I first ate this soup as a boy with my parents and their friends in a restaurant in the south of France. It arrived in a huge bowl, with the pistou spooned all over the top. There was enough for three servings each. Typical of any meal involving Warners, the serving bowl was emptied. Then came another huge copper pan of quails cooked with cognac and garlic. I remember the whole meal and, bizarrely, have a vivid picture in my mind of the state of my napkin at the end of it.