Kids Make Borscht

It's not all about beets

By Ed Bruske

aka The Slow Cook

Could borscht be the best soup ever?

My earliest memories are of a restaurant version somewhere: treacly sweet and garishly red. No thank you. The soup we made in our food appreciation classes last week, in contrast, groaned with all sorts of vegetables and a depth of flavor that only hinted at beets.

I'm convinced that the borscht we're most familiar with--that shockingly red beet puree--sprang from the imagination of a restaurant chef. I found nothing of the sort in my primary source--Please to the Table--an award-winning collection of recipes and food lore from the former Soviet Union. In fact, the author's first version of borscht--a traditional Ukranian soup--starts with pork or ham.

We made the vegetarian version (except for the chicken stock). Sure, it was red. But it was also so much more. The kids were crazy for it, asking for second and third helpings. How many other ways do you know to get children to salivate over cabbage, carrots, green pepper, celery, tomatoes--and, yes, beets.

Normally my recipes describe ingredients as part of the narrative. But there are so many in this soup, I will list them first. In fact, the most difficult part of this soup may be shopping for the ingredients. Maybe the best plan is to make a large batch and freeze some for later.

You'll need the following:

6 Tbs butter

1 large onion, finely chopped

1 large carrot, peeled and grated

1/2 large green pepper, cored and cut into small dice

1/2 small cabbage, shredded then coarsely chopped

1 medium beet, peeled and grated

1 rib celery, cut into small dice

1/2 tart apple (such as Granny Smith), peeled and cut into small dice

2 medium boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into small dice

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 6-ounce can tomato paste

2 quarts chicken stock

bouquet garni, consisting of 1 bay leaf and 8 pepper corns tied in cheesecloth

1 tsp sweet paprika

salt and pepper to taste

1/2 tsp sugar or more to taste

juice from 1/2 lemon

chopped fresh dill for garnish

sour cream

Melt the butter in a heavy soup pot over moderately high heat and add the onion, carrot and green pepper. Cook until the onion is soft, about 5 minutes, then add the cabbage, beet and celery. Cook a few minutes more, stirring frequently, then add the apple, potatoes and garlic. Stir in the tomato paste and mix well, then add the chicken stock and the bouquet garni.

Bring the pot to a boil, then lower the heat and cook 25 minutes, or until the vegetables are cooked through and the soup is quite aromatic. Remove the bouquet garni and stir in the paprika, salt, pepper, sugar and lemon juice.

Ladle the soup into large bowls (this soup does not need to be piping hot) and garnish with chopped dill. Serve with a sour cream on the side. Kids are not wildly enthusiastic about sour cream. But what do they know. In my opinion, borscht is best with a big dollop of sour cream in it.

Happy Pho Year

New Year's seems to be a time of lists--what's in, what's out. If you put a gun to my head and forced me to make a list of the world's greatest foods, this would have to be near the top--the simple Vietnamese noodle soup called pho (pronounced fuh?, like a question).

You know you are in a great pho house when you walk in the door and are transported by the aroma of star anise. The subtle broth is full of exotic spices and the essence of lots of beef bones, making it pure peasant fare. In its country of origin, pho is street food eaten any time of day, a snack that will keep your belly happy and full until tomorrow. Typically it also contains some beef parts--the less expensive kind you don't see very often in restaurants. Squeamish diners stick to thin slices of shoulder or eye of round, but I like to see mine swimming with bits of tendon and tripe and fatty brisket. On the side you'll be served a plate piled high with bean sprouts, Thai basil, sliced jalapeno and lime to add to the soup as you desire, along with squeeze bottles of sweet Hoisin and scorching Sriracha pepper sauces. We also order a small bowl of pickled onions.

The suburbs outside the District of Columbia have one of the largest Vietnamese populations in the country, so there's no problem finding good pho here. At $7.25 for a large bowl (prices have gone up lately), it's hard to beat for price, which may explain why you see so many non-Vietnamese immigrants lining up for pho. I'm not naming the restaurant where we took our pho yesterday because I had the distinct impression there was less meat in it than customary. Sign of the times? But still, oh so good.

Accidental Soup: Turkey & Wild Rice

Sometimes the process of making soup is totally opportunistic. But that is as it should be: soup is the poor man's way of letting nothing go to waste.

In this case, the stock was gleaned from the carcasses of two roasted turkey breasts, scavenged from a recent catering job. I made the stock in my usual fashion--chopping the carcasses into pieces and adding onion, carrot, celery, parsley and bay leaf. A reader recently suggested using leeks in this stock instead of the more common onion. But I can only say we are planning to eat the soup, not make love to it, so why flatter it with such precious baubles as leeks?

In any case, I had been planning to make a soup eventually with this stock using some sort of small pasta from the grocery. But then while rummaging around the pantry I came across a fairly large quantity of wild rice previously purchased in bulk. I cooked some of that in turkey stock until it was puffed out and bursting with flavor. And it occurred to me: why buy pasta, when I had a big pot of wild rice? I went out to the garden and harvested some carrots and some parsnips that have been resting very comfortably in the soil and gaining sweetness in the recent cold weather. And so this soup was born.

Simply saute with extra-virgin olive oil in a big, heavy pot a half a small onion, a couple of carrots and a couple of parsnips, all cut into small dice and seasoned with a teaspoon of coarse salt to bring out the juices. When the onion is soft, add about 8 cups turkey stock, then about 2 cups turkey meat (saved from our heritage Thanksgiving bird) cut into medium dice and 1 1/2 cups (or so) cooked wild rice. Over moderate heat, bring everything up to steaming. Season as needed with salt and freshly ground black pepper and serve in warm bowls with thick slices of a rustic bread. You can garnish the soup with chopped parsley or cilantro, as you like.

I do believe this is one of the most satisfying and flavorful soups I have ever tasted.

