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[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible. This is the third entry on apples.]
Did you win the Trail Mix Giveaway? Don’t forget to check here!
And now, our Lucky Comestible Apple series moves on to the soup course of the meal. . .
This soup is an all-time favorite of mine. One taste, and I promise you’ll be a devotee, too. Hey–this soup should have its own fan club! No, this soup should be featured on YouTube! This soup is a souper-star. You will love this soup!
Seriously, if you don’t love this soup, I will eat my hat my words my way through the northeastern states your portion as well as my own! I would marry this soup if I could. I LOVE THIS SOUP THAT MUCH. (sorry, HH–nothing personal).
In fact, I’ve been dreaming about this soup, on and off, for the past 20 years or so. I first encountered its enticing, tart and textured charms almost two decades ago, when I was invited to my former office mate’s home for dinner. Besides being strikingly beautiful (she had worked as a model for a while before teaching) and incredibly hip, Ms. Mate was also the very first vegan I knew personally (as if beauty and cool were not intimidating enough). I couldn’t believe I’d scored an invitation–I mean, Ms. Mate wore Yves St. Laurent jackets–to teach in! And she donned funky wigs, just for fun! She had a voice like Kathleen Turner and looked like Brigitte Nielsen (well, when the latter was still pretty); and I was in awe of her.
I don’t remember the rest of the meal, but that night I was served a standout apple and red wine soup (after the salad, I might add), and was immediately smitten. The slightly tannic base, thick with puréed apple and red as a lover’s blush, was oddly mesmerizing. I begged her to share the recipe.
Once I’d copied it meticulously from her cookbook (the name of which has dissipated forever into the ether of my age-addled memory), I took it home and filed it in my “soups” recipe folder. There it lay, neglected and withering, for months at a time. Whenever a special occasion would arise–a dinner party, say, or the holidays–I’d determine to revive the apple-red wine romance, slide the page from the folder, place it on the counter, and leave it there it lay for a few days, before I sheepishly returned it to its resting place. For one reason or another, I never made it again.
As soon as I decided to run this Lucky Comestible series on apples, however, I knew which soup recipe I’d use. Last week, I strode over to my cookbook shelves and withdrew the “Soups” folder once again. I began to leaf through the recipes. . . then checked again. . . then went through them all, one page at a time. Horrors!–the soup recipe was gone!!
I can’t adequately express the devastation I felt at realizing I’d somehow either lost or misplaced that recipe. I simply couldn’t imagine leaving it out. It’s the perfect “Let’s-try-something-different-this-holiday-season” soup, the perfect “let’s-wow-the-guests” soup, the perfect “I-love-you-be-my-Valentine” soup. Besides, I hadn’t eaten it in 20 years, and the memory of that unique flavor and texture was still compelling. I decided to try to reproduce the soup from the taste memory.
I’m happy to report that the results were stellar. Not only did I fall in love all over again, the HH was besotted, too.
“Hey, this tastes like real food!” he enthused. (I stared blankly.) “You know, like it has butter and cream and maybe even meat in it.” (For the HH, that is a compliment. But no, there’s no taste of meat in it.)
My soup isn’t quite as red as I remember the original being, but the flavor was just as I’d dreamed it. Thick, rich, and full bodied, with a slightly creamy texture that’s nevertheless robust, both warming and filling. The flavor is definitely that of apple, yet savory and slightly piquant at the same time.
I still love this soup, and am thrilled to have had this reunion, two decades later. And now you can fall in love, too. This would be perfect to serve if you’re looking for something a little different this Thanksgiving.
Just don’t forget where you filed the recipe.
Apple and Red Wine Soup
This is a great first course for a festive holiday meal. As such, serve in small bowls or soup mugs–the soup is filling, and you want to leave room for the rest of the meal! This also makes a perfect winter’s lunch with a salad and big hunk of crusty bread.
