Dryad Soup: Lentil-Barley Mushroom Brew

I served this dryadic sylvan soup in walnut shells and garnished it with lichen. It was tricky rounding up conch shells in which to serve the mermaid salad (dulse, wakame, and kale in sesame oil), but I had no difficulty collecting baby-seal eyelashes for the dressing, what with all the offshore drilling. Sigh. The dryads are tapping their wooden fingers together, and furrowing their shagbark brows.

Actually, it was just a sackful of grungy mushroom culls that inspired this soup -- those, and a ratty little sprig of marjoram. Add that toothsome chewy thing I love so much about barley, a splash of maple syrup and a handful of French lentils, and you have what the housemates lauded as "the best housemeal yet." M. Sergeivich ate with a handcarved wooden spoon I purchased with a loaf of my homemade bread in West Virginia. Does that count as a walnut shell? What if I had a loaf of my spelt baguette warming in the oven, and some creamy grassfed yogurt to plop on top of the soup? Some coconut bourbon truffles for dessert?

If you don't serve the soup with yogurt (which would be very unfortunate), the entire menu is, incidentally, vegan.

Dryad Soup

Brown a chopped onion in the bottom of your soup pot. Add two quarts of water, a chopped carrot, a couple stalks of chopped celery, and a few chopped tomatoes; bring to a simmer. Stir in 1 cup French green lentils and 1 cup pearl barley. Simmer till barley and lentils are soft, about an hour. Make several tablespoons of whole-wheat roux* with coconut oil and add to the soup along with a couple tablespoons of sea salt, a few grinds of black pepper, a splash of maple syrup and honey or molasses if you are so inclined. Meatless soups require a lot of tasting and adjusting: they never have that rich mouthfeel or perfect caramelly quality, so mimic it with acids and sugars and rich roux. A couple tablespoons of apple cider vinegar, generous swizzles of honey, and you're good to go. So long as you serve it with yogurt.

Twenty minutes before serving, add 5 cloves crushed and minced garlic, 3 cups chopped assorted mushrooms (I used shiitake, cremini, and a lone fraying portobella), and half a dozen sprigs of spritely fresh herbs: thyme and marjoram, for example.

Serve with rich yogurt.

*You know, heat several tablespoons fat in the skillet, add an equal quantity of flour, stir about while it bubbles and gilds a bit, and then drop it in the broth.

Black-Eyed Pea Soup with Smoked Pig

A friend asked why I was making soup on a summer's day. This city is freezing me slowly with sweet salt breezes, is why. In any case, porky bean soup makes a nice meal for the winter, or late fall when the collard greens aren't snowed over yet, or a foggy day in July. The fellow behind the deli case didn't know what a ham hock was. I wiped a little honeysuckle tear from my firefly eyes and found a smoked shank for myself.

Also on the menu (for a successful Week Three of house meals at the TenderNob Flat): Padrón peppers, cornbread, and collard greens. I like my cornbread with cooked grits, and I liked my grits gritty -- not those little globules of cornstarch you find in the diner, but the whole-corn variety, more like polenta. I simmer the grits while the beans simmer.

Black-Eyed Pea Soup

Soak 2 cups black-eyed peas in a large bowlful of water overnight. Early in the afternoon, drain the peas and put them in a large pot with more than twice their volume of water. Bring to a simmer. While they simmer, chop and add an onion or two, a carrot, a stalk of celery and some leaves, a pint of canned tomatoes*, and a quarter-cup of honey.

When the beans have softened a bit, add a smoked bony chunk of pork, whatever part of the pig it might be, and a small palmful of salt. I often divide my chunk into two pieces and freeze the other half for later use. It really doesn't take much for a savory hamminess to creep into the beans.

Then keep simmering. By 7:00 the beans ought to be nice and velvety-soft, the meat fallen from the bone, and the tomatoes a reddish mush. Add water as necessary. Pull out the meat, chop, and throw back in the soup. Serve it up, nice and hot.

*I believe in canned tomatoes. Even boughten ones, if you don't have your own. They're usually picked and packed in season wherever they're from -- making them higher quality than expensive out-of-season tomatoes. They're condensed and sturdy, so they require less space when shipped, and needn't be refrigerated during the process, reducing oil use and emissions all around. But better yet, can your own when they're in season.

Papa's "Stewp"

My father has spent upwards of three decades working as a carpenter, and naturally abhors things like sixteenths of an inch and tablespoons (for which, he tells me, we can all blame Reagan). Here is his philosophy for ‘STEWP', where he sidesteps the politics of measurement by resorting to genuinely universal units.

Other stellar highlights of his culinary repertoire include grilled blue cheese sandwiches and I don't know how many hundreds of gallons of maple syrup, cooked off in a converted water trough out in the cow pasture.

He sent this my way back in October, but there's plenty of soup season ahead of us.

(Thanks, Papa!)