Turkey Tonic: Green Pozole

We ate and drank too much on Thanksgiving. Friday, it was my turn to make dinner and since we had a big piece of pork shoulder in the fridge, I had a ready plan: green pozole.

Writing about green pozole was one of my first efforts as a food writer. It was never published. But that's okay, because I much prefer eating pozole than writing about it. In Mexico, a very close cousin of pozole soup--menudo, made with beef tripe--is considered the ultimate hangover remedy. So why not my green pozole with pork shoulder to sweep away that fuzzy feeling left over from the Thanksgiving binge?

Pozole, a soupy stew traditionally made with pork and hominy, may be the closest thing to a national dish of Mexico that most Americans have never heard of. On Thursday evenings in the southwestern state of Guererro, pozole vendors pop up as if on queue, and townsfolk fall into line with buckets to collect their take-out dinner. At the ubiquitous pozoleria, lighthearted diners lean over their steaming earthenware bowls, adding heaps of sliced avocados, radishes, onion and crumbled pork crackling called chicharon.

Like our own chili, pozole is made in innumerable variations. Just about every household has its own version. Folks in the west and south of Mexico prefer the green pozole made with fresh poblano peppers, tomatillos and pumpkin seeds swimming with shredded pork shoulder. Red pozole is a simpler brew of garlic and dried chiles. For “white” pozole, a red pepper sauce is served on the side, along with a platter of stewed pork shoulder and pig’s feet.

Some families insist on presenting half a pig’s head with the stew. The cooked eyeball is reserved for the honored guest.

One reason you may never have seen pozole on a menu is because pozole has never achieved the rank of restaurant fare. Even in Mexico, it is more likely consumed at a market stall or a curbside vendor. This is one of those dishes best made at home.

Americans have been trained to expect Mexican food slathered in cheese and sour cream. Pozole celebrates that other Mexican food, the more traditional cuisine that evolved thousands of years ago. The Spanish introduced domesticated meats and dairy products in the 16th century. Before that, life revolved around corn.

The ancient Mayans believed that humans were fashioned from corn gathered from a mountain and mixed with the blood of gods. The Aztecs sacrificed a maiden by way of blessing the new corn. The peyote worshipping Huichol people of the Sierra Madre continue to hold that the transcendental soul passes through a corn phase on its path to enlightenment.

Even the name of the particular corn used in Mexican pozole recalls ancient cycles, sun worship, a fecund earth: cacahuacentli.

In Mexico and to the north, natives preserved corn by drying it. They processed the dried kernels in lye or lime to remove the tough hull, or pericarp. By a fortuitous quirk of history, this caustic bath--known as nixtamalization--made the vitally important niacin within the corn available for digestion. Nixtamalization also imparts a pleasantly acrid flavor.

In this country, we call this kind of corn hominy. It is frequently ground into grits. In Mexico, the dried corn is ground to form masa, a basic dough used to make the tortillas served at nearly every meal. The Mexican hominy used in pozole—cacahuacentli--is improbably large, about the size of a nickel. After soaking the dried corn, chefs pinch off the tip of the kernel so that it opens like a crocus blossom when cooked.

Making pozole is a good way to get out and see the displays of exotic products in Latin supermarkets. Finding all of the ingredients may require a bit of initial detective work. But the final result makes a great family-style fest: Once the stew is ladled into bowls, everyone gets to pass the condiments around while they create their own meal.

For condiments, choose from the following: Sliced radishes, diced avocado, dried oregano, chopped fresh tomato, shredded lettuce or Napa cabbage, chopped red onion, chicharon--or fried pork skin--and wedges of lime. And of course warm corn tortillas on the side are mandatory.

Traditional pozole is a simple, one-pot meal. But I like to cook the different elements--the corn, the meat, the vegetables--separately, starting days in advance. The stew just gets better with re-heating. I’ve also jazzed it up with a few spices—allspice, cinnamon, clove--that might make some Mexican chefs cluck with disapproval. But I think the extra flavor is worth bending tradition.

Pozole verde (green pozole)

Serves 12

6 cups cooked or canned hominy (Juanita's is one good brand)


For the Broth:

I’ve eliminated the pig’s head, but there’s no reason to if you want to make an impression. Otherwise, the pork comes from the shoulder, a very inexpensive cut. Pig’s feet contribute gelatin for a richer broth, though they can be left out as tastes dictate. Latin markets sell them sliced into manageable pieces.

3 pounds pork shoulder

1 ½ pounds pig’s feet, cut into pieces (optional)

3 quarts (12 cups) chicken stock

½ large white onion, studded with six whole cloves

1 bay leaf

4 allspice berries, crushed

1 whole stick cinnamon

Combine ingredients in a stockpot. Bring almost to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer very gently for three hours. Remove the meat to a plate and set aside. Discard the onion. Strain the broth through cheesecloth or a fine sieve. When the pork is cool, shred it into pieces, discarding unwanted fat. Return the shredded pork to the broth. (I pick over the pig’s feet and save the edible pieces for those guests who volunteer for it. Otherwise, discard the cooked pig’s feet.)

At this point, add the hominy to the broth and refrigerate until the next step is completed.

Vegetables:

The green chilies in this recipe are fresh poblanos, the kind typically deep-fried for chilies rellenos. They are sometimes erroneously labeled as “passilla” peppers. The poblano is broad at the stem like a green bell pepper, but much darker with a purplish tinge, and narrows to a point at the opposite end. Adding to the confusion, the poblano when dried is called “ancho.”

To prepare fresh chilies, roast them over a flame on the stovetop, or under a broiler, until the skins are blistered and charred. Place them in a paper bag to steam and cool. Then remove the stems; open the chilies and discard the seeds. Remove the skin with your fingers or the dull edge of a knife.

