tomato_kumato

I once got in trouble for using hyperbole with the Canadian. It’s a long story that ends with me going from two cheese graters to none and my mother sending us an industrial-grade steel grater through the Post, but I learned my lesson. No more hyperbole.

Except now. Because I have to tell you: this may be the best soup ever. Which will shock all of you when you realize how simple and cheap it is. But first, a sidebar.
A long, long time ago, I used to live in California. San Francisco, to be exact. When I was in the sixth grade, my parents sat us down in our New York apartment and told us we were moving.

I adored San Francisco. I wanted to stay there for my whole life. In retrospect, I believe I would have been very happy there: I dig the whole Birkenstock thing. Although I would probably be a very different person today. For one, I believe the vegetarian thing would have stuck. But that is another story for another day.

This story involves the fact that, although I loved San Francisco, my parents are New Yorkers, through and through, and somewhere in their minds, I think they always knew that the move to California was temporary. And so, we took advantage of our short time there and really saw San Francisco. We went below Mission Street, we went to Angel Island, to Ghirardelli Square… and to Napa.

Napa was my parents’ favorite place of all. At twelve, I was less than thrilled with the prospect of spending the whole afternoon in the car (my brother was going through a period where he experienced extreme motion sickness. Curvy back roads in Napa? Enough said.) But it was all worth it if I knew we would be going to Tra Vigne.

I may have only been to Tra Vigne two or three times, but it is one of the most vivid meals (or combination of meals, I suppose) in my memory. There was the famous “Tra Vigne Chicken,” which my mother has almost replicated 100% with its distinct blend of spices (the secret is cinnamon, by the way). There was the cheese plate that came on a marble slab at the end of the meal with real honeycomb to go with your cheeses. And then there was my favorite: lentil soup.

I have always had odd tastes, I suppose, but from the moment I tasted that soup, I was hooked. Goat cheese was sprinkled on top and it melted in to mix with the lentils, which had retained the perfect texture. I loved that soup.

I had long since forgotten about it, but as I was going through my pantry, trying to find something to make for dinner, I stumbled upon a can of lentils, and the whole thing came rushing back. I called my mother, who had bought the cookbook years ago, but it was to no avail.

“Michael Chiarello? It’s not even worth it. He leaves out all the key ingredients. The recipe for that chicken? It doesn’t even mention the spice rub.”

Damn. Well… onto the experimentation. Onions, for sure. And potato, I think, for the texture. Lentils… wine (everything’s better with wine… and it is a vineyard recipe.) And then I had a strange thought. Cinnamon had been the secret ingredient in the chicken… was it possible? No. That’s crazy. And yet, I still did it.

I don’t know if I was right. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten that soup… I remember the experience more than the taste. I do know that what I created was astounding. I slurped it up for dinner last night, and even though I was stuffed, I couldn’t help scooping a few last spoonfuls off of the serving I had portioned for tonight.

I am not Michael Chiarello. I am going to share. But you will not believe that it could ever be this simple.

Best Ever Lentil Soup

1 onion, chopped
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 glass red wine
2 new potatoes, diced small
1 can lentils, not drained
1/4-1/2 cup chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 oz. goat cheese
Sweat the onions in oil with a bit of salt until they color slightly. Add the wine and scrape all the yummy bits off the bottom of the saucepan. Add the potatoes, lentils, chicken broth and cinnamon. Cook until the potatoes are cooked through and the flavors have melded, about 20 minutes. Turn off the heat and blend slightly with an immersion blender, leaving about half the lentils whole. Stir in more chicken broth if necessary. Serve with goat cheese crumbled on top.

Dear Reader,

I’m sorry for abandoning you. I have no excuse. I could cite the fact that the Canadian has left, once again, this time for Cannes, which has left me with just little ol’ me to cook for. I could say that my aunt was here all last week, discovering Paris for the first time, but every time I look at the list of posts just waiting to be written up and posted, I know: I’m lazy.

But, dear reader, today I had the fortune of creating a recipe so delicious, I had to sit right down and share it with you. Isn’t that exciting?

While my aunt was here, I had roasted a few chickens for an Easter dinner, and so I had a new vat of homemade chicken stock just waiting to be used. So I went through my list of recipes to try and found this recipe for Chickpea, Ginger and Coriander Soup. This soup may have changed my life. Not only is it astoundingly delicious, but I realized how easy it is to make soup for one. Soup had always been a daunting task, one I never attempted for fear that I would never finish it. But this soup makes two neat servings, perfect for lunch for two, or, as I did, dinner two nights in a row with a green salad.

But that doesn’t tell you what’s up with the pink stuff in the bowl, does it? Basically, this soup reminded me of how much I love my immersion blender. I used to use it all the time for tomato sauce, until I realized I liked the chunks of tomato and onion, and so it was abandoned. After using it to make this soup though, I realized I was in love with it. My immersion blender is magical, taking chunks of odd ingredients and bringing them together in harmony in a bowl. (Wow… snap out of it, Emily.)

