I’ve been battling some kind of very persistent stuffy nose for the past couple of weeks here, as Minnesota weather goes back and forth between spring and winter. This is the kind of weather that brings on illness, it seems, especially when one (me) gallivants around on the rare fifty degree day without a proper coat.

That’s where this soup comes in. Not only is it delicious, warming, and fortifying, but it only takes about 20 minutes, max, to put it all together and on the table, and very few minutes to clean up, as well (all you should have to clean up is a cutting board and a pot). It will take longer if you want to use dried beans, and usually I do, but sometimes that’s just not an option. And, honestly, I don’t think it hurt this dish in the least.

You do, however, want to use the best quality chicken stock you can, homemade if possible (if you have some hanging out in your freezer, you can just dump it in the pot still partially frozen and it will melt fine — that’s what I did). Good quality chicken stock, I think, is what really makes this soup seem like it’s been bubbling away on the stove for hours, rather than minutes.

Spicy Sausage, White Bean, and Kale Soup

Ingredients

-       1 package Andouille sausage, chicken or pork (four sausages), sausages sliced horizontally into ½ inch slices or so

-       2 14-oz cans white beans, drained

-       1 bunch kale (or other hearty green), sliced horizontally

-       2-3 cloves of garlic, minced

-       1 large onion, sliced vertically into rough strips

-       1 quart chicken stock (preferably homemade, but at least good quality)

-       pinch of crushed red pepper flakes

-       pinch of dried oregano

-       salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

-       olive oil

1. In a large pot, heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil. When oil is hot, add garlic and onion. Cook until beginning to soften. Add sausage. Cook until sausages brown.
2. Add beans and chicken stock, bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer. Add kale. Cook for a few minutes, until kale is wilted and then a few minutes past that, to let flavors blend.
3. Season with crushed red pepper, dried oregano, salt, and pepper.

In case these photos don’t speak for themselves, here’s what’s afoot in this dish. Three kinds of beans (lentils, chickpeas, pinto); noodles; spinach; dill; turmeric and cumin and fresh chilies; cilantro and lime. And toppings galore! Caramelized onion, toasted walnut, and a dollop of sour cream.

This is not a soup for the supermarket faint of heart. You will be doing some shopping; you will be doing some prepping. But it will all pay off, I promise, in the most gloriously restorative, most unendingly surprising soup, redolent of spice and full of good things — things that both taste good and are good for you, which is what we all need this time of year.

How can a soup be surprising, you might ask? A crunch of walnut here, the silky richness of caramelized onion there. Have you ever seen toppings like these? And, while sour cream is a pretty typical topping on your average chili, I can’t say I’ve ever seen sour cream on a soup like this — one that is more stock-based, more liquidy. And the things is, it works. Beautifully.

This is, however, a dish that takes some doing, as it can be a little difficult to keep track of this many ingredients in your kitchen. So choose an afternoon when you have some time and mental space free, lay out all your ingredients, and just enjoy the process. It will respond in kind.

Persian New Year Noodle (and Bean) Soup

Makes 4-6 servings

Adapted from 101 Cookbooks, originally from Saraban: A Chef’s Journey Through Persia

Ingredients:

Soup:

- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 onion, thinly sliced
- 2 long red chilis OR green serrano, finely chopped
- 1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 8 cups good-tasting vegetable stock/broth
- ½ cup yellow split peas or brown lentils
- 1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas, rinsed if using canned
- 2 cups cooked pinto beans (original recipe calls for borlotti beans, but I couldn’t find them, and the Internets said that pintos were an okay substitute)
- fine grain sea salt
- 120 g thin spaghetti, fresh or dried
- 3 1/2 oz / 100g fresh spinach leaves, finely shredded
- 1/2 cup finely shredded cilantro leaves
- 2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

Toppings:

- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
- 1 large onion, thinly sliced
- sour cream or creme fraiche
- handful of toasted, chopped walnuts
- 1 lime, cut into wedges

1. Heat the oil in a large, thick-bottomed soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion and the chilis and cook until they soften, or until the chilis start to smoke so much that you just have to get the stock in there.

2. Add the spices and cook for just a few seconds (anywhere from 10 – 30) for them to toast, then stir in the stock. Bring to a boil and add the split peas/lentils to the pot. Cook until they are just tender, about 25 minutes. Stir in the cooked chickpeas and pinto beans. Once the beans have heated throughout, season with salt to taste.