Tomatillos appear fresh in most supermarkets. They look like small green tomatoes wrapped in papery husks, but they are actually related to the Cape Gooseberry. They should be firm and unblemished, the husk loose and easily peeled.

5 fresh poblano peppers, roasted, peeled and roughly chopped

2 medium-sized jalapeno peppers (about the size of your thumb), roasted, peeled and finely chopped

2 tablespoons lard (or canola oil)

½ large white onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, diced

12 ounces fresh tomatillos, husks removed and chopped

2 cups broth (from that made above)

1 ½ cups hulled, raw, unsalted pumpkin seeds

Heat the oil in a large saucepan, add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, until the onions are almost translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the chili peppers and tomatillos and cook an additional 5 minutes.

Meanwhile, toast the pumpkin seeds in an ungreased pan over high heat until golden and crispy. Place in a food processor and chop to a fine grind. Add the cooked vegetables and some broth (you may need to do this in two batches) and process until the chilies and tomatillos are minced. Add this to the pot with the remaining broth, pork and hominy. Mix well and refrigerate.

A couple of hours before serving, remove the stew from the refrigerator and heat slowly. The final ingredient is epazote (Chenopodium ambrosioides), an important cooking herb in southern and western Mexico, a medicinal tea in the north. In this country, it grows wild as a weed called “wormseed.” The pungent flavor is somewhere between green tea, oregano and dill.

2 teaspoons dried epazote, tied in cheese cloth (I now use the fresh epazote that grows wild in my yard)

Add the bundle to the stew pot while it is reheating, then discard.

Serve the stew hot in large bowls, with warm tortillas and separate bowls of condiments on the side.

Black Bean Soup with Smoked Butt and Butternut Squash

The inspiration for this soup was a hunk of butternut squash sitting unused at the bottom of the crisper drawer and a 1-pound bag of dried black beans that came back from one of my "food appreciation" classes.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of butternut squash and black beans together. My mind has been occupied with Southern food lately, so thoughts naturally drifted toward pork in the soup somehow. I wasn't sure if this was becoming a Southern soup or something Cuban or Caribbean. It just evolved. I stopped at the market for a piece of "smoked butt," something we used to eat all the time when I was a kid. You don't see much mention of it anymore. It's really just a cured ham, but made from the shoulder--or "butt"--end of the pig rather than the hindquarters.

This soup is a two- or three-day affair. Not much work, in fact, but you do need to cook the beans. Pick over a 1-pound bag of dried black beans and remove any stones. Then pour the beans into a large mixing bowl and cover with lots of water. There should be several inches of water over the beans. Let this soak overnight.

The following day, in a large, heavy pot or Dutch oven, saute a large onion, peeled and cut into small dice, along with three or four stalks of celery, peeled to remove the tough fibers and cut into small dice. You can cook this with bacon fat or extra-virgin olive oil. Stir in a teaspoon of coarse salt to season and draw out the juices.

Cook the vegetables over moderately low heat until the onion is tender, about 8 minutes. Place a smoked ham hock in the center of the vegetables along with four thick slices of pork fat back (or "streak-o'-lean) that have been quickly browned in a skillet. Drain the beans and add these plus 3 1/2 quarts water. Make a spice sachet by tying in cheesecloth a fist-full of parsley sprigs, several sprigs of fresh thyme, two or three bay leaves and a half-dozen peppercorns. Use a length of string long enough so that you can tie off one end to the handle of your pot for easy retrieval. Drop the spice sachet into the water, bring the whole thing to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, with cover slightly ajar, for about 3 hours, or until the beans are perfectly tender and the soup is redolent of smoked pork.

At this point, I would remove the pot from the heat, cover it completely and let it cure overnight on the stovetop. But you don't have to. The next step is remove the spice sachet, the ham hock and the fat back and run the soup through a food mill or blender until it is smooth and creamy. If it's too thick, add some water. If it seems to thin, cook it some more with the lid off. Then add to the soup 1/2 of a medium butternut squash, skin and seeds removed and cut into medium dice. Also add about 1 pound of smoked butt, cut into medium dice and browned in a skillet for extra flavor.

Bring the soup back to a boil, reduce heat and simmer until the squash is cooked through and tender, about 30 minutes. Do stir the soup frequently, especially around the bottom to prevent the beans from scorching. To finish the soup, stir in 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander and 1 tablespoon molasses. I could also see finishing this bean and squash soup with some balsamic vinegar, some red wine or sherry. There's plenty of room for improvisation.

To serve, ladle into hot, shallow bowls and garnish with chopped cilantro. A slice of buttered corn bread would be perfect on the side.

Tomato Cleanup Soup

We have so many tomatoes from our recent garden cleanup that we've had to divide them among different bus tubs that are now crowding our kitchen. There's a tub of ripening tomatoes, a tub of green tomatoes (rapidly being made into preserves) and a big bowl of Roma tomatoes destined for pasta sauce and canning.

With one eye on the ripe tomatoes, my wife found this recipe for a smoky tomato soup in the September issue of Food and Wine. The smoky flavor comes from Spanish paprika, or "pimenton de la Vera." She had to travel some miles to the local Balducci's to find it, but it was worth the trip. With generous slices of Gruyere toast on the side, this soup makes a meal. Even our daughter loved it, which is saying quite a lot these days.

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 onion, diced small
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 teaspoons sweet smoked paprika
3 1/2 pounds tomatoes, quartered
1/2 cup water
1 thyme sprig
1 bay leaf
coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons heavy cream
eight slices baguette, cut on an angle
2 ounces Gruyere cheese, coarsely grated

Melt butter and olive oil in a heavy soup pot. Add onion and garlic and cook over moderately high heat until tender, about 8 minutes. Add paprika and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add tomatoes, water, thyme and bay leaf. Season with salt and pepper and bring tomato mixture to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer until tomatoes break down, about 15 minutes. Discard thyme sprig and bay leaf.