This soup created itself. I had bought a pre-boiled beet at the farmer’s market, but had yet to use it for a salad. I’m leaving for the weekend, and so I didn’t want to buy other salad ingredients. I also had some new potatoes left over from Easter. What to do… soup? OK, immersion blender, if you say so.

I boiled the potatoes in some chicken stock from my vat, and when they were cooked through, I chunked and added the beet to warm. I seasoned with salt and pepper, and then the immersion blender took the stage.

What appeared was so perfect and pink that I almost didn’t want to add anything else, but I had planned to throw in a pot of yogurt for some calcium, and I’m so glad I did. Some dried chives (use fresh if you have them) and a roquefort garnish finished it off… and I was free to enjoy my perfectly portioned bowl of soup, one for now, and one for later.

So thank you, dear reader, for not losing faith. This soup has given me the will to delve back into my list of posts to write, and very soon, you shall be hearing from me (and my immersion blender) again.

Love,

Emily

Beet-Potato Soup with Roquefort

1 cup chicken broth
5 new potatoes
1 large beet, boiled and peeled
1 4 oz container plain yogurt
1 tbsp. dried chives (or two fresh)
crumbled roquefort
Bring the broth to a boil and add the potatoes, chunking them to help them cook more quickly. Cook until soft. Add the beet, chunked, and cook until heated through. Remove from heat and blend with immersion blender. Add salt and pepper to taste. Add yogurt and chives. Serve in bowls with roquefort crumbled on top.

More than any other time of year, I feel like winter screams for a certain kind of food, and that food is made in a deep stock pot. Winter is soup time. The Canadian noticed about as soon as I did. As I was boiling the leftover turkey bones in a pot for stock, he looked over, lifted his eyebrows in his Canadian way, and asked,

“Soup?”

“No… stock.”

“What?”

“Stock. I boil the bones to make stock. It’s a soup base.”

“Does this mean I will eventually be able to eat soup?”

“Yes.”

And he was. A few days later, I took out my stock and decided to make a pot of minestrone, one of my favorite soups. I would have gone with the typical chicken noodle, but the Canadian likes tomato, mushroom and vegetable soups, so I figured minestrone was a good compromise.

A few days later, Britney and I decided we weren’t quite done with the soup thing (plus we’ve both become obsessed with gridskipper.com, and an article a couple of weeks ago touted the local soup bars). We decided to go to Bar à Soupes in the 11th, near Bastille. We showed up at nine, so a few of the soups had run out, but we had the choice of a soup de marché (a vegetable soup), tomato-ginger, carrot-coriander, celery-bleu d’Auvergne, and split pea. As we were trying to decide, the lady behind the bar (literally, Soup Bar is just a bar with soups, salads and desserts and a few tables), let us know that there was a 6.50 option where you could sample three small soups with a roll… perfect for me and Britney who can’t make decisions.

Britney decided on vegetable, split pea and tomato-ginger. I went for tomato-ginger, carrot-coriander and celery-bleu d’Auvergne, which is strange, because I don’t like celery in general, but I couldn’t look away from the pale green, velvety soup. In the end, this one ended up being my favorite: it tasted less like celery than like an amalgamation of fresh vegetables with the definite tang and creaminess of blue cheese. Britney liked the split pea, so I guess the creamy soups were the winners. The other soups were good as well, tasting fresh and of their essential ingredients. We finished by splitting a piece of warm and melty chocolate cake. It seems that others have come to appreciate it as well: as we left around ten, two more groups had come in to sit and eat.

Minestrone (adapted from Gourmet, March 1993)

rind of parmesan cheese

1 28-oz. can of white beans
1/4 pound pancetta
1/3 cup olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 large carrot, cut into half-moons
1 rib of celery, cut into 1/2-inch dice
3 garlic cloves, chopped fine
2 zucchini, scrubbed and cut into half-moons
4 cups shredded green cabbage (preferably Savoy)
a 28-ounce can tomatoes, chopped coarse, with juice
4 1/2 cups chicken stock

1 cup small pasta
salt, pepper, dried basil

In a heavy kettle cook the pancetta in the oil over moderate heat, stirring, until it is crisp and pale golden. Remove and add the onion, and cook until the onion is softened. Add the carrots, the celery, and the garlic and cook the mixture, stirring, for 4 minutes. Add the zucchini and cook the mixture, stirring, for 4 minutes. Add the cabbage and cook until the cabbage is wilted. Add the tomatoes, parmesan rind and the broth and simmer the soup, covered, for 1 hour. Stir the white beans into the soup. Simmer the soup, uncovered, for 15 minutes, and season it with salt, pepper and basil. Add the pasta and simmer until cooked. Add the pancetta and serve. The soup may be made 3 days in advance and kept covered and chilled. Reheat the soup, thinning it with water as desired.