-Its.

Yes, White Cheddar Cheez-Its. Trust me.

Something fresh: Little bowls of chopped scallions, cilantro, parsley, basil and chives, plus plenty of lemon and lime wedges.

Something creamy: Sour cream, shredded white cheddar, cotija and feta. I’d also include a good vegan sour cream, (like Kite Hill) or a tangy coconut yogurt (I like the plain variety from Cocojune) clearly labeled.

Something punchy: Small bottles of white balsamic and red wine vinegar, hot sauce, good olive oil and soy sauce. Add salt and pepper grinders and red pepper flakes.

You can see how quickly this becomes a splendid spread without requiring much actual cooking.

Someone might finish the black bean soup with lime, cotija, cilantro and tortilla chips. Someone else might try the tomato soup with basil, olive oil, feta and a handful of savory Ritz granola. Somebody will discover the Cheez-Its and develop a whole new soup personality around them.

And if this sounds like too much, please remember that the full cornucopia is entirely optional. A few thoughtful garnishes are plenty. We’ve also spent the past few weeks of Soup School discussing crunchy toppings, bright sauces and edible confetti, if you’d like a little extra inspiration.

It’s not necessary, but if you want a bright little side salad to pair with things, I’d personally go with one of Ina Garten’s two signatures: her Arugula with Parmesan, or her Green Salad with the ultimate French Vinaigrette. Both are punchy, fresh and easy to prepare. 

As for dessert, I recommend keeping things almost aggressively simple. A beautiful arrangement of cheeses, fruit, crackers, honey and jam requires very little effort and gives people something to pick at while the evening unfolds; if you want a place to start, my conversation with “Cheese Magic” author Erica Kubick may be helpful! Include something sweet for guests who don’t eat dairy, or let somebody bring the (non-dairy) ice cream.

When I was a kid, I absolutely adored Souplantation and Sweet Tomatoes, those sprawling soup-and-salad buffets where, for a certain kind of child (me), the prospect of choosing from several enormous vats of soup constituted a genuinely thrilling night out.

I did, however, have one complaint: I always thought the selection of soup toppings was a little lacking. There was an entire salad bar’s worth of crunchy, salty, fresh and otherwise interesting things just a few feet away. Why weren’t more of them invited to the soup party? Eventually, I began making little trips between the two, returning to my bowl with whatever seemed promising.

I suppose what I’m saying is that I’ve been a soup maximalist for a very long time.

This shouldn’t surprise anyone familiar with my feelings about salads, which I also believe should contain a frankly unreasonable number of interesting things. In fact, my dream remains more or less unchanged from childhood: I’d like a salad bar, please, but for soup.

This is partially a texture thing. Even the most beautifully flavored soup can become a little monotonous after several spoonfuls of softness. Give me something crackly, crispy or crunchy to interrupt the proceedings! But it’s also about flavor, and the small pleasure of making an ordinary meal feel a little special.

One of my favorite lessons to borrow from good restaurant kitchens is that the best don’t treat anything on the plate as an afterthought. Everything has a job to do. I think soup deserves the same consideration. And no, I’m not here to malign crackers (I have a full issue on party crackers, after all!) or croutons, both of which I love. I’m simply suggesting that we give them — and everything else we might put on a bowl of soup — a little more thought.

Lesson 1: Build your bowl in three moves

Over the years, I’ve developed a loose formula for dressing up soup. Think of it as three levels of deliciousness, with full permission to stop whenever you’re satisfied.

First, start with texture. This is my nonnegotiable. Fried garlic or shallots, toasted pepitas, crispy bacon, a handful of crushed Ruffles or Fritos, tortilla strips, lacy rounds of Parmesan frico: All are welcome. The goal is to give your spoon something interesting to encounter beyond the usual soft, silky or brothy textures.

And sometimes the simplest toppings just need a little augmentation. Try tossing croutons in brown butter before scattering them over butternut squash soup, or dusting tortilla chips with ranch seasoning before putting them on chicken-corn chowder.

Next, add brightness or freshness. A little lemon juice or zest, chopped scallions, fresh herbs, a tangy dollop of labneh or yogurt, or something pickled can bring a rich bowl of soup into focus. Think about what would cut through the richness or wake up the flavors already there.

Finally, introduce a plot twist. This is where things can get a little weird, in the best way. Chili crisp, hot honey, an assertive cheese, a little funk, or a hit of unexpected spice. I particularly love cheeses with personality on starchy soups: something smoky, salty or wonderfully soft and bloomy.

You don’t need to hit all three levels every time. Sometimes one perfectly chosen topping does the job. But learning to think about these elements individually makes it easier to build combinations that actually work together.