Puree soup in a blender until smooth. Strain soup back into soup pot, pressing on solids to extract as much liquid as possible. (This may take some time, but don't skimp on the effort as it will result in a luxuriously smooth soup.) Stir in cream and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, heat broiler. Place baguette slices on a baking sheet and broil until lightly toasted on both sides. Top toasts with Gruyere and broil another 30 seconds, or until the cheese is bubbly. Ladle soup into hot bowls and serve with cheese toasts.

Lunch

Mongrel soup with chickpeas and greens.

Preparation time: 5 minutes

Shopping: none

As often happens, this soup started with a handful of greens from the garden that had been blanched and tossed in the refrigerator. Add a trip to the freezer, where, in the process of a quick clean-out, I discovered a four-cup container of turkey stock and a four-cup container of duck broth. Once upon a time I had visions of this duck broth as the basis of some grand dining experience. Now it was merely filler for the soup pot.

I wanted to make this a bean soup, but the best I could find were some old chickpeas that had been kicking around the pantry. Sweat an onion and a couple of carrots, diced small, along with some parsnip that had been sitting in the crisper drawer too long. Season with thyme. I made the soup a couple of weeks ago. It gets better with age. Now it's just a matter of re-heating.

This is one of those soups that can only be considered my personal food. No one else in the family will touch it.

"It looks like dishwater," says the wife.

Ugly but good.

Kids Make Cream of Asparagus Soup

The idea of seasonality is not an easy one for young children to grasp. I'm hoping repetition will leave an impression. So this week we returned to the subject of asparagus in my "food appreciation classes." And who could possibly object to eating fresh asparagus again and again and again?

Children are fascinated by asparagus spears. In this week's lesson we read a picture book--"How Groundhog's Garden Grew"--that contained a surprising amount of good information about cultivating vegetables, including my favorite aparagus attribute: it is a perennial plant whose gnarly roots continue to produce spears for 15 years or more with very little maintenance.

Previously the kids learned how to poach asparagus and incorporate it into a frittata. This week we aimed to turn our asparagus into a creamy yet healthy soup. The recipe is extremely simple.

First the kids snapped off the tough ends off 1 1/2 pounds of asparagus. Then, using their platsic knives, they cut the spears into 1/2-inch pieces that we cooked until very tender in 4 cups (1 quart) of chicken broth. (You could also use vegetable broth for this to make a vegetarian soup.)

Meanwhile, we trimmed and cleaned a large leek. The kids were not familiar with leeks, so I cut off a piece and passed it around for them to smell. They noticed immediately a resemblance to onion. Leeks, onions, garlic, chives--they are all in the allium family. This time of year, we would be on the lookout for wild leeks--or ramps--to be foraged in area forests. They are delicious sauteed, and unlike cultivated leeks, you can eat the green parts.

To prepare the leek, I show the kids how to trim away the dark green parts. They are tough and inedible. Then I split the leek down the middle lengthwise from a point about 1/2 inch from the root end. The leek flops open, allowing us to rinse it thoroughly under cold running water and wash away any of the dirt that might be hiding between the layers.

We slice the leek fairly finely, season it with 1/2 teaspoon salt and saute it in a skillet over low heat with two or three tablespoons of extra-virgin olive until very soft. This takes about 12 minutes.

After we read our story, we return to the kitchen and scrape the leeks into the sauce pan with the asparagus and broth. In three separate batches, we process the broth and vegetables in a blender with 1/2 cup plain, non-fat Greek yogurt (or substitute conventional yogurt). Since the liquid is still hot, I show the kids how to avoid a burn by placing a kitchen towel over the lid of the blender. I hold the lid firmly in place with the towel. We don't want our soup to end up on the ceiling!

We pour the finished soup into a bowl after each batch, stir in a squeeze of lemond juice and finally ladle it into hot drink cups. The soup has cooled somewhat by now and could even be served room temperature.

Our asparagus soup is full of flavor but low in fat and calories. Funny how some of the kids who swore they would not like this soup are practically inhaling it. Some are even begging for seconds. Good thing we made enough.

Call Me Hambone

Apparently I've gained a reputation as the soup guy in our family. As we were preparing to decamp from Easter dinner and as parting gifts were being distributed, brother-in-law Barry produced the bone from the buffet ham. With a certain glint in his eye, Barry looked in my direction. Would I consider accepting this prize?

Have I ever said no to a ham bone?

Normally the cured remains of the pork joint would sit a while in our refrigerator while I considered my options. But I had recently been digging through our pantry and discovered a huge bag of French lentils. It came tumbling out of a basket of spices I keep in there (one of my many failings is my lack of organiztion in the spice department--they've outgrown their shelf in the spice cabinet).

I decided to make this an all-lentil soup. To accompany the Puy lentils I opened a bag of Indian dal, or yellow lentils. I knew that if these particular legumes remained true to form, the yellow dal would dissolve into the soup and become background for the French lentils, which always seem to retain their shape and some texture no matter how long you cook them.

Into the pot went a large yellow onion, diced small, with about 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil and 1 teaspoon coarse salt. Next add three medium carrots, peeled and diced small. Cook the vegetables until the onions begin to soften, about 8 minutes. Nestle the ham bone down in the vegetables and add 1 cup each of the Puy and yellow lentils. (In fact, I did not measure, but I believe these are the correct quantities.) Toss in 3 or 4 sprigs fresh thyme and 2 bay leaves, then pour in enough water to cover the ham bone, about 8 cups.

Bring the pot to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 4 hours, or until the meat is falling off the ham bone. We ate a bowl for dinner last night and the soup was just thin enough to please my wife. She prefers her legume soups on the thin side, as opposed to library paste. You can jazz this soup up a bit, if you like, by garnishing it with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar.

