Rainy Summer, Happy Soup (Pea soup with mint and yogurt)

When I left the house this morning, it was pouring. I covered myself with a bright yellow cape, pulled the hood tightly around my face and draped the fabric over my bike before taking off. On the way to the station, people kept throwing smiles my way. Frankly, I was surprised at their good cheer in such crap weather. That is, until I got a good look at myself in a shop window and noticed I looked like a large yellow egg. With a hat and wheels. Yeah, maybe there were fewer naturally cheery souls around that morning than I thought.

Oh well. This weather does have its upsides. It is, in my mom’s words, “growthly weather”. Meaning that plants love the muggy wetness and bouts of sunshine and are falling over themselves to get bigger. Sometimes literally:

The purple basil has toppled over

And that means lots of herby loveliness to cook with. Generous handfuls of oregano in my Greek salad, piles of green and purple basil for raw tomato sauce and plenty of mint for fresh pea soup.

The craving for this soup was inspired by Nigella Lawson, as is so often true for me. In Forever Summer she talks about a cold pea soup with mint, calling it a “lovely, fresh and soothing emulsion”. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it? Going whole hog with the recipe seemed like too much of an effort for a quick after-work bowlful, especially the bit where you have to wait for the soup to be thoroughly cold. Not happening when I am on the prowl for a snack to stop my stomach from growling. I am happy to report, though, that the soup is mighty tasty even in my adapted version.

Almost as happy as the people who saw a giant yellow egg hurtling past them this morning.

Pea soup with mint and yogurt

Serves 2

250 gr of peas (fresh or frozen)
1 shallot, finely minced
glug of olive oil
500 ml water
generous pinch of salt
1 handful of fresh mint leaves
2 large scoops creamy yogurt

Heat the olive oil in a medium sauce pan, and add the shallot when hot. Spin the pieces around in the pan a couple of times, until they have softened a bit. Add the peas, mix with the shallot pieces and add the water. Cover the pan and bring the water to a gentle boil. Cook for about 20-25 minutes or until peas are soft. Leave to cool slightly, then add mint leaves and blitz with an immersion blender until smooth. Taste, add salt, blitz again and repeat until it has enough salt.

Transfer to two bowls and cool to as least tepid before adding a scoop of yogurt to each bowl. Serve. (This tastes even better cold, so do chill before eating if you have the patience.)

Deadline Soup (split pea soup with frankfurters)

Deadlines are my friend. Without them, it is all too easy to potter around, doing bits and pieces but not getting all that much result. Which is another reason why it is so wonderful that winter finally finally finally seems to be packing its bags. (Oh winter, you’ve forgotten to stash a few bits and pieces in your luggage. There are a few grey clouds here. A slew of rain there. And, please, could you clear out those icy temperatures? Thank you very much.) Just this week I got my act together for two winter deadlines:

Ice skating before the ice rink closes for the season. Yes, you read that right. Frozen water, and I went on it with thin metal blades strapped to my feet. I’m not fickle. I’m flexible (although you wouldn’t say so if you saw me on said ice).

I’ll be honest. That wasn’t actually a deadline I was planning to meet. When I invited my cousin for a skating lesson with my man and me, I was picturing the two of them on the ice, and me sitting on the side line. Wrapped in a warm coat, feet snug in Ugg boots. Alas. My man was more than happy to sign on as an ice skating teacher, but only if I went out on the ice with them. And if I agreed to a trial run with just the two of us. Cue me on the ice last Sunday, doing a good impression of Pinocchio before he turns into a real boy.

The second deadline I met went down more smoothly, I dare say. I made a pot of the quintessential winter soup: green peas with sausage. Split pea soup has always intimidated me a bit. It seems like everyone has an opinion on it- it should be thin, or so thick that you can stand a spoon in it. It should have bacon, smoked sausages or even whole pork legs. Plus, have you ever seen a bowl? Not the most attractive thing in the world, is it?

But a recipe by Nigella Lawson made me see the error of my fears. There is a picture in Feast of the most delicious looking yellow mud (her word, not mine), with chunks of sausage. Just looking at it made me feel warmer and I couldn’t wait to make Yellow Split Pea Soup with Frankfurters. Unfortunately, the store only had green split peas and it turned into regular old green sludge. Tasty green sludge, though, so I’m not complaining.

If you hurry, I think you can just squeeze out a pot, too, before spring arrives. Or if we’re really unlucky, you’ll have time for seventeen batches. But I hear winter is packing its bags, so we’re good. I hope.

The exact recipe is on Nigella’s website and I’ll tell you what I did below.