Lesson 2: Make the toppings your kitchen project

Consider the deli-style creamy chicken-and-rice soup I love unabashedly. It’s one of my favorite soups, period, and I’ve spent an unreasonable amount of time figuring out different ways to dress it up.

One evening, I decided to outsource the soup itself and make the toppings my kitchen project instead.

I cut little quarter-sized rounds of puff pastry, brushed them with butter and seasoned them with dried thyme, onion and garlic powder, and an almost comical amount of black pepper. Into the oven they went. Meanwhile, I muddled together a loose, chermoula-adjacent green sauce of parsley, scallions, lemon zest, lemon juice and good olive oil.

Once the pastry dots were golden and puffed, I scattered them over the hot soup, drizzled everything with the green sauce and finished with shreds of Parmesan.

It was a spectacular dinner. And, importantly, I didn’t have to make the soup. 

Sometimes, of course, I want to spend an entire day making stock and noodles and the bread to go alongside. Other times, I want to spend 15 minutes making something that someone else cooked feel a little more like mine. Both are perfectly good ways to spend an evening in the kitchen.

This is also my favorite trick for reviving leftovers. A big pot of soup might last you three or four days, but that doesn’t mean you need to eat the exact same bowl three or four times. Change the toppings, change the experience.

Lesson 3: Make your own edible confetti

Because I am fundamentally a clever-assembly girl, I’ve begun treating soup toppings almost like spice blends.

I call them edible confetti.

I keep little deli tubs of crunchy things around, some in the pantry and others in the refrigerator, depending on what they contain. Sometimes they’re individual ingredients; other times, once I’ve found a combination I love, I start making it regularly.

Spiced pepitas, fried shallots and tortilla strips, for instance, make an excellent little trio. So do crispy bacon and toasted breadcrumbs, finished with fresh scallions just before serving. Cashews, crispy garlic and fried shallots? Spectacular on congee.

The trick is to find a few combinations that suit the soups you eat most often and keep their components handy. Store dry, crunchy blends separately from fresh or moist ingredients so nothing loses its texture before dinner.

And don’t assume that any of this needs to be made from scratch. The Asian supermarket is a treasure trove of ready-made crispy bits. The snack aisle is full of possibilities. Yesterday’s bread, the last handful of nuts in the pantry or a few slices of pepperoni that could be crisped in a skillet might be exactly what tonight’s soup needs.

Once you’ve found a combination you love, make it again! Give it a name, even. There’s something quite satisfying about having a little house blend you know will make dinner better.

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Your soup-topper cheat sheet: 30 things to try

If your soup-garnishing repertoire currently begins and ends with a sleeve of crackers, consider this a starting point. Pick a few things that sound good, experiment with combinations, and see what sticks.

For crunch and texture

1. Crispy fried shallots

2. Fried garlic chips

3. Brown-butter toasted breadcrumbs

4. Lacy Cheddar or Parmesan frico

5. Black-pepper puff pastry dots

6. Toasted, spiced pepitas

7. Crushed Marcona almonds

8. Crushed ridged potato chips

9. Ranch-dusted tortilla strips

10. Crispy pepperoni cups

For brightness and freshness

11. Thinly sliced scallions

12. Fresh lemon zest

13. Quick-pickled red onions

14. Chopped giardiniera

15. Fresh dill and minced cornichons

16. Pickled jalapeños

17. A muddled parsley-scallion green sauce

18. A spoonful of kimchi

19. Fresh mint leaves

20. A drizzle of chive oil

For richness, heat and unexpected personality

21. Chili crisp

22. Hot honey

23. Tangy labneh

24. Browned butter with crispy sage

25. Shredded smoked Gouda

26. Brie crostini with balsamic reduction

27. Crumbled blue cheese

28. Crispy bacon bits

29. Toasted cashews

30. Fried capers

My little assignment for you this week: Find two or three toppings beyond your usual bread, crackers or croutons that genuinely delight you. Then start playing with combinations.

Maybe you’ll discover your own favorite edible confetti. Maybe you’ll find that a little chili crisp and a handful of scallions are all you need to look forward to the third consecutive day of the same soup.

Either way, I hope you’ll give your next bowl a little drama.

It deserves it.

This story originally appeared in The Bite, my weekly food newsletter for Salon. If you enjoyed it and would like more essays and recipes — including the puff pastry dots and lemony green sauce mentioned above — sent straight to your inbox, subscribe here.

There comes a point in the life of many soups when they get a little sleepy.

This happens especially often with soups that are creamy, starchy or — blessedly — both. Everything is humming along just fine. The onions are soft. The garlic is fragrant. The spices have bloomed. You taste a spoonful and think, Hmm. So you add another pinch of seasoning. You taste again. Still: Hmm.