3. Meanwhile, prepare the toppings. Heat the olive oil and butter in a large frying pan over medium heat along with a couple big pinches of salt. Cook the onion, stirring occasionally, until golden and caramelized, 8 – 10+ minutes. Set aside.

4. Just before you’re ready to eat, add the noodles to the simmering soup and cook until al dente. Stir in the spinach, and cilantro and dill. Taste and adjust the seasoning to your liking.

5. Serve right away, each bowl topped with a big spoonful of caramelized onions, some creme fraiche, a sprinkling of walnuts, and a squeeze of lime.

Well, it’s been a long weekend of eating, hasn’t it, friends? I think I really realized for the first time this year that while the true gluttony may be centered on Turkey Day itself, Thanksgiving is really just the kickoff of the gorging season. For most people, the gorging season, I suppose, means Thanksgiving to New Year’s. For those of us in Arctic Minnesota, however, the gorging season runs well through February, as we attempt to build up some extra insulation from the windchill.

So, sometimes after all that gorging, it’s nice to have some cleansing, and that’s where this soup comes in. And, as a bonus, any stray turkey leftovers still lingering about your fridge would work perfectly here as well (and would get a chance at rehydration in the broth). I’m not that into the idea of cleansing, per se, but sometimes you just want something light, something that makes you feel good after you eat it, rather than like you need to lie down immediately and maybe roll around for a few hours.

I actually made this soup pre-Thanksgiving in a moment of starved, fevered inspiration last week, but I just ate the remains tonight, and boy, did that feel good. You know what else felt good? The piles of turkey, and stuffing, and quiche (because we didn’t have enough cream already), and chocolate cake (because, why not), and everything else I’ve consumed, in fresh or leftover form, over the last few days. But this soup felt good in a different way, and in a way you may be craving as much as I was at this point in the holiday eating marathon.

One bonus is that this soup is super easy to assemble and cook, with the one big cheat of a packet of instant miso. I’m sure you could make this with legit miso, and it would be delicious, but when you’re in a hurry, or when you’re tired of so many days spent in the kitchen, prepping and cooking and cleaning, there’s no harm in a little shortcut.

Miso Chicken Noodle Soup with Edamame and Cabbage

Makes 3 or so servings

Ingredients

- 1 packet instant miso

- 1 large boneless, skinless chicken breast (or leftover turkey)

- 1/3 green cabbage head, cored and sliced into ribbons/chunks

- 1 big handful shelled edamame (either fresh or frozen)

- 1/2 lb. fettuccine noodles

- crushed red pepper, freshly ground black pepper, salt, to taste

1. Follow directions on back of miso packet to cook miso (bringing X amount of water to a boil, dumping miso in).

2. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to boil. When boiling, add pasta. Cook to al dente, drain.

2. If using raw chicken, cut the chicken breast in half through the width, to make two thinner fillets. Then cut fillets into quarters. (This is so it will poach a little faster.) Once miso is boiling, add chicken pieces to broth. Let simmer for a few minutes, until chicken is poached through (it should be fully white on the outside and inside; you can check by cutting open a small piece). Remove chicken and let cool on a cutting board.

3. After removing chicken, add cabbage and edamame. Reduce heat. Once chicken is cool enough to handle, shred it into pieces with your hands. Return chicken to pot (this is where you’d add the leftover turkey, if you’re using that instead). Add drained noodles to miso pot.

4. By now, you probably have a lot of stuff (noodles, chicken, veg) and not a lot of broth. Add water until you have the amount of broth you want (I added about four cups). Some miso flavor will be sacrificed, but enough will remain, plus the flavor from the chicken (or turkey) to make a nice steamy pot of goodness, perfect for cultivating a little virtuosity between now and the next big holiday feast.

But as I grow older in age and my taste buds start to mature (now I like asparagus, mushrooms, maple syrup– all things I couldn’t stand as a child), I’m starting to appreciate those soups that are friendlier to the waistline, those that may call for a dollop of yogurt instead of 3 cups of heavy cream.

And while I would go for a rich and creamy soup over the alternative nearly any day of the week, this carrot dill soup is pretty amazing. And with fairly few ingredients, it’s easy too.

–I make the following recipe without celery, because whenever I buy it just to use a rib or two, the rest usually goes bad. But I’m sure it’s a delicious addition.