Chicken Noodle Soup from Scratch

This is a Little-Red-Hen, chicken-scratch kind of recipe.

In the morning, put a couple of pounds of chicken feet along with any miscellaneous saved bones in a large stock pot, cover with water, and bring to a simmer. Add some peppercorns, cover, and simmer all day long while you gad about in toy stores and gourmet grocers, and other places you have no business being (except to buy glow-in-the-dark stars and that grey sea salt you've been jonesing for).

When you tire of the blustery wind and people who say, "Oh, does he like yummy yummy cheeses? Does he? Oh yes, daddy's little soldier loves yummy yummy cheeses. He'll have a good palate when he's a big boy," come back home and drain the stock through a colander. Reserve half of it for later use (I freeze it) and put the rest back to simmer with several tablespoons of that fancy-ass sea salt. Then make the noodles.

Build a little cinder cone from 1.5 c. white whole-wheat flour on a clean countertop. Put 3 eggs in the crater and a pinch of salt and beat the eggs gently, incorporating some of the flour until it's too thick to stir. Knead till glossy-smooth, shape into ball, and hide under a bowl.

Chop two onions and whatever veggies are on hand (carrots, parsnips, cauliflower, celery, etc...). Add them to the simmering stock according to their respective cooking times and throw in something green, like thyme, and maybe a couple dashes of curry.

Uncover the dough. Cut it in half and shape into two balls. On a lightly floured surface, press one ball into a circle and roll from the center out till it's less than an eighth of an inch thick. Cut into half-inch strips. Gently stretch each noodle lengthwise before hanging it to dry (I find this easier than rolling the whole dough super-thin, and makes noodles of more even thickness). The noodles certainly don't need to dry all the way -- throw them into the soup pot as soon as you've shaped them all and the veggies are done. Go ahead and make noodles out of the other dough-ball, to use tomorrow or next week (those should dry all the way, hanging over a chair or a wooden spoon handle), but don't forget about the noodles in the pot. They should swell significantly but stay chewy.

This made enough for three people. If more people want some, garnish each dish with chicken feet and feathers. That'll teach 'em to freeload from the Little Red Hen.

Papa's "Stewp"

"This is a ‘pot and a pan and a board’ recipe that urges you to enjoy the assembly of your favorite ingredients. Plan to make enough for several days and alter, if you choose, when you re-serve it. By making it thick, you can decide later if it will be stew or soup. Another large potato two days later might be all that is needed for the extra guest, or to take the edge off those peppers that got hotter since it was first made.

It is not a ‘light’ meal. I try not to go there, but you may.
Use a large cutting board so you can feed directly into the cooking utensils as well as have a little space in the wings while the other ingredients wait their turns. Cut in large chunks so you don’t get bored, and can experience individual things as you eat. Skewed cuts add character.

The Pot needs to hold everything in the end, and yet go in the refrigerator.
It is necessary to boil the dry beans or peas, but I prefer to do most of the veggies in it since the pan will be busy enough. I like about a cup of black beans and limas, but kidney, pink, split and chick peas, lentils and a host of others all work. The issue is often more about the texture or color. A closed fist of black beans make quite a visual impact to a gallon of soup. Variety packages of dry beans are both tasty and esthetic, but don’t necessarily cook at equal rates.
Boil enough water for all vegetables and add beans; cook till they begin to soften. Pre-soaking or pressure-cooking are better, but I don’t.
Chunk up two medium sized potatoes and add when you estimate potatoes and beans will both be cooked. If in doubt, cook beans a bit longer.
Select a whole onion and peel, disk slice, and cut up only the rings that need it. If necessary to prevent tears, slice under the tap.
Add garlic, leeks, chives, or scallions.
Cut up celery, with leaves, and add, but I always salt and eat the heart immediately as an entitlement of the cook.
Add dill, fresh or dried, bay leaf, parsley or cilantro.
Hot peppers you don’t trust can benefit from the uniformity of pot-boiling.
If you are using broccoli, be careful not to over-cook. Alternatively, stir-fry later.
Although I think carrots attractive, they have, in my opinion, a nasty flavor when cooked. Likewise tomatoes, with which it is an issue of gagiferous texture that I have yet to transcend. I mention it to make the point that this is about you and yours, not me, so add carrots and tomatoes if you must. Over fifty years ago I was forced to eat borscht with gross things in it and the trauma prevails. The nature of this recipe is joyful and precludes overpowering the will of children, I hope.
Pre-cooked items that only need heating are the final addition. (What did your garden produce?) Often I add whole kernel corn, and both ripe and green olives. Save the olive brine until last to adjust salinity.

The Pan needs to be covered, with good temperature control. Heat to the same temperature you would do eggs, then ‘glug’ olive or other oil around in it, liberally enough to be slightly standing at the beginning, but just enough not to stick when finished. Select about a pound of lean meat, steak or wild game. Trim fat. Cut in strips about an inch wide, roll in the oil, and fry. Alternately, fry about a third of a package of bacon cut in squares and use for pan grease. Remove bacon as soon as finished and set aside until later. Cut about six inches of ring bologna or prepared sausage such as kielbasa and disk about as thick as the pinky of the smallest person eating, and brown.

