How is it possible to reach middle-age without ever eating vichyssoise?

I know I’m dating myself, but vichyssoise always reminds me of that old Bob Newhart shtick where he pretends he’s a nerdy Pfc.clerk typist in World War II, who was ordered to do phony one-way phone conversations to throw off the eavesdropping Germans.

“Blanke, the cook, is working out rather well, sir,” Newhart says into a phone. “Well one problem is his vichyssoise tastes a little too much like potato soup. Oh, it’s supposed to taste like potato soup …”