This soup also makes an excellent breakfast. But something happens to these sorts of soups when you leave them out overnight. They become thicker. Even after reheating, the soup had more of a stew-like consistency than the night before. I don't know if there is somehting about the starches in the legumes that thickens it in the night. But if it becomes too thick for your taste, just add a little water.

I know this soup will sound very familiar to some readers who may remember me making a pantry soup not long ago with lentils, split peas and a ham bone. To that I can only say that Gertrude Stein had it about right: things improve with repetition. Make this soup and I am betting you will feel as I do that it is far and away better than the one you made the last time.

Lunch: Gypsy Soup with Poached Egg

We have an abundance of local, farm-fresh eggs from our CSA box. I can't think of a better use than in the soup we made with our farmer friend Brett's sweet potatoes.

Call me a freak, but I love finding liquid yolk in my soup spoon. It adds a velvety touch to the broth.

I also added some leftover cannellini beans
from the fridge (there are garbanzo beans in the original soup).

Preparation time: 15 minutes

Shopping: none

Dark Days: Accidental Gypsy Soup

This particular accidental soup begins by cooking some greens in a pot of water and then forgetting about them or just letting them cook longer than you originally intended.

In fact, I had turned the heat pretty low. But nothing gets past my wife, the professional chef. She took note of how long the greens had been cooking, how all the nutrients had been leached out of the greens into the cooking water, and relayed this information to me in the way that spouses sometimes do. I explained that I had purposely turned the heat down so the greens wouldn't overcook, to which my wife replied that the cooking had been going on for at least an hour--she knew precisely, because we had just finished our weekly yoga session, which is an hour long.

Just as this discussion was gathering momentum, a small voice was heard to suggest using the water in which the greens had been cooking as a soup base. This would be our friend and yoga instructor Beth, who happened to be sitting at the kitchen island sipping a cup of coffee and listening in. As friends sometimes do, Beth was trying to rescue the situation. It had not occurred to me to use the cooking water for soup. I grabbed a spoon and tasted. Brilliant!

Flash forward to that evening. Dinner time approaches. I am seated at the kitchen table with our dog-eared copy of The Moosewood Cookbook, reacquainting myself with the recipe for one of our favorite dishes from that classic volume, "Gypsy Soup." We had flashed on this particular soup because it contains a quantity of sweet potatoes, and we had received a number of sweet potatoes in our weekly CSA box.

Sweet potatoes plus my (overcooked) greens, also from the CSA box, plus the aforementioned cooking water sounded like an amended version of Gypsy Soup. I was literally ready to start chopping onions when I noticed my wife heating up the stock pot to cook an artichoke for our daughter--that being the stock pot in which I had been saving my soup base.

"Where's the soup base?" I inquire.

My wife gives me stricken look. "Oh," she says.

"You threw out my soup base?"

Apologies. Lots of apologies.

Well, I thought that might be the end of our Accidental Gypsy Soup, what with the soup base having gone down the kitchen drain. But I adjusted. The Moosewood Cookbook suggested using stock or water in this soup. So I just used water--filtered water. It came out fine, using our CSA sweet potatoes and a few other things from the crisper drawer and the pantry.

What makes this soup are the spices and herbs: lots of paprika, turmeric, cinnamon, dried basil.

Heat 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil in the bottom of a heavy pot or Dutch oven and add a large onion, diced medium, three medium carrots, peeled and diced, 1 large sweet potato, peeled and diced medium, and three garlic cloves, chopped fine. Cook for about 5 minutes, or until the onions begin to soften. Add 2 teaspoons paprika, 1 teaspoon turmeric, 1 teaspoon dried basil, a dash of cinnamon, a pinch of cayenne and a bay leaf and cook a few minutes longer.

Stir into the pot 1 1/2 cups cooked greens (such as kale, collards, Chinese greens) roughly chopped, 1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes, drained, and 1 14-ounce can chickpeas, or 1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas. Cover with enough stock or water to make the soup the consistency you prefer. We like ours on the thick side. Bring the pot to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until the vegetables are all cooked through, about 10 minutes.

To serve, season the soup with about 1 tablespoon tamari and ladle into warm bowls. A thick slice of crusty, whole-grain bread would be excellent with this.

Spring Cleanup Soup

Among my many sins, I have been neglecting for months a small patch of beets in one of my garden beds. It just so happens that this bed parallels the alley from our driveway to the front door, so that I frequently pass by these beets and remind myself that I should be doing something with them.

To put an exclamation point on my guilty feelings, I looked back in my garden journal and saw that I originally planted these beets on August 4 of last year. Could they possibly be seven months old? Granted, this is an area that receives only morning sun and the winter sun is not much. But most of the plants had never advanced beyond the wee juvenile stage. They were still leafy and obviously alive, however, sagging when things got too cold, perking up again as the weather improved. They just seemed to be in some sort of state of arrested development.

Well, yesterday we started our spring cleanup and planting. The beds where the beets were located is destined for other things. I lifted the beets out of the ground with my forked spade and began sifting through them. Curiously, some of the beets were still mere seedlings. (So what have they been doing all this time?) None were what you would call "mature." But several were big enough to bother cooking, and after tasting a sample, I determined that all the greens were indeed edible.

This sounded like the component of a meal--what, exactly, I wasn't sure. Then I remembered not one but two containers of homemade chicken stock in the fridge that absolutely needed to be consumed. A quick check of the pantry revealed a one-pound bag of small red beans that have been sitting around doing nothing forever. A small bag of brown rice was perched on top of a canister, looking for a permanent home. The glimmerings of a soup began to appear.

Start with 1 red onion that is beginning to sprout on your kitchen counter. Remove the green center where it is growing and cut the rest into medium dice. Dice another leftover 1/2 onion from the crisper drawer, plus three medium carrots. Start cooking the onion and carrot in about 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil at the bottom of a large, heavy pot or Dutch oven set over moderately-low heat. Season with 1 teaspoon coarse salt to bring out the juices. Next add three cloves garlic, crushed and chopped fine.