–Also, I’ve used frozen dill when I can’t find it fresh at my local market. It’s fine, but as with anything, splurge for the fresh if you can.

Carrot Dill Soup

Adapted from The New Basics Cookbook

Makes 6-8 servings

4 T unsalted butter

1 large onion

2 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled and sliced

2 ribs celery, diced with leaves

8 cups chicken or vegetable stock

1/4 cup + 2 T fresh chopped dill

salt, black pepper and cayenne pepper to taste

Sauté butter and diced onion in saucepan until onion is translucent.

Add carrots, celery, stock, dill and seasoning.

Bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer until carrots are tender. Puree with immersion blender*, in upright blender, or in food processor.

Garnish your bowl with a dollop of crème fraiche, yogurt or sour cream.

* You may not have one of these bad boys, but if you love soup as much as I do, I highly suggest you go out and pick yourself up one. We got ours at a fancy kitchen store in our small town, and it was still only 20 euros– totally worth it for the fewer number of burns I get now that I don’t have to transfer hot soup to the food processor in batches just to reach my desired consistency.

Summer is, by and large, a rough time for the American soup industry: Chef Boyardee nervously fends off questions from angry shareholders and wonders how he’ll pay back that loan from Don Boyardee, while Wolfgang Puck’s grin starts to droop at the corners on cans of minestrone soup across the country. Because what kind of sick bastard wants a steaming bowl of soup in the middle of the summer?

Cold soup is the exception: it’s a brilliant antidote to a hot summer day. Nearly all of the poorly air-conditioned cuisines of south and central Europe have their own versions, and one of my favorites, salmorejo, a creamy gazpacho from blistering Andalucia, has already been featured in Food Junta. Today I bring you a sweet, bracing alternative from the humid depths Central Europe: a boozy take on a Hungarian classic, cold sour cherry soup.

Now first, you’re probably thinking, “hey this guy knows it’s Fall already, right? Isn’t this article late?” Well I don’t know where you’re reading from, bub, but when I served this soup last week it was 113 degrees in Los Angeles, the hottest day in the city’s history, or at least since the first thermometer arrived by clipper ship ‘round Cape Horn. September and October tend to be some of the warmest months here in California, and last week was miserably, Bakersfieldishly hot. But honestly it wasn’t the heat that inspired this meal, nor was it fond memories of discovering cold fruit soup at Bagolyvar Restaurant in Budapest; it was the booze.

See, my dad makes wine, and two or three years ago he presented me with a bottle of his first attempt at rosé saying, if I remember correctly, “See if you can find something to do with this. Ehhh… it’s not great.” Despite that ringing endorsement the unopened bottle has been collecting dust since then while I’ve looked for a rosé-intensive recipe that gave me an excuse not to drink it myself. It just so happened that the one I found, here in the LA Times, was a more refined (and liquored-up) version of a dish I’d often thought of trying to make.

This sweet, sour, cold and spicy soup was incredibly refreshing on a hot day, even with all the cream in the recipe, and even using sour cherries from a jar. It was so good in fact that I’m tempted to recommend it to parts of the country that have already slipped off into Fall. And while it requires some advanced planning since the soup needs to be refrigerated for hours before serving, it is very simple to make and there’s mercifully little time spent over the stove.

Oh, and it turned out the wine was pretty good after all, and it was kind of a shame that it all went into the soup…

Cold Spiced Sour Cherry Soup

Adapted from the LA Times

Serves 6-8 as an appetizer

Ingredients

30 minutes cooking, 4 hours chilling

8 whole cloves

12 whole allspice berries

1 cinnamon stick

12 whole black peppercorns

Some cheesecloth

1 bottle rosé wine (750 ml)

2 cups water

1/3 cup sugar

2 lbs cherries

1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar

¼ tsp almond extract

¾ crème fraiche, plus ½ cup more for serving

1. Open bottle of wine and pour the entire thing into a pot or large saucepan. Add 2 cups water, stir in sugar, and bring to a boil.

2. Tie the spices together in a pouch of cheesecloth, or close them in a tea strainer, and simmer in wine for 15 minutes. Seriously kids, wrap it up. I just dumped the spices in thinking, “meh, how hard could it be to strain out some cloves and peppercorns?” Ooh, good question, I’ll field that one: pretty damn. That’s how hard. Pretty damn.

