Apparently, his skills weren't just for show — Po was every bit as good as he looked.
The soup tasted like proper seafood, briny and rich. The real pleasure of the meal came from the clams themselves, each shell having trapped a generous mouthful of broth that you had to slurp out with satisfying effort. The vegetables were tender, almost sweet, transformed by their time simmering in that savory liquid into something far more interesting than their humble appearance suggested.
He called it clam stew with marshbell onions. My guess was that the onions were the pale, slightly translucent vegetables scattered throughout. They tasted nothing like the onions I was used to — milder, with an almost floral undertone that lingered on the tongue.