When the onions are soft, stir in about 12 cups homemade chicken stock. Add 1 pound small red beans and two or three sprigs fresh thyme. Raise heat, bringing the soup to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer until the beans are cooked through. This will probably take three or four hours. Now stir in 1 cup brown rice and cook until the rice is tender, about 45 minutes. Remove the thyme sprigs and add 1 can of diced tomatoes, drained, and about 1 gallon of beet greens, cleaned and coarsely chopped. (This would also be an appropriate time for other winter greens you might have, such as kale or collards, but I might have cooked them separately before adding to the soup.) Season to taste with salt and freshly groud black pepper.

Our soup turned out pretty thick. You can always thin it with more chicken stock or water if you like. In the picture above, a scoop of queso fresco, or fresh cheese from the Latin market, completes the ensemble. You could also use finely grated cheddar or jack or another or your favorite cheeses. What sits before you now is a complete protein, you don't really need anything else, except perhaps a nice glass of red wine.

You should have enough soup to freeze several servings, in addition to filling an 8-cup container that will make breakfast for the foreseeable future. And if you are wondering what happened to all the beets--I cleaned them and peeled them and roasted them. I went out to run an errand and let them cook a bit too long, but they were still perfectly edible. Which begs the question: How long can you leave a beet in the ground and still eat it?

French Onion Soup

The moment finally arrived yesterday to turn the extraordinary beef stock we made last week into an extraordinary French onion soup.

This was a team effort. I made the beef stock. My wife, with her usual expert attention to detail, finished the soup. As her reference, she used The New Best Recipe, from the editors at Cook's Illustrated magazine. A small controversy arose, as the good editors at Cook's Illustrated felt compelled to give a recipe substituting a mix of store-bought chicken stock, beef stock and red wine for an authentic beef stock.

My wife happens to believe that if this gets harried cooks to attempt a French onion soup, all the better. My personal opinion is, I don't really have an opinion. It just seems to me that the time it takes to gather up the ingredients for a faux-stock could just as easily be spent gathering up the ingredients for a real stock. Really, there is not that much extra effort involved and a homemade beef stock will send you into orbit, it is that good.

Once you've settled the matter of a stock, the soup is fairly simple. Slice five red onions thinly and saute them with two tablespoons butter and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a heavy pot at least 30 minutes, stirring frequently, or until the onions are extremely soft, reduced and syrupy. Add 6 cups stock and 1/4-cup red wine, plus 2 sprigs parsley, 1 sprig thyme, 1 bay leaf.

Scrape the onions from the bottom of the pot. Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 20 minutes. Stir in 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper as needed.

To finish the soup in the traditional French style, ladle it into six deep ceramic bowls and place two slices of baguette, cut on an angle, on top of each. Over the bread, distribute Greyere and Asiago cheese, approximately 4 1/2 ounces Gruyere and 3 ounces Asiago total.

My wife was able to use our cheese slicer--the kind with a taught wire on the handle--to make very thin slices out of the Gruyere. She grated the Asiago. But however you manage it will be fine, since the cheese melts in the oven. My wife simply dislikes those presentations where the cheese is melted in big globs on the edge of the soup bowl, and cheese is running down the sides (remember, you do have to clean the bowls afterwards).

Now place the soup bowls on a baking sheet and put them under the broiler until the cheese is melted, browned and even charred a little in picturesque fashion. Carefully place the hot bowls on an underliner to bring to the table and serve with your favorite red wine.

The soup is a meal in itself. When you think about it, between the bread, the cheese, the onions and the beef, virtually all the major food groups are represented. But we went ahead and served a salad afterwards with a variety of winter greens, dried cranberries, a leftover lump of Feta cheese and a honey-mustard vinaigrette. We had a bunch of bananas going bad, so my wife made our favorite banana bread with chocolate nibs for dessert, served with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.

This was a simple meal, but a perfect Sunday supper. I urge you: should any beef scraps fall into your hand--or bones--make beef stock. You will not regret it.

Best Split-Pea Soup Ever

I recently wrote about a mongrel split-pea, lentil and ham soup. That was a great soup, thrown together with a variety of legumes in small quantities that were taking up space in our pantry.

Well, we recently put together a birthday party for our friend Desson and inherited the meaty bone from a honey-glazed, spiral-cut ham. I've been saving it for a split-pea soup. In honor of the occasion, I stopped at Whole Foods for some split peas from the bulk section.

Soups are great for cleaning out the crisper drawer. This one calls for one onion, diced small, and the one-and-one-half carrots I had in the fridge, peeled and diced small. I also had a medium-sized parsnip, so I peeled and diced that up as well. All those things were sauteed about eight minutes with 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil and a teaspoon of kosher salt at the bottom of my Le Creuset pot.

I then added the ham bone (you could make a vegetarian version omitting the ham bone and using vegetable stock), a bouquet garni--made with several sprigs thyme, two bay leaves and a half-dozen peppercorns wrapped in cheese cloth--one pound split peas, then the four cups turkey stock (the end, finally) I had left in the fridge and four cups of water, or until the liquid rose to about one inch below the top of the pot.

Bring this to a boil, then reduce the heat to low, cover and cook gently for several hours, or until the ham has fallen off the bone and the peas are completely disintegrated.

I've never had a better split-pea soup, neither too pasty nor too thin. Serve it hot with a wedge of your best iron-skillet corn bread. This is dinner for a cold, winter night when ice is hanging off the eaves and the wind is knocking on your window.

White Bean-Fennel Soup

Sometimes through luck or merely endless repetition we hit on something that seems to have been perfectly designed. That's the way I feel about this soup, a delicious melding of earthy white beans and the sweet flavors of onion, carrot and fennel.