3. Add cherries and cook at a gentle simmer until slightly softened. How long you cook them depends on the type of cherries you used. Did you buy fresh cherries, and stem and pit them yourself? Cook the cherries for 15 minutes, which should give you plenty of time to pat yourself on the back. Are you using jars of sour cherry compote from Otto’s Hungarian Deli in Burbank? Then the cherries will already be softened, and you don’t want to overcook them into a disintegrated mush. I would suggest 7 to 10 minutes, then taste one to see if the texture’s right. Another note about using canned cherries: they come floating in syrup, which adds water weight so don’t trust the ounces listed on the can; you’ll want to pour out the liquid and weigh 2 pounds of cherries for this recipe if you have a scale, or measure out about four cups if you don’t.

4. Remove pot from heat. Stir in vinegar and almond extract.

5. Cover and chill in refrigerator for at least 4 hours. 30 minutes before you serve place bowls in the freezer. If your kitchen is 85 degrees on a hot day then your bowls are be too, and that soup won’t be cold for very long.

6. Just before you serve the soup, take out the spice packet and stir in crème fraiche. You can also use yogurt for this step, or sour cream, but crème fraiche is a little softer so I thought it would dissolve smoothly, and it has a subtler, less sour flavor. Stir until it is entirely mixed in and the soup is a uniform pinkish

6.5 – Optional: Cold soups in Hungary are traditionally liquid only, so if you want to be really authentic you can remove the spice packet, blend broth and cherries together, and strain out the pulp before adding crème fraiche and serving. This recipe, however, skipped that step, calling for the cherries to be left floating in the soup, and I really enjoyed the texture they provided. Laziness pays, especially on a hot day.

7. Spoon soup into bowls, and top with a dollop of crème fraiche. Enjoy momentary relief from withering heat.

I had an avocado, a cucumber, some chicken stock. I had just received a hand-me-down blender. It was a scorchingly hot day; I had a little time to make lunch, but not much, as I was anxious to leave my house for an air-conditioned coffee shop. And, I had just perused the latest issue of Canal House Cooking, featuring a recipe for Avocado & Cucumber Soup. The stars were aligned.

The soup was perfect. Ferociously simple (no peeling or seeding of the cucumbers required); exceptionally green; refreshingly cool.

A word on Canal House Cooking: Oh, how pleased I am to have discovered The Canal House. Produced by two women — Melissa and Christopher — with serious cooking credentials, Canal House is its own wonderful little entity: not quite a food magazine, not quite a cookbook, but a hybrid subscription-based tri-yearly cookbook thing.

Like most of the Canal House recipes, the combination  here is so obvious, and yet so innovative; reading through these gorgeous books is why didn’t I think of that moment after why didn’t I think of that moment. The photography and design are absolutely inspirational; the tone warm and inviting. And how fun is it to receive a little beautiful parcel of a cookbook in the mail three times a year? The best mail packages are the ones you’ve forgotten are ever going to arrive.

I cut this recipe down to serve just little ol’ me, as I only had one avocado and one cucumber, and also as this soup promised to go brown if not consumed quickly. The original recipe calls for three avocados to one cucumber, to serve 4, with more avocado-y results. I was tres happy with how this came out, however, still creamy and avocado-y, but with the refreshing crispness of the cucumber shining through and lifting the whole dish up. So good, in fact, that I had the remains for breakfast the next day, with coffee and toast.

Cold Cucumber Avocado Soup

Serves 1, plus a tiny bit more

Adapted from Canal House Cooking, Vol. 4

Ingredients

- 1 avocado

- 1 cucumber, sliced (unpeeled/unseeded)

- 1 or 2 cloves garlic

- juice of half a lemon

- 2 cups chicken stock (can use vegetable stock to make vegan)

- salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

- Optional: Plain yogurt or sour cream, golden cherry tomatoes, hot sauce: for garnish

1. Puree all ingredients (except garnish options) in blender until smooth.

2. Add any optional garnishes.

Voila!

Note: It’s good to eat this soup immediately, as it will begin to discolor (turn from green to brown, as avocados will) right away.

The other day was shockingly cool here in Minneapolis (70 degrees or so, rather than the last few days’ 90). I had a refrigerator bursting with produce, most overwhelmingly including eight ears of corn, but also potatoes and onions from the farmer’s market. And cream, and milk that I meant to turn into ricotta but never did, and celery that I had purchased for some now-forgotten reason. And bacon, lots of bacon, in little ziploc baggies in the freezer (my new way of storing bacon in my one-person household).