Nigella Lawson’ Yellow Split Pea Soup with Frankfurters

Serves 6-8

1 onion
1 carrot
1 clove garlic
1 stick of celery
2–3 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 twiggles of mace
500 gr split peas
1.25–1.5 litres chicken stock
2 bay leaves
approx. 8 frankfurters

Peel the onion, carrot and garlic and cut the onion and carrot into rough chunks. Pulse them in a mini food chopper until finely chopped.

Heat the oil in a Dutch oven. When warm, add the chopped vegetables from the processor and cook for 5–10 minutes, until soft but not brown.

Add the split peas and stir till they’re mixed with the vegetables and all have a glossy layer. Put the mace in a tea egg and hang it in the pot. Pour over 1.25 litres of stock and add the bay leaves, then bring to the boil. Cover, turn down the heat and cook for about an hour until everything is tender, adding more stock as needed.

Chop the frankfurters into thick slices and add them to the soup when it is fully cooked. Warm through for a couple of minutes and serve hot.

Nutty cauliflower soup

Ouch.

I’ve burned my tongue.

I worked late this evening and had to go for a run when I got home. You know those nights when it feels like your shoulders are glued to your ears? It was one of those, and nothing but exercise would do. When I got back I was Hungry (and also Sweaty). Luckily, I’d planned to make cauliflower soup. From start to finish it took about thirty minutes to make and I even had time to hop in the shower while the white florets were boiling away. Still, with onions, garlic and two kinds of paprika it smelled so good that there was no time to wait for the soup to drop to somewhere closer to body temperature before I took a bite.

And that’s where you get hurt.

But it’s okay. Smoky, slightly spicy and with a nutty flavor to enhance the cauliflower’s natural earthiness, this soup was worth it. It is based on a recipe from Sarah Raven’s Garden Cookbook, which includes almonds and bay leaves. I’ve always thought cauliflower has a bit of a non-descript flavor so I replaced the subtle bay leaves with two kinds of paprika for more oomph. Swapping the almonds for hazelnuts was born out of necessity (no almonds in the kitchen, no intention to leave the house again before I was fed), but worked well. Paired with a few buttered crackers, this soup was just what the doctor ordered after a long day.

Nutty cauliflower soup
Adapted from Sarah Raven’s Garden Cookbook

Serves 2

1 smallish head of cauliflower, broken into large florets
1 tbsp of butter
1 onion, chopped
1 clove of garlic, minced
½ tsp smoked paprika
½ tsp spicy paprika
30 gr roasted hazelnuts, ground fine
½ litre of chicken stock, or more

Melt the butter in a soup pot. Cook the onion in butter until soft. Add garlic, both kinds of paprika and hazelnuts. Stir. Add stock so that cauliflower is completely covered. Simmer for about fifteen minutes or until cauliflower is tender. Use stick blender to liquidize soup. Serve warm (but don’t burn your tongue).

Dinner challenge

The challenge: Shop for and cook a tasty, healthy dish that is filling but easy to digest in 60 minutes or less. Oh, and get home in that time too, cuz you’re still at work when the challenge presents itself.

The strategy: Check epicurious, hope for an attractive and quick noodle dish- with vegetables, please, but without ingredients that will mean a visit to more than two stores (luckily, work is in the middle of Amsterdam’s tiny China town and there’s a well-assorted Chinese grocer just around the corner).

The intermediate result: A recipe for Chinese chicken noodle soup with green onions, all necessary ingredients and arrival at home within 40 minutes.

The next stage: Slice chicken, mix marinade, put chicken in marinade (almost tipping the bowl of soy sauce-sesame oil- Shaoxing wine goodness into the sink in the process, but preventing mishap by lightening quick reflexes- or, you know, sheer luck). Kiss man when he gets in.

Panic, because man is home, but food is not ready. Relax when man trots of to do some repair work on his bicycle.

Slice cabbage, ignoring suspicious black spots on leaves (probably some sort of secret Chinese remedy for health). Slice scallions (are green onions the same as scallions? I assumed). Crush garlic, peel ginger, fall in love all over again with microplane grater when it reduces ginger to a pulp with the teeniest bit of effort). Mix garlic and ginger with yummy stuff.

Help man look for important bicycle part. Fail to locate it. Tell him to go look in the tool shed, four floors down, mostly to get him out of your hair.

Read recipe again, discover you’ve put too much sesame oil in marinade. Shrug shoulders and add more of it to pan to fry scallions and cabbage. Add stock, chop cilantro while waiting for stock to come to a boil. Add chicken. Attempt to take noodles out of package in neat bundles, dump them all over counter instead. Gather up noodles, add to pan. Stir.

Sigh a little sigh of happy relief- it is 65 minutes after the start of the challenge and soup is ready.

Hear man come in. Tell him “perfect timing!”. Scowl at man when he says ever-so-slightly pungent mixture in pan “smells”. Forgive him when he kisses neck.

