Curried Coconut Tomato Soup

In her quest to seize more control of the kitchen, my daughter Claire now cooks every Monday. That actually works out great for me, since I teach until 5 on those days, and by the time I've gotten on the train and back home, it's after 6 and I'm beat. She loves it because she gets to cook whatever she feels like cooking, assuming that she has planned far enough ahead to give me a shopping list. She and Julia also both love Mondays because Claire likes to get dinner on the table early. I have adjusted somewhat to French mealtimes and usually start cooking at 6, but Claire usually has dinner ready on the table at shortly after 6, or right when I get home. Apparently French cafeteria food isn't that good, and the girls are ravenous when they get home.

And so Claire was the one who made this soup on Monday night: she didn't feel like planning, and I knew that the recipes in Melissa Clark's book are pretty easy to follow, so I gave her this task. I told her to take photos, but she forgot.

I was not there to witness the cooking process, but could piece together the following information: Claire followed the recipe to the letter. I saw the scale (to weigh out the tomatoes) and many measuring spoons out on the counter. She seems to have started the soup in a deep skillet and then realized it would have to be moved to a soup pot. And she would like to pass on this word of wisdom:

"If you have a blender full of hot soup, it's probably not a good idea to use the 'pulse' function." She did a pretty good job of cleaning up the ensuing soup volcano (fortunately, she doesn't seem to have been injured), but I'm guessing things got pretty messy in the kitchen.

So when I arrived home, the apartment smelled fabulous, but Claire told me that "the texture isn't right". I took a look and had a taste, and we did some adjusting. 

We are not big fans of the "brothy"soup, so I decided to add a handful (maybe 1/4 cup) of rice to thicken things up and add texture. Claire told me she had already added more curry powder and more coconut milk for thickness. I added a bunch of salt and also threw in a couple of sugar cubes for flavor balance.

We served the soup with toasted almonds and chopped frozen herbs and squeezed lime juice on top. It was delicious with the baguette pictured. Grilled cheese would also have been a great addition.

If you make this recipe, I recommend you follow Claire's advice and "add more of everything except the water".

Gingery Split Pea Soup

Let me begin this post with a travel tip: if you're leaving for a week-long trip to a fabulous mountainside apartment, you probably shouldn't pack your things at 5 AM with a raging fever. You'll probably forget a lot of random things, like sunscreen and long underwear and sharp knives. All this to say that although I cooked this soup in idyllic conditions (above is the view from the apartment we were loaned for the week), the cooking conditions were not exactly ideal.

If you've ever cooked in a vacation apartment, you'll know that the equipment furnished is generally sketchy at best. Dull knives are a given, and things like graters and peelers don't always exist. But I had remembered my cookbook and a bunch of important ingredients (though I also forgot a few), and I was determined to cook the soup and stay on schedule.

 So the vegetables got an, ahem, rough chop. This was kind of a problem for the ginger. I had brought my remaining red lentils, but they weren't enough. The minimart at the ski village where we were staying didn't stock split peas, but the kitchen we were staying in had green lentils, so I threw them in. And I had forgotten to bring rosemary and bay leaf, so I threw in some herbes de provence. Close enough, right? And I used a bouillon cube because it was there.

But check it out--I cooked the soup in a pressure cooker--probably one from the 70s. It scared me, but it did not in fact explode, and the soup cooked really quickly--by the time I had cleaned the kitchen and set the table, the soup was done. Such is also the nature of the vacation home kitchen--sometimes you have a pleasant surprise.

It was kind of fun to cook in this tiny kitchen, with the two-burner stove and tiny fridge and toaster oven. It was very similar to the kitchen I cooked in when I was a college student in Germany. Except I had better knives even back then.

And the soup? Well, it all got eaten--I'm beginning to really appreciate that about Melissa Clark's recipes. But no-one really went crazy over it. The ginger didn't get chopped finely enough (yes, that's the blame-avoiding passive right there), and so it dominated a bit much for my taste. The rosemary would have added a nice touch,  and I also think I would have liked the soup better with split peas. I guess to summarize, I wasn't thrilled with the soup as I made it, but I believe the soup as it was originally conceived would be really good. I'll have to try it again now that I once again have a clear head and a well-equipped kitchen.