In other words, to my happy amazement, I had (almost) all the ingredients for corn chowder. Plus, I had a backlog of podcasts on my computer, including the NPR broadcasts from the Newport Folk Festival. I don’t think it gets more fitting that that.

I had never made corn chowder before, but somehow I intuitively knew what it needed. For the most part, that is. After much recipe scanning, I was unable to find what I deemed my perfect chowder: one that was low fuss and high bacon, basically. I did glean that celery, carrots, and red bell pepper are typical chowder ingredients (surprise), and that thyme is a typical herby flavoring (expected).

In the end, I made my own amalgamation of things — more bacon than anyone called for; simmering the corn cobs in milk because I liked the idea; adding cream because I had it; so on and so forth. And you know what, it came out amazingly. Unsurprising, I suppose, when you throw corn, potatoes, onions, milk, and cream in a pot. Still, with Edward Sharpe playing in the background, it felt like a little bit of late-summer magic.

Corn Chowder

Adapted from a mix of Gourmet and Simply Recipes

Serves 6 or so

Ingredients

-       ¼ lb. (or more) bacon, diced

-       6 ears of corn, husked, corn kernels cut off, cobs reserved

-       1 onion, chopped

-       1 large carrot, chopped

-       1 celery rib, chopped

-       4 medium yellow-fleshed potatoes (like Yukon Golds), cut into ¼ to ½ inch dice (no need to peel)

-       ½ bell pepper, diced

-       7-8 cups whole milk

-       1 cup heavy cream

-       6 sprigs fresh thyme (or more), leaves pulled off twiggy stems

-       2 bay leaves

-       salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1. In a large pot, cook the bacon until fat is rendered and bacon is beginning to brown. Using a slotted spoon, remove bacon, leaving fat.
2. Add onion to fat; cook 3-5 minutes, until soft. Add carrot and celery and cook for about 5 more minutes, until soft.
3. Break corn cobs in half and add to pot. Add bay leaves and milk. Bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Cover pot (I leave a little gap of air to help the milk keep from boiling over). Let simmer for about 30 minutes. (You may want to check occasionally to make sure it’s on the barest simmer; this will help prevent the milk from scalding the bottom of the pan.)
4. Discard corn cobs and bay leaves. Add potatoes and red pepper. Add salt (I ended up using about 4 tsp., but you should add a tsp. at a time and taste) and pepper. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Simmer for 15 minutes or until potatoes are tender.
5. Add corn kernels and thyme; also add bacon back in. Add cup of cream. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Let simmer for 5-10 minutes. Add extra milk if necessary to get desired consistency. Adjust seasonings, and voila! Serve.

What is the best way to deal with a 95-degree day, with an ungodly amount of humidity to boot? Probably not by going to hot yoga in the middle of the day, to practice down-dog in an 100-degree room. Yet, that is what I did yesterday. And then I came home, took a cold shower, and sat in front of a fan and ate a bowl of this soup. After that, I stayed pleasantly cool for hours. Was it that a nice chilled soup pleasantly lowered my core temperature? Or that nothing could possibly seem hot after an hour of warrior poses in an excruciating sauna?

This soup is a lifesaver in a heat wave. Absolutely no heat required! And — in this unblended version — not even the heat of an electronic appliance. Just some chopping, and peeling, and measuring of spices and pouring of juice. Nothing too arduous, and the final result shows off summer produce at its best. Plus, it will last for at least a week in the fridge (trust me, it’s happening). As far as I’m concerned, as long as something is tasty, I don’t mind eating it over and over (and over) again. So why not make up a walloping batch of this and be able to stay out of the kitchen for days?

Where did the cantaloupe come from? Well, I was eating half a cantaloupe for breakfast (another heat-avoidance strategy) immediately before commencing gazpacho production. Bite of cantaloupe, look at gazpacho recipe, bite of cantaloupe, look at gazpacho recipe. An idea was born.

The cantaloupe makes this soup feel all the more refreshing; bright and lively. You can add a little more freshly chopped cantaloupe mid-week, also, to perk the whole thing up after it’s been in the fridge for a while.