The result: Lovely, warming, tingle-inducing soup, slurped up companionably with man (who eats three bowls, in spite of smell.)

The recipe is here: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/106192
My modifications: Far less tahini (I think I have superstrength tahini, because I always use way less than recipes tell me to and I still get quite a pronounced flavor), a little less chili-garlic paste (the man's a wuss), less ginger (didn't feel like peeling more), Shaoxing rice wine instead of sherry, unseasoned rice vinegar (that's what I had).

Ah, yes. Soup, you’ve gotten to me. Big time.

More soup

Ha. I sit down to post my third message, only to find I want to talk about soup again. Two out of three posts on soup, and I don't even like the stuff that much. Or should I say I don't like the version of soup I usually get? Salty, a bit gloopy, with no discernible taste of fresh ingredients. Not ones I know, anyway. Yup, that's what they serve at the cafeteria at work.

I like my mom's soup, even if I didn't growing up. (Might be something to do with those bits of leek that hit my lip with a sting of heat every bite I took, no matter how diligently I blew on it.) But there's not much around of that, in my Amsterdam kitchen, so soup is not usually a priority.

Acquiring my own kitchen has inspired all sorts of domesticity in me (a cancerian, who's already up to her eyeballs in a love for baking cookies and lounging on my couch, surrounded by blankets, books and cups of hot drinks... just what I needed, more domesticity...), though, and a new-found attraction to soup is one of them. Far less upsetting than a new love of, say, cleaning things (before you know it you spend precious couch-and-blanket time scrubbing floors or polishing shower tiles), but still. A bit of a revolution.

Since I don't tend to make soup, I don't have any tried-and-trusted recipes lying around for soupy moments. So when the urge struck this morning, I had to make it up as I went. And it couldn't be just any soup either. It had to be healthy, fortifying soup to help me get over the last vestiges of a mild flu-attack. Plus, it had to taste good to celebrate the fact that I can taste things again. (If only by making snorting sounds with every bite to allow enough air to pass my taste buds. No matter. Silent eating is for whimps.)

A quick trip to the supermarket yielded a head of broccoli and some leek. Combined with the turkey stock in my freezer (and, you know, bouillon cubes...) and a good pinch of rosemary, I made me quite a nice pot of green water. A bit of yoghurt for creaminess and a bit of mustard and garlic for oomph and my system was fortified with all the vitamins and fibres it could want. Or so I hope.

Now for a glass of orange juice. And where did I put that bottle of Cif?

Soothing soup

Just one of 'm days.

Waking up an hour before my alarm clock, unable to get back to sleep. An early morning visit from an electrician to tell me my intercom may be inter, but it's not so com. And no chance of getting it fixed. Good thing I have a balcony, cuz I'll be using it to communicate with my visitors, four floors below.

The garbage bag destined for the disposal toppled over when I put it down to tie my scarf. Rubbish and coffee grounds everywhere. Oh, and a nice smathering of garlic-laced yogurt.

On my way to the office, I got soaked. Naturally. An inbox filled with you-must-do-this-for-me-now and I'm-changing-the-info-I-sent-you-yesterday-and-you'd-better-deal-with-it e-mails waited for me inside. Again, naturally.

Seventy-five miniature crises and a nightmare planning meeting later (damn, I'm a drama queen) it was seriously time to go home and hide. Rain again on my way back and there was only one possible answer to this day: soup.

Nigella Lawson's Vietnamese chicken salad had left me with half a head of white cabbage. Perfect for Luisa's rice and smothered cabbage soup (http://wednesdaychef.typepad.com/the_wednesday_chef/2008/01/marcella-hazans.html , have to learn how to do hyperlinks). (Hey! I just clicked to test that link and noticed Luisa's Dutch oven is the same color and general shape as mine. Oooh. I'm so cool.)

Shredding the cabbage put the first real smile of the day on my face. My newly wetted knife defied the day's trend and was nothing but lovely, efficient sharpness. Waiting for the vegetables to change into a silky soft tangle was the perfect excuse for watching an episode of Dharma and Greg (what? you can't do anything trying if you have to get up and stir every ten minutes or so...) and call a few friends. (True to the day, answering machines were all I got. But, you know, at least now it is their turn to call me and I can stop feeling guilty for neglecting them.)

Then all there was left to do was pour in stock and rice, wait a bit more (ha, I got to update my must-try recipe list, seven pages and counting) and add butter and grated parmesan. (Butter and parmesan. Do your salivary glands spring into action just reading those words? Yes? Say yes? I'm normal, right?)

So what if it was still today, I over-poured the rice and the soup resembled risotto more than anything? It was creamy, soft, warm. A hug in a bowl. And just one of 'm days turned into one of mmmmm-nights.