My little Dutch grandma would be so proud of me. (Ignore all the tomato blips and blops all over the stove... my cooking style isn't very tidy, I'm afraid.)
In our family, we call this concoction "Christmas soup" because Grandma Kest would usually make it around Christmastime. The full recipe calls for barley instead of rice, and tiny spiced meatballs cooked in the soup broth. Today, though, I was too lazy to defrost any ground beef, so I left out the meatballs and it got the basic spicing treatment plus some cooked rice, for near-instant Dutch tomatensoep goodness.
Of course, my dear hubby Captain Midnight is not entirely happy about this, even though he loves Christmas soup, because what he wants is FOOD. Perhaps you have the same issue with some of the men in your life. Hubby recognizes only one kind of semiliquid nourishment as a valid food: stew. Whether it's beef stew, chili, or some other thick and hearty meal in a bowl, he will eat it without complaint. "Soup" -- which to his mind is anything thinner than pea soup in consistency -- is not recognized as a valid meal, but as a kind of hot drink in a bowl. In order to be a full meal, it must be served along with heartier foodstuffs. The minute I said I was going to make tomato soup, he responded, "And toasted cheese sandwiches, right?" The soup then functions as a kind of dip into which the actual food -- the sandwich -- can be dunked. So at the moment he is feeling gypped. Poor Captain Midnight.
What do you think, should I make him a toasted cheese or not?