There are a lot of ingredients here, but basically no steps (combine, chill). (For a slightly heartier, pureed version, take a gander at Liz’s salmorejo post from the start of summer.)

Gazpacho with Cantaloupe

Serves at least 8

Adapted from the New Moosewood Cookbook

Ingredients

-       6 cups tomato juice (just the kind you buy in a jug at the grocery store)

-       4 tomatoes, finely chopped

-       1 onion, finely chopped

-       2-3 cloves garlic, minced

-       1 green bell pepper, finely chopped

-       1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and finely chopped

-       ½ cantaloupe, finely chopped*

-       2 scallions, finely chopped

-       1 lemon, juiced

-       ½ lime, juiced

-       2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar

-       1 tsp. chopped tarragon

-       1 tsp. chopped basil

-       ½ tsp. cumin

-       ¼ c. parsley, chopped

-       2 Tbsp. olive oil

-       salt, black pepper, and cayenne to taste

* The easiest way to “chop” a cantaloupe is to cut it into quarters, score it, flip it inside out, and then cut it. I found that I needed to make two horizontal cuts in order to make the cubes as small as I wanted them (rather than just slicing all the cantaloupe flesh straight off the rind).

1. Combine all ingredients. (Optional: puree all or some.)
2. Chill until very cold.

In theory, anyway.

See, I was living in Las Vegas. The local farmers market consisted of two, eight-foot tables mostly filled with one woman’s salsa (which we already made at home). I did go out of my way (and by that I mean that I drove my car two blocks past the supermarket the the wine shop) to pick up a dozen expensive eggs each Tuesday that had been brought in from a farm outside Vegas city limits. (What those desert chickens were eating beats me. No doubt it had been trucked in from California.)

I tried to look at the paper label on the plastic packaging in Fresh and Easy to at least ensure I was eating the tomato from outside of Los Angeles instead of Santiago, Chile. But, I was still buying Stargazer Lilies from Costco on almost a weekly basis despite the face that they were never in season anywhere in the desert Southwest.

But now! Oh, but now I live in Germany! Any place with this much rain has got to have an array of produce, doesn’t it?

While I’ve got a pretty comfortable supermarket just down the street, there has been some adjusting on my part.

I cannot go to the store with a list of ingredients and expect to come home with them. Cilantro? Only, and maybe even then, on Tuesdays. Green beans? If no one else has bought up the allotted three packages that the store gets. When the store runs out, the store runs out. I’ve gone shopping in anticipation of potato leek soup and have had to improvise the filling of my shopping cart because of the lack of leeks (but never a lack of potatoes. Oh no, the Germans have got their potatoes covered.). It’s not an easy thing to get over.

But in the end, it’s kind of fun. I shouldn’t be eating asparagus in the fall. I shouldn’t eat fresh strawberries in the dead of winter. I shouldn’t ever have a banana (ok, so I do sometimes).  I should eat what’s on the shelf because it’s on the shelf for a reason.

The fun comes because of that shelf. It’s exciting when a long lost produce item makes its return.

Like in the fall, when it was Pfifferlinge season. Chanterelles, as we call them in English, are delicious but fairly hard to come by and expensive in the States. But not in Germany in the fall. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a restaurant that’s advertising its Pfifferlinge Karte– its chanterelle menu. Chanterelle sauce over schnitzel. Chanterelle-topped salads. Pastas. Risotto. You name it.

I bought a kilo (that’s 2.2 pounds to you) for two euros! Even with the dollar the way it was, it was a steal! That could have run you 60 or so bucks in the good ol’ U S of A. (And that is if your inlaws don’t have them growing on their property, like mine do…) In any event, it was awesome.

And now that it’s spring, the spargel is out. Asparagus. Big, thick, white asparagus. Have you seen it? Tasted it steamed with hollandaise sauce? Cold over a mixed salad? In a cream soup?

Now asparagus isn’t exactly my favorite of vegetables, but I think it’s the excitement that comes over Germany during spargel season that gets me (much like the World Cup, but that’s another blog). Little wooden stands pop up on the roadside, in supermarket parking lots, at the farmers market. Every restaurant’s got a Spargel Karte. I had to get behind it.

And spargel season’s been fun. I’ve learned a lot– like how it’s grown under a mound of dirt so that the sunlight can’t trigger photosynthesis. Or how you have to peel it and chop the woody ends before you cook it, and for the best results you’ll boil those peelings in water and use that water for your hollandaise sauce or in your soup.

