I will be dating myself again here, this time with a reference to an old television character, the Soup Nazi from "Seinfeld."

But I can't help myself. I haven't been able to get the standing laugh-trigger from the long-concluded sitcom out of my head since a visit this week to the Mystic Soup Company.

Local foodies might bear with me here, because I also have some good eating news to tell.

If you are not already part of the Mystic soup cult, you may need a little background here.

For some eight years, the Mystic Soup Company has been developing a loyal following, regulars who make their pilgrimages to the eatery's hidden location, the back of a former garage on Route 1, behind the parking lot of the much more celebrated Sea Swirl.

The company keeps low-profile hours, too, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. I've showed up more than once to find it closed anyway.

When I arrived early one morning this week, preparing for some out-of-town relatives to visit, I was one of three people waiting for the place to open.

Like the Soup Nazi's kitchen in "Seinfeld," this is one popular place. And like the patrons in the show, lining up for soup, you can imagine the fear among Mystic regulars were they to be denied the soup of the day.

What if you were hungering, for instance, for black bean chicken with avocado, feta and roasted tomatoes, or butternut squash with coconut curry and crab, and were denied?

My favorite Soup Nazi incident was when Seinfeld chose the Soup Nazi over his girlfriend after she was denied soup for kissing in line.

"No soup," the cook told her, triggering Seinfeld's immediate betrayal.

So that's what hit me, like a kick to the gut, when the woman behind the counter told me I could only buy two large containers of the cream of roasted cauliflower, not the three I ordered.

I asked if it was sold out already.

No, she said, pointing to a limit of two sign.

So, no soup for me, not if I wanted to buy enough to serve my relatives.

Whatever happened to first-come, first-served? I am not sure I've ever been denied a product so the business can save it for someone else.

I was reminded, too, of the guy I once heard yell from behind a rope at a yard sale, while the owners counted down to the advertised start time: "Do you want to sell your junk or not?"

I was curious enough about this quirk of capitalism to put a call in to Mystic Soup Company owner Andrew Madsen.

This is where the good food news comes in, from my perspective anyway.

Madsen told me he has purchased the old Grossman's fish market building on Noank Road in West Mystic and is planning a new restaurant there.

It is going to sell soup, but it will be called Mystic Salad Company and will feature, naturally, salads. It also will sell prepared meals.

He said he's missed a few deadlines but hopes to open in February. I can't wait.

The disclosure of a new location, with its new industrial kitchen, was made by way of explanation for the two-large-tub limit.

Madsen is limited in the soup company's kitchen to making 50 gallons a day. Like Fenway Park, they are on a long streak of selling out.

He feels like he should keep some product on hand to sell through the lunch hour, even if he could sell out early. Some older customers, he said, buy for their lunch and dinner.

He added that he can accommodate larger orders, if you call a day ahead.

He also has had to turn down some local restaurants and grocers who want to sell his soup but may soon be able to accommodate them with the new kitchen.

The two-limit rule certainly hasn't seemed to hurt business.

I predict Mystic Salad Company will do very well, too.

But then what do I know? I thought Hillary Clinton was going to win.

This is the opinion of David Collins.

d.collins@theday.com