He sent out an e-mail to his friends in the neighborhood: "I'll bring you some soup next Sunday for 10 bucks. Plus, I'll bring it to you on my bike." Seventeen people replied yes, and so he whipped up an enormous batch of vegetarian gumbo, and then he delivered it, in buckets that he carried in a cooler strapped to his bike.

What started out as "a real desperation thing" rapidly developed into a full-time endeavor. By the second week, David, who'd never taken a cooking class or worked in a restaurant, had 21 Soupies. By the third week he had 24, and the two enormous pots he'd bought cheap at a used restaurant supply shop were no longer sufficient. Neither was his stove. Neither was his refrigerator. So he made a deal with a local Thai place. He arrived there at midnight, after it had shut down for the night, and began cooking. Shortly before dawn he headed home to sleep while the vats of soup chilled, and then it was time for deliveries. By the end of his first "soup season," which he made last until July—quite a feat in Texas, where 100-degree summer days provide a persuasive curb to soup yens—he had 48 customers and, presumably, very little excess body weight.

Three and a half years later, he had a customer base of 2,000. Today, visitors to  The Soup Peddler can order a variety of home delivered soups, stews and desserts. He has published a book about his success, and has expanded from bicycles to refrigerated trucks.

Enthusiasm, commitment and  knowledge of your market can take you places. David Ansel has turned The Soup Peddler from a shoe string operation into a real business.