Tonight I’m tossing it in Claire’s lentil and leek dish, and last week I adapted the soup Emeril makes with it’s green cousin. I will note that while I do like the green variety for it’s added color to dishes and pretty decorative tops, I stick with the white for what I do in the kitchen because it makes me feel so German.

I used Emeril’s recipe below except for the leek part. That’s right. You guessed it. Both the farmers market and the supermarket were out of leeks. I had some red onions, and so I used those instead. I also didn’t “trim the attractive tops” from my spargel, because the tops of this white variety are less than attractive. Which leads bland looking soup, but I promise you it tastes delicious.

Asparagus Soup aka Spargel Suppe

From Emeril Lagasse, tweaked to the tastes of Germany

3 pounds fresh asparagus, rinsed
8 cups chicken stock
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup minced shallots
1 cup minced leeks, whites only, well rinsed
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground white pepper
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup finely grated Parmesan, garnish

Trim the attractive top tips from the asparagus, about 1 to 1 1/2 inches in length. Cut the woody stem ends from each spear and reserve. Cut the remaining tender stalks into 1/2-inch pieces.

In a medium pot, bring the stock to a boil. Add the tough woody stems, lower the heat and simmer to infuse with asparagus flavor, 20 to 30 minutes.

Remove with a slotted spoon and discard, reserving the stock.

Add the decorative tips to the stock and blanch until tender, 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. Remove with a strainer and refresh in an ice water bath. Drain on paper towels and reserve for the garnish. Reserve the stock.

In a medium stockpot, melt the butter over medium-high heat. When foamy, add the shallots and leeks and cook until tender, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the chopped asparagus stalks, salt, and pepper, and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add the reserved broth and simmer until the asparagus are very tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Remove from the heat.

With a hand-immersion blender or in batches in a food processor, puree the soup until smooth. Adjust the seasoning, to taste. If serving right away, return to medium heat and add the cream and reserved asparagus tips. Cook, stirring, until the soup is warmed through, about 3 minutes.

Alternatively, if serving the soup later, do not add the cream and let cool at room temperature (or in an ice water bath). Cover and refrigerate. Before serving, add the cream and asparagus tips, and warm the soup gently over medium heat, stirring occasionally.

To serve, place the soup in a soup tureen and sprinkle with cheese. Ladle into demi-tasse cups or small coffee or tea cups, and serve.

Salmorejo with scallops and gulas

For the second installation of Cooking Con Carlos, we were given a real treat: an introduction to salmorejo, a cold soup from Carlos’ native Andalucía, Spain’s hot, haunting southernmost region.  Gazpacho, salmorejo’s more famous cousin, has been known to come out of my blender on several occasions (thanks for the recipe, Grandma!), so I was pumped to learn a new variation.

Salmorejo is quite straightforward to make – essentially, just keep blending! — and is a lively, refreshing mix of Spain’s classic favors.  Salmorejo is often served over or with country bread or baguette, garnished with jamón Serrano and/or bits of boiled egg, in a bowl or on a plate.  When we made it, Carlos put it in bowls, as if it were soup, with gulas, or baby eels, mixed in and scallops on top.  Below is the recipe for just the creamy soup itself – you can serve it however you want.  Salmorejo makes a delicious summer appetizer or light lunch when the heat hits.

Ingredients:

1 kilo of  tomatoes, a little more than two pounds or about 6-8 large vine tomatoes.  Quarter them for easy blending.  Some recipes call for the tomatoes to be peeled, but Carlos does not.

1 clove of garlic, sliced lengthwise and with the central green core removed.

1 baguette, soaked in water until tender and then subsequently broken into large chunks.

1 egg, boiled and peeled.

1 cup olive oil

Sea salt

Sherry vinegar

To make:

1.  Add large chunks of bread and tomato and garlic to blender.  Finely blend.  Depending on the size of your blender, you may have to do this in stages, adding in some of the olive oil after each stage (see instruction below).

2.  Add cup of olive oil to the blended mix.  Continue to blend.

3.  Add 2 pinches of sea salt, blend well.

4.  Add egg to mix and blend in.

5.  Add several sprinkles of sherry vinegar to the mix and blend.

6.  Garnish with extra version olive oil to taste.

Serves 6.  Serve at room temperature or a bit cooler.