Fragrant Lentil Rice Soup

 When Michelle decided to change from the Valentine's cake to this lentil recipe, I had mixed feelings. I always love to bake, and I usually make something chocolate for Valentine's day. On the other hand, the recipe in the Melissa Clark cookbook involved buttercream--the kind with egg whites and three sticks of butter. I had been scheming about how to wiggle around that (a scheme involving cupcakes) when the change was made. And now we have lentils and rice and spinach. What better way to show your love than to cook a really delicious and healthy meal?

So there I was on a Monday night, facing the stove with tears streaming down my face. Four onions is a lot to chop! Three of them went in a pan to caramelize.

 I then turned my attention to the "soup" pot (this ended up more like a pilaf), sautéing onions with aromatics like garlic, ginger (family favorite!), bay leaf, and cinnamon stick. I added these "coral lentils", as the French call them, and some stock and water and let the lot simmer. Note that I should have added the rice at this time, even though I used plain basmati rice rather than the brown basmati Melissa calls for.

In the meantime, the onions continued to caramelize. Although I followed the recipe fairly closely, adding a bit more oil and cranking up the heat, the onions never achieved the "crispy" stage. They were still deliciously caramelized. I've had more luck using the oven to get crispy onions, though they very quickly go from crispy to carbonized.

 In the meantime, as Melissa suggests, I had been making paratha dough, and when the lentils and rice seemed almost done, I cooked up some parathas.

Mmm...flaky, buttery flatbread. I'm sure the whole-wheat flour totally makes up for all the butter in these.

Now that the paratha is almost ready, it's time to add the spinach. I decided to leave out the mint because I wasn't feeling it. I'm curious to see if others used it.

And here's the finished product. The spinach freshens up the whole affair and keeps it from being exclusively brown food: unfortunately, red lentils lose some of their pretty color in cooking. The flavor is aromatic without being spicy: I didn't love the cinnamon flavor and might try to dial back on that (maybe adding some cardamom instead) another time. I liked the pilaf texture and loved the caramelized onion topping. As with the parsnip soup, a squeeze of lemon (no limes to be found right now) brightened and enhanced the flavor a lot. Everyone seemed to enjoy this dish, and it was the perfect amount for four people.

Cook this now? If you'd like something healthy, somewhat exotic, and not too complicated to put together, I would say yes!

Creamy Parsnip and Leek Soup

 I think that of all of us in this blog group right now, I'm the only one living in a place with a climate remotely similar to that of Melissa Clark's New York. Exhibit A: the view out my window. It gets cold here! And so some soup is definitely in order.

Root vegetables are also definitely the way to go at this time of year here: they're about all that's seasonal. Having lived in California and in the South, I know they're somewhat of a novelty item. I remember the first time I cooked a parsnip (roasted with a bunch of other root vegetables with a beef pot roast thing that turned out to be absolutely delicious) in California. It was strange and hard to find.
Parsnips are now a trendy vegetable in France, whereas apparently about five years ago, they were completely unavailable and unheard of. When I buy them at the market, people still ask me how I cook them. Celery root, however, is a normal thing to buy. Stalk celery, which I dislike anyway, is harder to find.

Another great cold-weather ingredient: thyme. Despite the "big cold" of the last week or so (highs in the low 30s), my thyme (which I planted from a bunch I bought at the farmers market) is still hanging on in its little window box. My parsley will probably come back: it always does. This is about the extent of my garden these days.

So, to the recipe: you melt a nice-sized piece of butter in a big pot. I would like to say that this is one of my favorite things to see.

You add about 4 sliced leeks (just the white and pale green parts) that have been very, very carefully washed, and you sauté them down until they're starting to brown.

Then you add a giant pile of white: parsnip, celery root, potato.

You add some aromatics like thyme and bay leaf (and parsley and celery leaf if you've got them and feel like tying a bouquet garni) and some stock (I had some homemade stock left from another soup I'd made) or water, and you let that come to a boil and simmer for a while, until everything is soft and mushy.

In the meantime, you can deal with your bread. Here I have a true German Vollkornbrot that's been hanging around in my freezer since friends brought it back for me. Really delicious, but really hard to slice.