Season with wise abandon. Shake directly on meat, or pour small mounds into your palm to prevent surprises. I often select from cumin, oregano, marjoram, sage, garlic, adobo, a Creole mix, basil (dry or fresh), black pepper, cayenne, ( if I didn’t chop up something too hot in the pot earlier ), and more. The important thing is to accent with a few at a time to be able to learn and then repeat favorites. To get acquainted, sniff them and call them by name at the same time. Avoid MSG.

My South Indian friends would be adding curry, fresh chopped mint, cardamom, coriander, two types of cayenne, and et ceteras the western ear probably has not heard of. They also taught me that no recipe uses ½ an onion!

Keep a close eye on the steak or other meat, turning and removing at your exact preferred doneness. Add a little water if you care to, but keep your face back. Move to the cutting board and cut into bite sized pieces, and promote to the pot. This prevents overdoing the meat like sautéing little pieces would. Add a large handful of large pineapple chunks and slightly brown. If they brown too much, they will also absorb broth, so place them up on the meat, add some pineapple liqueur, and perhaps a bit of lime juice. Coarsely cut a ½ pound of mushrooms and stir fry. Add all Pan to Pot, and swizzle a cup or two of water or soup stock back into the pan, and cook a moment to absorb the seasonings and make cleaning easier. To adjust liquid and salt, consider that potatoes will thicken it and salinity increases overnight as it perks from any salted prepared food. Stir deeply.

I usually eat it on a plate with a fork. This is handier at potlucks, where there may not be bowls and spoons. You might also want to serve it on cheese or put cheese on it, or give it a few glumps of plain yoghurt, especially if it has curry in it. Likewise, sour cream or cottage cheese are married to cumin and hot peppers. Consider what you do or don’t like about it for development sake."

How to Know When You're Pregnant with Bean Soup

Perhaps you'll know from the moment you awake and don't want to disturb the cat on your feet. Perhaps the rain on your bike helmet will be a little too loud. By midmorning you'll find yourself soaking a couple of pounds of navy beans in four times their volume of water. After work, you'll drain, rinse, and put them to simmer in a great big pot (with fresh water -- the digestive advantage in soaking your beans will be lost if you don't change the water!). You'll add the tomatoes -- lots! -- and starting browning several onions in another skillet in plenty of butter or olive oil. If you're not cooking for your vegan friends, throw in all those ham bones you've been collecting in the freezer. Be careful not to add anything salty (like salty canned tomatoes) till the beans are cooked; salt toughens bean skins so they take longer to get soft and then split when they do.

When the beans are well on their way to done, add the well-caramelized onions and chopped carrots, celery, and garlic, and anything about to die in the crisper. Then go reconnoiter the spice cabinet.

I'm sure it's not a new analogy, but mixing spices is a lot like mixing paints. Sometimes you get purple and sometimes you get off-gray. Too many flavors "confuse" the palate. There are some wonderfully complicated, even baroque exceptions; namely, Indian cooking, and rainy day soups. It helps, of course, to have some sort of theme in mind. I like smoky red things like paprika and chipotle in my bean soup, maybe a little tangy sumac and green stuff like sage, oregano, and thyme. Grind black pepper on everything. Remember: when all those poor mercenaries died in the Crusades, they weren't dying for the grail or gods. It's always been all about pepper.

When the beans are really soft, it's time to go into labor. First check the texture of the soup. If it's too thin, pour some of the broth into another sauce pan to increase the total surface area, and boil both pots to the desired consistency. Next, add several tablespoons each of salt, molasses (or brown sugar), and cider vinegar. Thirdly, assess the "mouthfeel" of the broth. If there are bones in it, they'll add that nice silky gelatin finish, but if it's vegan, you'll need to add something saturated, like coconut oil. Fats mellow and blend flavors, so if the acid gets out of hand, counter it with fat -- just the way salts and sweets counter each other. Taste and edit wildly-- this is the fun part! Remember to cleanse your palate with wine between each tasting. Consult with your housemate -- she'll be your midwife. Taste again. If it just needs something ineffable, keep adding the sweets, salts, sours and fats till a spoonful of the broth is like ten cats on your bed, fifty good books, and a hundred thousand steaming cups of tea.

Vegans: Bones add savor from sodium & other minerals, and a nice rich texture from their gelatin content. The clever vegan will remember to add extra extra salt and swirl in a goodly-sized chunk of coconut oil at the end to make up for the absence of bones.

Serve your baby with cornbread for the complementary protein synergy. (Complementary proteins: grains & dairy, beans & rice, corn & beans, pie & ice cream, wine & cheese, coffee & cigarettes).