1 large onion, chopped
4 large crisp apples, peeled, cored and diced (I used MacIntosh and HoneyCrisp)
2 cups (480 ml) vegetable broth or stock
2 Tbsp-1/4 cup (30 ml-60 ml) maple syrup, to taste, or 10 drops stevia
2 tsp (10 ml) cinnamon
pinch nutmeg
1/4 tsp (1 ml) cloves
2 tsp (10 ml) freshly grated lemon zest
1 Tbsp (15 ml) fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup (120 ml) drinkable dry red wine (or use unsweetened cranberry juice for ACD-friendly version)
1 Tbsp (15 ml) arrowroot powder
1/2 cup (120 ml) full fat coconut milk, plus more for garnish
Heat the oil in a large pot or dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and apple and sauté until the onion is translucent and the apples begin to give off a bit of liquid, about 10 minutes.
Add the broth, maple syrup, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, lemon zest and lemon juice; lower heat. Cover and simmer until the apples are tender, 15-20 minutes.
Meanwhile, mix the arrowroot with the coconut milk in a small bowl. Once the apples are tender, add the coconut milk mixture and stir to blend well. Allow to cook for an additional minute, until thickened. Turn off heat.
Pour the mixture in batches into a blender, or use an immersion blender, and blend until smooth. Return the soup to the pot, stir in the wine, and return to heat until the soup is heated through, about 5 minutes. Garnish with a drizzle of coconut milk, if desired. Makes 4-6 servings. May be frozen.
ACD adjustments: use stevia instead of maple syrup, and unsweetened cranberry juice instead of the red wine.
Last Year at this Time: Eggplant “Caviar”
Other Posts in this Series:
Other Apple-Based Recipes You Might Enjoy:
Other Lucky Comestibles:
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
[Dinner Bowl with millet, sesame chard, grated carrot, avocado, grape tomatoes, and almond sauce.]
When I was about four and the Nurse was eight, my parents decided to have our portraits taken. Now, in those days (we’re talking Dark Ages of technology, folks) no one had heard of digital photography, let alone Photoshop; you had to make due with photos as they appeared once developed, sometimes days or weeks after you’d snapped them in the first place.
[Insalata Roma: Mesclun greens with roasted red peppers, toasted walnuts, "goat cheese" and balsamic vinaigrette.]
In those days, the style was to dress up your kids, have them sit still for an hour or so while a photographer (who had arrived at your home hours earlier, toting enormous cameras, lenses, black boxes, velvet throws and a host of other tools of the trade) cajoled your child into staring at the camera long enough so that he could snap fifty or so photographs. Then, he went away and developed the photos, returning a few weeks later with the contact prints so that you could choose the one you wanted.
[Purple Monster I: gluten-free pancakes with blended berry sauce and tofu scramble.]
In order to simulate traditional artists’ portraits, the photographer blew up the black and white print to portrait size, then painted over the original with colored oil paints. These “portraits” were then hung in ornate gold frames, usually in the living room or family room. Most of my parents’ friends had similar portraits hanging in their own homes (with their own kids in the frames, that is). In fact, the image of four year-old me, a Mona Lisa smile on her face and hair teased and flipped like a 50s housewife’s, wearing my favorite dress with the white princess collar and pale blue crinolines, still gazes over my dad’s sofa (with matching portraits of each of my sisters on either side).
[Purple Monster II: Red cabbage slaw with green apples, toasted walnuts and poppyseed dressing.]
Why am I telling you all this, you wonder? Well, occasionally there were kids who simply wouldn’t participate (I recall hours of silly voices, fuzzy bears and sparkly jewelry passing before the CFO’s tear-stained face on the day, years later, of her portait-sitting; after almost four hours, the disheveled photographer finally elicited a semi-smile, which is the shot that was ultimately used). Worse, there were sometimes kids who were more than happy to oblige the photographer, but who, after all the developer was mixed, the paper bathed in the stop bath and the photos hung to dry, simply weren’t meant for such things.
[Gluten free pizza with pesto, zucchini, tomatoes, garlic and red onion.]
Well, sometimes, I cook food that tastes great, but for one reason or another, doesn’t give good blog. You know the meals–either you chomp them up too quickly, and by the time you remember to snap a pic, the meal is half gone; or else you snap and snap, eventually tuning in more to the rumbling in your stomach than the food on the table, and give up before you acquire that one useful photo. In these cases, I usually file the pics away, assuming I won’t be using them.
[Thai-inspired Coconut Curry Tofu Scramble with spinach, carrot, peppers and cashews.]