When Melissa said "pumpernickel croutons", I assumed she meant real croutons, the kind you bake with olive oil and garlic, not just toast rubbed with garlic. So even though she wrote the latter, I decided that I would cube my bread, toss it with a clove of garlic cut into about 4 pieces and about a tablespoon of oil, and bake it at 375 for about 10 minutes. It was a nice addition and made a good texture contrast.

OK, it's about 40 minutes later, and all of your vegetables have cooked through. Fish out the bay leaves and thyme (and any other herbs).

Get out your immersion blender and purée the mixture. If you're not like me and prefer actual soup to something like mashed potatoes, you'll probably want to add more water or broth (or even some dairy--I ended up adding some cream I had in the fridge) to make it a bit more liquid.

Serve it up topped with croutons, a drizzle of olive oil, and a sprinkling of red (Aleppo) pepper.

The verdict? Julia and I liked it a lot: it's got a mild, mellow flavor and warms and fills you up: perfect on a winter day. Claire and Sami both ate theirs without complaining (which is saying a lot for Sami) but without any praise, either. Everyone agreed that this was more like purée (French for mashed potatoes) than soup, but for most of us, that's a plus rather than a minus.

Cook this now? Is it cold where you are? Do you have easy access to root vegetables like parsnips? Do you love mashed potatoes? If the answers are yes, then do it!

Clam Chowder

For the first time ever, I made clam chowder with actual clams. It was quite the adventure. I found the clams easily enough at the fish store, and while the guy was packing them up, I asked him how to prepare them. "Uh, you just open them and eat them raw!" I explained that I wanted to cook them: did I need to soak them? wash them? He looked very confused--why would I want to cook these? So he asked the manager, who took one look at me and declared, "Ah, you must want to make that American clam soup!" Busted.

So I took my clams home and washed them and steamed them in water and white wine, hoping to use the broth instead of clam juice. But the broth, for whatever chemical reason, turned a horrifying shade of blue. I really didn't think my family wanted to eat blue soup. So that was discarded.

Despite all this adventure, I made some really delicious clam chowder. I still kind of wish I could buy canned clams in France, though...

This recipe, with some modifications, comes from the September 1999 issue of Bon Appétit.

Littleneck Clam Chowder

2-3 lbs. littleneck clams (I have no idea what kind of clams I used. In French they were called "clams")

3 T. butter

1 onion, diced

1/4 c. flour

1/2 c. white wine

1-1/2 c. clam juice (I used water and a bit of "fish stock powder")

1-1/2 c. milk

3 medium white potatoes, peeled and diced

In a large pot or covered skillet, put the clams and a bit of water over medium-high heat. Steam, watching closely, about 8 minutes. Take the clams out with tongs as they open. Scoop the cooked clams out and set aside. Don't use any clams that haven't opened. Make sure to keep the juice inside the clams as well as the cooking water, assuming it's not blue. You'll probably want to strain it through a fine sieve or even a coffee filter.

Now get out another large pot and melt the butter in it over medium heat. Add the onion and a bit of salt and sauté until translucent. Sprinkle the flour over and let cook for about a minute. Then gradually add the white wine, clam juice, and milk, stirring constantly and carefully to avoid lumps. Add the potatoes, cover, and cook at medium-low heat for about 20 minutes, or until they are tender.

With scissors or a knife, coarsely chop the clams and add them and any reserved juices to the soup. Cook the soup just until hot and serve with bread and a salad. This makes 4 good-sized bowls.

"Detox" split pea soup

I have a subscription to Elle magazine: I find it's a great way to learn French and keep up on trends in society. And it has pretty pictures :-). Julia and Claire also look at it, and Julia found this "detox diet" that she wanted to try. The thing about this diet is that it involves food that you'd actually want to eat (if you like fruits and veggies). So this soup is one of the diet recipes she tried out. She made a really yummy stew of winter vegetables, prunes, and orange juice (no, don't gag--it was really good!) for lunch today. I feel healthier already...

So here's the soup recipe, loosely translated from Elle.