I've made the soup so many times I no longer remember when or how it occurred to me to add the fennel. But I think the faint notes of anise lift the humble beans into another realm.

There is a bean soup served in the U.S. Senate dining room that has become famous over the years. Called, appropriately enough "Senate Bean Soup," it is often imitated as a sort of holy grail of the white bean potage. But I wager that my soup is every bit as good, if not better. I make a large quantity of it and freeze it in smaller containers, ensuring that we will have enough to last us through spring.

This recipe calls for chicken stock as a base. But the beans and vegetables are so flavorful, I'm sure you could use plain water for a vegetarian version. I highly recommend it if you have time to sit yourself down with a bowl and watch the snow drift outside the window.

1 pound dried cannellini or Great Northern beans, soaked overnight in plenty of water

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 large onion, peeled and diced small

1 medium fennel bulb (tops removed), diced small

2 medium carrots, peeled and diced small

3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt

1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (or several sprigs, tied in a bundle)

freshly ground black pepper to taste

7 cups chicken stock (preferably homemade)

½ cup toasted bread crumbs for garnish

Drain the beans and set aside. Over moderately low heat, heat olive oil in a large, heavy pot. Add onion, fennel, carrots and garlic, season with salt and pepper. Sweat the vegetables, stirring frequently, until onions are soft, about 10 minutes. Stir in thyme and season with pepper.

Add beans and stock. Raise heat and bring soup almost to a boil. Then lower heat and simmer gently, covered, until beans are very tender, 2-3 hours. Remove from heat. Carefully ladle half the soup into a blender and blend until smooth, holding the lid in place with a kitchen towel, or pass the mix through a food mill. Stir puree back into the pot. If it seems too thick, add more stock or water.

To serve, ladle soup into large, shallow bowls and garnish with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and toasted bread crumbs.

Breakfast

Cabbage and cauliflower soup.

Preparation time: 5 minutes

Shopping: none

I made this soup some weeks back while cleaning out the crisper drawer: Half a cabbage, a wedge of red cabbage, some cauliflower, carrots. I used cider vinegar to kick up the flavor.

Because of the red cabbage, the soup took on a color resembling dirty dish water, so I never considered it ready for prime time. This is just one of those homely soups you keep in the freezer and serve to family as the need arises. Or perhaps one of those soups you eat yourself, since no one else in the house seems interested in cabbage soup that looks like dirty dish water.

Split Pea-Lentil-Ham Soup with Sweet Potato

You are probably wondering how I arrived at a soup containing split peas, two different kids of lentils, ham and sweet potatoes.

I assure you, this did not involve a visit from the soup fairy.

I started with a meaty ham bone for which I had already envisioned a soupy destination. More precisely, split pea soup. This was a tradition in my family, making split pea soup from a ham bone. It usually came out very thick, or something like molten library paste. I like mine thinner, but with texture.

I was ready to make a run to the Whole Foods for split peas when I checked myself, thinking a quick peek in the pantry might save me a trip. Sure enough, in a big jar gathering dust on the top shelf, there was the remains of a bag of split peas. Not nearly enough to make a pot of soup, however. In the same container I found a handful of yellow Indian lentils. Again, an obvious insufficiency. There was also a small quantity of French Puy lentils, memory of some long-ago stew.

Neither of the three would suffice on its own. But with all three together, I had a soup and no need for a shopping trip. I also had part of a sweet potato, left over from making a rustic chicken stew (stay tuned). Voila, split pea-lentil-ham soup with sweet potato.


First, cut a medium yellow onion and three carrots (peeled) into small dice. Start these cooking in about 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil over moderately low heat. Stir in about 1 teaspoon coarse salt to draw out the liquid. Add two or three cloves garlic, thinly sliced.

Cook until the onions are soft, about 8 minutes, then add the ham bone plus 1/2 cup split peas, 1/2 cup yellow lentils and 1/2 cup French Puy lentils. Add 1 cup sweet potato cut into bite-size pieces. Pour seven cups water into the pot and add a few sprigs of thyme and a bay leaf tied into a bundle. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to the lowest setting, cover and cook very slowly for three or four hours.

As it cooks, the ham will eventually fall off the bone. The split peas and yellow lentils will completely disintegrate, leaving the French lentils very soft but still holding a bit of texture. At this point you can remove the pot from the heat and fish out the bones and any clumps of gristle, as well as the herb bundle, using a pair of tongs or slotted spoon. Season to taste with ground black pepper and salt.

Serve the soup hot, perhaps with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar or maple syrup. A crusty piece of bread will work nicely. This is a great soup for cleaning out the pantry. Don't be afraid to amend it to suit your particular cleaning needs.

Mushroom-Barley Soup

The robust, earthy flavors of this soup qualify it as a special winter elixir. I usually use a rich beef broth for the base, but I didn't have any beef broth handy. What I did have was turkey broth--lots and lots of turkey broth.

There is nothing difficult about this soup as long as you have the mushrooms, the barley and maybe an onion. We had perhaps a half-pound of mushrooms--creminis and shitakes--left over from the mushroom pate my wife made for a recent cocktail buffet. The barley is a pantry staple around here. And it turned out I only had half an onion, but lots of shallots. So I substituted three or four shallots for the missing onion half.

In your largest cast-iron skillet, saute about four cups of mushrooms cut into 1/4-inch slices. I like to start the mushrooms in a smoking-hot skillet to brown them a little, then turn the heat down to finish cooking. They will soak up lots of extra-virgin olive oil, so don't be afraid to add more. It will just make the soup that much richer. Season aggressively with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, in a heavy pot or Dutch oven, saute the onion (or shallots), cut into medium dice, and three or four cloves of garlic, thinly sliced, with about 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil. Season with salt to draw the juices out. In a saucepan, cook 1 cup pearled barley with 2 cups turkey stock (or substitute beef or chicken stock) seasoned with salt.