Still, some of those foods were really tasty. And just because they’re not photogenic, does that mean they should miss out? Heck, no! Just like the legendary blind date “with the great personality” (ah, if only I had a dime for all the times I was described in such a way), these dishes are really wonderful if you give them a chance.
[Tuscan Bean Soup, adapted from this recipe--my version below.]
And so, I thought it might be fun to share some of the more homely–yet still appealing–foods I’ve made in the past few months.
Just don’t try to snap their portraits.
“Mum, you know, we let you snap our portraits all the time. But if you want me to smile, well, how about a little cajoling with treats or a frisbee?”
Tuscan Bean Soup
This is a thick, filling, and comforting soup for cooler months. I used the stems from the chard, but found their flavor a bit overpowering; I’d leave them off next time.
1 pound (450 g) dried white beans (Great Northern, cannellini, or navy), picked over and rinsed
2 Tbsp (30 ml) organic coconut oil
1 large onion, chopped
1 fennel bulb, stalks discarded and bulb chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
6 cups (1440 ml) vegetable stock or broth
2 cups (480 ml) water
1-2 bay leaves
1/4 tsp (1 ml) black pepper
1/2 pound (225 g) swiss chard (silverbeet), stems discarded and leaves chopped
1 tsp (5 ml) salt, or to taste
nutritional yeast for sprinkling on top
Soak beans in cold water overnight, or at least 8 hours. Discard water, rinse the beans, and set aside.
In a large pot or dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onion, fennel and garlic and sauté until the vegetables are soft, 8-10 minutes. Add the beans, stock, water, bay leaf and pepper and simmer, uncovered, until beans are tender, 45 minutes to an hour.
Stir in the swiss chard and salt to taste and continue to simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until chard is tender, 8 to 10 minutes.
Remove about 2 cups of the soup to a blender and blend until smooth, or use an immersion blender and blend briefly in only one or two spots so that most of the soup remains chunky. Stir the blended soup back into the pot, simmer until heated through, and season to taste. Garnish with nutritional yeast, if desired. Makes 6-8 servings. May be frozen.
Last Year at this Time: Beans Nested on Greens
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
Well, it appears that summer has finally arrived in Toronto (gee, only two months late!). Under normal circumstances, July and August herald brilliantly sunny days with lush green lawns, a profusion of garden flowers and lazy swishing leaves on tree branches overhanging our suburban streets. The temperatures hover around 30-32C (86-90F), more like 40C (104F) with the Humidex reading (what the temperature actually feels like when you factor in the humidity). Unlike the very unusual circumstances we’ve endured thus far: frigid temperatures and rain, rain, rain.
Since the forecast predicts sun for the rest of the week and weekend, there are many happy Torontonians heading to work today (or, more likely, calling in sick to work today). What does the return to summer mean to me? First off, the four plants I attempted to grow this year (planted back in May) will finally begin to yield some bounty (I noticed a nascent green pepper yesterday evening–whoo hoo!); also, I’ll need to start bringing bottles of water with me on my walks with the dogs (for The Girls, not for me); in addition, my skin will begin to turn the same understated shade of beige as untreated newsprint, implying that I am, indeed, not as anemic as my usual printer-paper white hue would suggest; and, lastly, the only foods I’ll want to eat are those that don’t require cooking. Basically, more than anything else, summer means trying to keep cool.
When I think back to my childhood, my friends and I possessed a huge arsenal of methods to stave off the heat in summer. To wit, running through the sprinkler while wearing our bathing suits. Or walking in the rain in our bathing suits, then rubbing mud all over ourselves and running through the sprinkler to wash it off. Having water pistol fights in our bathing suits, collapsing in a giddy heap on the now-wet (and cool) lawn. Heading down to my parents’ basement, then sneaking into the cedar closet to hold a cool “private clubhouse meeting” in our bathing suits.
These days, I am loathe to do pretty much anything in my bathing suit (who am I kidding? I don’t even own a bathing suit!). Consequently, I’ve had to find other means of cooling down. Sure, I can run through the sprinkler wearing my T-shirt and shorts, but that isn’t nearly as much fun. Instead, I seek out summer foods that will do the job.