Split Pea Soup

2 branches celery, diced

1 onion, diced

1 T. olive oil

3 sprigs fresh thyme

1 T. soy sauce

Pepper

7 oz. split peas, rinsed

2 bouillon cubes (or about 2 c. chicken or vegetable broth--French people use a lot of bouillon cubes)

Juice of one lemon

In a medium saucepan, sauté the celery and onion in the olive oil over medium heat. Add the thyme, soy sauce, and pepper and stir that around another minute. Add the peas and bouillon cubes and enough water to completely cover the peas. Bring to a boil; turn down the heat and let simmer for about 45 minutes, or until the peas are mushy. Add more water/broth if it looks dry. Remove the thyme and use an immersion blender or other tool to purée the soup. Squeeze in the lemon juice and serve. Feel virtuous. The diet suggests you serve this with steamed fennel as a starter and a pear for dessert. Just saying.

Moosewood Lentil Soup

..."gentle." I always love seeing that on the recipe page. Sami's off teaching in the French Alps, poor baby, so this is a good time for us to eat girl food like lentil soup. I began with the Moosewood recipe and took a couple of deviations. For one, Molly Katzen thinks you should cook your lentil soup all day, when lentils really only need about half an hour. I compromised and cooked it for about an hour. And I changed the order of the ingredients, though I didn't change much about the ingredients themselves. If you're an unreformed carnivore, smoked sausage is always nice in lentil soup.

Lentil Soup

1 T. butter

1 large onion, minced

2 large carrots, peeled and diced

2 stalks celery, diced (I used a hunk of celery root)

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 t. dried thyme

2 t. salt

Freshly ground pepper

2-3 T. sherry (or red wine or white wine or vermouth)

3 c. lentils (the brown kind will make a smoother soup; the green kind will have more texture)

7 c. water or stock

1 16-oz. can diced tomatoes

Juice of 1/2 large lemon

1 T. molasses or brown sugar

1 T. red wine vinegar

Melt the butter in a large pot over medium-high heat. When it has melted, add the onion, carrots, and celery and sauté for about 10 minutes, or until the onion is translucent. Add the garlic, thyme, salt, and pepper, and sauté for another minute. Add the sherry or other booze and use it to scrape up any browned bits on the bottom of the pan. Let it cook down to almost nothing, then add the lentils. Stir them until coated and then pour in the water/stock. Bring that to a boil, cover, turn down the heat to low, and simmer for 30 minutes. Add the tomatoes, lemon juice, molasses/brown sugar, and vinegar and cook another 30 minutes. Serve with home-baked whole wheat bread and some 70s folk-rock.

Lentil and Split Pea Soup

This is another recipe that's been lurking in the archives: it's from the December 1994 Bon Appétit, which I have in hard copy form in my apartment because I'm That Kind of a Person. Made as written, it's not very vegetarian, but you could leave out the smoked pork products and it would still be quite good--if you had a Parmesan rind lying around your refrigerator, you could put that in, as I did, which would add a nice savory edge. One more thing: I used the ham hock to make broth and then didn't use chicken broth. It's an easy enough thing to do if you have time and/or a Crock Pot.

Lentil and Split Pea Soup

3 slices bacon, chopped

1 onion, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1 leek, cleaned and chopped

1 stalk celery, chopped

Salt and pepper

1 garlic clove, minced

1/2 cup lentils, rinsed

1/2 cup split peas, rinsed

6 cups chicken broth

1 smoked ham hock

1 bay leaf

1/2 t. dried thyme

1 smallish potato, peeled and cubed

2 T. red wine

In a big pot, cook the bacon over medium heat until it's rendered and brown. Scoop out the bacon and sauté the onion, carrot, leek, and celery in the bacon fat until light brown. Add salt and pepper to taste (remember that smoked pork products tend to be salty) and the garlic; sauté another minute. Add the lentils, split peas, chicken broth, ham hock, bay leaf, and thyme. Bring to a boil and then simmer for about 30 minutes. Add the cubed potato and red wine and cook for another 20 minutes, or until the lentils, peas, and potato are all tender. Fish out the bay leaf and the ham hock. If you want, you can cut the meat off the ham hock, cube it, and put it back in the soup. If you like your soup on the thick side, get out an immersion blender, if you have one (you could also ladle a few cups of soup into your blender and turn it on, but be careful!) and blend until the soup has some body but also still some chunks. Top with the bacon, if you haven't already eaten it as a snack, and ham chunks. Serve on a cold day. Should serve about 6.