Naturally, these three items will cook at different rates, so time it how you please. (Since the barley soaks up so much stock, I cook it separately.) You just want the onions in the soup pot soft, then you can add the sauteed mushrooms and the cooked barley and finally 8 cups stock of your choice. Add 1/4 cup sherry and cook another 20 minutes or so over low heat just to infuse the soup with the flavor of the mushrooms and the sherry. The soup will be even better made a day ahead.

Serve hot with a salad from the garden and a slice of sourdough bread.

Turkey-Rice Soup with Garden Vegetables

I get an almost sinister sort of satisfaction pulling carrots from my garden four days before Christmas. Most of the farmers markets are closed. The community gardens are in a deep slumber. Yet I am still harvesting.

Okay, that doesn't make me a genius--maybe just late. My carrot bed, of course, is getting smaller and smaller. I was late planting my rutabagas and turnips, but they seem to be getting bigger despite overnight termperatures below freezing. And I still have beets, potatoes and lots of Swiss chard. Until the first really deep freeze, that is.

The reason I am pulling carrots is for a turkey soup. I still have a couple of pounds of turkey meat from Thanksgiving, recently removed from the freezer and thawed. This also is a good time to clean out the crisper drawer, where I keep partially used onions, half a bunch of celery, etc. I also have a stray bag of Basmati brown rice staring down at me from the pantry.

And in the cold room are two 8-cup containers of brown turkey stock, the result of recently roasting bone-in turkey breasts on a bed of onion, carrot, celery, garlic, thyme. The basic architecture of a soup is beginning to take shape.

Isn't that the original point of making soup, to use all the leftovers in the kitchen?

In one pot I am cooking 1 cup Basmati brown rice with 2 cups brown turkey stock. In another large, heavy Dutch oven I am sauteeing 1/2 red onion and 1/2 yellow onion, diced medium, about 4 celery stalks, peeled and cut on the diagonal, and 3 carrots, peeled and diced medium. I dumped all this into the pot after heating about 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil. Salt the vegetables liberally (about 1 teaspoon coarse salt) to draw out the juices. Simmer until the onions are soft, about 8 minutes.

Add 8 cups stock to the vegetables, bring up the heat and cook just a few minutes, or until all of the vegetables are tender to your liking. When the rice has finished cooking (when all the stock is absorbed, or add a little more stock if it runs dry), add that to the soup pot as well. Finally, add about 3 cups turkey meat (white and dark would be nice) cut into bite-size pieces.

If the soup is too thick, just add some more stock and adjust the seasonings.

We will have some of this soup for dinner. It would be delicious with sweet potato biscuits. I'll also freeze some for later and to put in client lunches.

Kids Make Butternut Squash Soup

Do you take your squash perfectly smooth, or a bit lumpy?

That was the dilemma I wrestled with in my "food appreciation" classes this week. I wanted the kids to experience the old-fashioned method of turning vegetables through a food mill into soup, but I wasn't sure how they would react to the texture.

As much as possible, I try to make these sessions a hands-on tutorial. For the most part, we do without modern kitchen gadgets and especially electrical appliances. I want the kids to learn original techniques, and to appreciate the difference

between making food by hand and zapping it with electricity.

Turns out texture was a major issue for the smaller children. So on the second day of classes, we tried something different. All the kids got a turn cranking the food mill to see how the old-fashioned device turned sauteed onions, carrots and apples into a puree. Then, to get rid of the bumps, we processed the soup in a blender.

This makes me a pack mule, hauling all my equipment to school, and it does create a bit of extra work. But I think the final results are worth the effort.

This is a classic soup. The apple and winter squash harvests overlap, which leads to this fortunate blend of flavors, the sweetness of the apples giving just the right lift to the savory squash. I adapted this recipe from the many I looked at in my research. There is a startling number of variations, with ingredients including cream, sour cream, half-and-half, chicken broth, maple syrup, honey, brown sugar, curry powder, brandy, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg--and on and on.

Anything that goes with apples or butternut squash, it seems, is fair game for this soup, so don't be afraid to improvise.

In the end, the soup was a huge hit with the older kids--even the lumpy version. The younger children, however, were immediately put off by the rough texture of the soup using only the food mill mill. But they were eager to try it once it had been smoothed out in the blender. Still, many of them found the brownish color of the finished soup a bit intimidating. Some of them, on the other hand, absolutely loved it. And what's not to love about a soup that's practically half dessert?

I tried to keep my final recipe as American as possible, with the accent on maple syrup and brown sugar. Making it is surprisingly easy, really just a matter of combining the cooked squash with the other ingredients, hardly any cooking at all.

For 6 servings

1 medium butternut squash (about 2 pounds)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, peeled and cut into small dice
2 carrots, peeled and grated
1 semi-sweet, crispy apple, peeled and grated
Coarse salt
1 cup half-and-half

1 cup chicken broth (or water)
2 tablespoons dark brown sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
Sour cream or crème fraiche for garnish (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Cut the squash in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Place squash in an oven-proof casserole cut-side down and add water to a depth of about ½ inch. Place in oven and bake until completely tender, about 1 hour. Remove from oven and set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, in a heavy pot over moderate heat, heat the olive oil and add the onion, carrot and apple. Cook until the onion is completely soft, about eight minutes. Remove from heat. When the vegetables are cool enough to handle, process through a food mill (or in a blender or food processor with the addition of some broth or water).

Return pureed vegetables to cook pot. Scoop flesh from squash and add to cook pot. Add remaining ingredients and use a potato masher to thoroughly blend squash into the mix. (For a very smooth soup, process the mix in a blender or food processor.) Return pot to moderate heat on the stove and bring to a simmer. Adjust seasonings.

To serve, ladle soup into bowls and garnish with a swirl of sour cream or crème fraiche.

Note: if the soup is too thick, add half-and-half, chicken stock or water.