At this point, most of us instinctively reach for the salt.

But I’d like to gently intercept your hand on the way there and redirect it toward wherever you keep your vinegar. Some swear by the pantry, others insist upon the refrigerator; we will not allow ourselves to be distracted from our soup scholarship by these sectarian squabbles (at least not this week).

Because sometimes your soup doesn’t need more salt. It needs acid.

A small splash of vinegar at the end of cooking can give a tired pot an almost startling jolt. Vegetables taste brighter. Herbs seem greener. Starchy soups feel less pasty on the tongue. Spices that had faded into the background suddenly become legible again. Depending on how much you add, you might even get a delectable little Oh, what is that? pucker at the end of each bite.

I love lemon in soup, too. Sometimes I want the lemon flavor to be the whole point: a lemony avgolemono, for instance, or a chicken stew that tastes unabashedly citrusy. But lemon can announce itself loudly. Same with lime.

Vinegar can be more like a gentle wake-up than a glass of water to the face.

I first really understood this while making Alison Roman’s dill-packed potato-leek soup, published originally a little over five years ago, which finishes with white wine vinegar. Roman writes that the vinegar makes the soup taste “almost like a pickle.” I went into the recipe expecting exactly that, was delighted to find it delivered and started experimenting with the same trick in soups of my own.

The key here is finishing with vinegar. There are, of course, soups where acidity is built in earlier: Chinese hot-and-sour soups, borscht and various Eastern European sour soups all have their own traditions and techniques. But that’s a different lesson.

For our purposes, cook your soup until it’s essentially done. Then, before making the final salt adjustment, add about 1/2 teaspoon to 1 teaspoon of vinegar. Stir it in thoroughly and give it a moment. I actually like to step away from the stove at this point. Get some water. Wash a spoon. Pop my head out the kitchen window like a dog on a road trip. Then come back and taste again.

Vinegar is firmly in the category of ingredients that are easier to add than subtract. You’re not necessarily trying to make the soup taste vinegary. You’re waiting for everything else in the pot to suddenly taste more like itself.

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Different vinegars naturally play better with different soups. Red wine vinegar is wonderful with hearty lentil, bean and farro soups, and I love it in beef stew. It can also rescue a tomato soup that’s drifted too far toward sweetness.

White wine vinegar — or even plain distilled white vinegar — is excellent with potatoes, creamy chicken soups and corn chowders. Think of the logic of salt-and-vinegar potato chips: starch loves that sharp little counterpoint.

For sweeter, earthier soups made with squash or root vegetables, I tend toward vinegars with a little fruitiness of their own, like apple cider vinegar or my current favorite, white balsamic.

There are exceptions. I probably wouldn’t start splashing vinegar into a delicate seafood bisque. And broccoli-cheddar soup, for me, remains a no-fly zone. Not every pot requires intervention.

But many do.

I learned to cook thinking that “finishing” a dish meant adding enough salt and pepper. Then fresh herbs were a revelation. Acid was another one: a reminder that a finished dish doesn’t necessarily need more flavor so much as it sometimes needs contrast.

That’s especially true of this week’s soup: a hot honey carrot and sweet potato number built with garlic, onion, coriander, paprika, cumin, red pepper flakes and miso, then rounded out with savory stock and coconut milk.

Before the vinegar, it tasted good — but a little too sweet and a little too earthy. The white balsamic changed the geometry of the whole bowl. The sweetness of the vegetables became more nuanced instead of landing like a sledgehammer. The spices emerged. The stock tasted more savory. And instead of registering immediately, the hot honey left a gentle warmth at the back of each bite.

So that’s your homework for week two of Soup School: When your next pot tastes fine but somehow unfinished, don’t automatically add another shower of salt.

Add a little vinegar.

Let it sink in.

Then taste again.

For a while, I kept a soup journal.

Not a recipe journal, exactly. More like field notes. If I ate a soup I liked out in the world, I’d jot down what was in it, what the broth tasted like, sometimes sketch the bowl. I just adore the form.

Especially when I lived alone, it was not unheard of for all three meals in a day to be soup. One particularly triumphant day started with congee in Washington, D.C., continued with enchilada soup at an airport Chili’s and ended with pastina back home in my pajamas.

So, in honor of soup season, I’ve decided to spend the next few weeks of “The Bite,” Salon’s food newsletter, teaching what I’ve started referring to in my notebook at Soup School: a loose little series about the patterns that make soup better. We’ll talk about the ingredient your soup is probably missing — vinegar! — plus better soup toppers and, eventually, how to host a soup party.