'SEINFELD' DRAWS BIG CROWDS TO SOUP MAN.

Byline: Suzanne Hamlin The New York Times

Al Yeganeh, the Soup Man of West 55th Street, makes a mean pot of soup, which may explain why customers are willing to run a gantlet to get it.

Yeganeh, who has been the subject of an episode of the NBC sitcom "Seinfeld," has had offers to write a cookbook and spends part of every day fielding requests for radio and television interviews. But Yeganeh, who said only that he came to the United States from the Middle East to study physics, is clearly not comfortable talking about himself or how he works.

Unquestionably, he makes great soup. But is it worth a 40-minute wait in a biting wind? It was for several hundred people standing in line recently, the day after a rerun of the "Seinfeld" episode. The line snaked around the corner from Yeganeh's Soup Kitchen International, a tiny storefront at 259-A W. 55th St., near Eighth Avenue.

Rick Wheaton, 23, a tourist from Orlando Fla., said, "This is a New York thing to do now, like going to the Empire State Building." He added that he had learned about the store from watching "Seinfeld."

On the episode, which first ran last November, an actor who bears an uncanny resemblance to Yeganeh portrays the stern soup-shop owner, who makes and serves every cup of soup himself. On the show he is referred to as "the Soup Nazi," a name Yeganeh said is "a horrible term, which should never be used, ever."

Yeganeh's takeout-only menu, from a repertory of 200 bean, nut, fish, vegetable and meat soups, changes daily but always includes eight to 11 thick, hot soups and four or five cold soups. The rich seafood bisque changes every day, depending on the availability of fresh ingredients.

"This is art, not soup," said Steve Melnick, a Wall Street analyst. He had taken the subway uptown to the shop, which is open from noon to 7 p.m. on weekdays. Melnick had no objection to the prices, which average $6 for a small cup (12 ounces), $8 for large (16 ounces) and $13 for very large (32 ounces).

Seemingly, none of the other soup supplicants - many of whom said they had been customers since the store opened nine years ago - objected to the posted rules: know what you want when you reach the counter, speak quickly and ask no questions, have your money ready and move to the extreme left after ordering. Failure to obey is tantamount to soup Siberia.

"No bread and no fruit!" the Soup Man yelled to his three helpers when a hapless fur-clad woman tried to change her order from mushroom barley to chicken chili.

Bread and fruit are sometimes added at no charge. Why some are blessed and others are not may seem a mystery to most customers but is obvious to Yeganeh. The fruit and bread people have not interrupted the flow of the transaction, which he believes should be seven seconds a customer, tops.

Yeganeh himself is not always so quick to respond. Both HarperCollins and Crown publishers offered him a $150,000 advance, a substantial amount for a first cookbook, but have withdrawn their offers.

"I think his soups are fabulous, but we withdrew our offer because it was too long on the table," said Susan Friedland, the director of cookbook publishing at HarperCollins.

The hitch is in the details, Yeganeh said. "They want me to go around the country to publicize the book," he explained. "But I ask you, how could I leave my soup?"