Often, all I want for dinner is a fresh leafy salad or sliced tomato or crisp granny smith apple (now that the latter have finally made their return on my menus) and be done with it. Not so the HH. So, the other evening after a later-than-usual walk with The Girls, the HH and I returned home to utter the eternal DDD question: what should we have for dinner? (Unlike so many of my bloggy peers, I am not gifted with the ability to plan my week’s menus in advance; besides, my tastes are so capricious that I’d probably change my mind on the designated day and decide I wanted something else entirely).
Most evenings, we pull open the refrigerator door and stand immobile, peering up and across each shelf as we scan the contents for a sign: which of the melee of fruits and veggies do we feel like consuming at that moment? (Sometimes this procedure takes far too long and really is not very eco-friendly, what with that door open the whole time. So then I feel even more guilty about not pre-planning my menus. On the other hand, it diminishes the need for air conditioning).
For some reason, lately, I’ve been on a cucumber kick. I’d never been enamored of cucumbers as a kid (or even a young woman), but recently, I seem to crave cucumbers. I can’t get enough cucumber. I love me some cucumber! (Okay, I’m exaggerating a tad. While that last sentence is, in fact, true, I’ve also been fixated for a time on the wild, wacky and perverse search terms that people use to find this blog. That last line was just really just my way of provoking the searches. Being provocative with a cucumber, if you will. Ooops, there I go again.)
In any case, we found a lovely, firm, English cucumber (yikes, can’t seem to help myself) in the fridge, and I pondered how I could use it besides on its own as a snack. Then I remembered all the bookmarked recipes I’d set aside in Nava Atlas’s fabulous Vegan Soups and Hearty Stews for All Seasons, which I wrote about shortly after receiving the book last winter. At the time, cold cucumber soup was a distant memory–but now it’s finally summer! I knew the soup would be perfect.
We whipped up a batch of Cool as a Cucumber Soup in no time, and devoured almost the entire contents in one sitting (the recipe actually serves 4-6 people, but we loved it that much). I also had the leftovers the next day for lunch and can vouch that it doesn’t suffer from its overnight sojourn in the fridge. In fact, I’d say the herbs made their presence known just a bit more the second day, and all the flavors had a chance to meld.
The soup is thick and rich with shreds of bouncy and refreshing cucumber throughout. The combination of three fresh herbs provides a lovely counterpoint with their aromatic flavors and bit of crunch, offset by the slightly pungent scallion slices scattered here and there. Every spoonful provided a little oasis of cool.
I have no doubt that this soup will become a summer staple from now on with its refreshing, cooling effects. Just don’t expect me to wear my bathing suit when I eat it.
[Oh--and some cool news re: Sweet Freedom for those of you in the Toronto area! I'll be appearing on Toronto's Breakfast Television next Monday, talking about healthy cakes, frostings and toppings, and sampling some of the goodies from the book! Yippee!]
Cool as a Cucumber Soup
from Nava Atlas’s Vegan Soups and Hearty Stews for All Seasons
(with the author’s permission)
A wonderful way to cool off on a hot summer’s day, this soup comes together very quickly and allows for a lot of leeway with herbs and seasonings.
2 large cucumbers, peeled and seeded [I used an extra-large English cuke]
about 1-1/4 cups (300 ml) vegan sour cream [I used Nava's recipe, or use this one, with a bit less agave nectar]
1/2 cup (120 ml) finely chopped fresh herbs, such as dill, parsley and mint [I used parsley, basil and mint]
1-2 scallions, green parts only, thinly sliced
1-1/2 cups (360 ml) rice or unsweetened soy or almond milk
juice of 1/2 lemon (or more, to taste)
1/2 tsp. ( 2.5 ml) ground cumin, or more to taste
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Grate the cucumbers on a coarse grater, either by hand or in a food processor fitted with a grating disk.
Transfer the cucumbers to a serving container. Stir in the sour cream, herbs, scallions and enough rice milk to give the soup a slightly thick consistency. Season with lemon juice, cumin, salt and pepper. Serve at once or refrigerate until well chilled.
Variation: For a heartier version of this soup, add a cup or so of cold, cooked barley.
For a pleasantly peppery flavor, stir in a good handful of chopped watercress leaves.
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
Last Year at this Time: Sweet Things Times Three (Sweet Potato and Ginger Salad)
[Okay, so the post title is a bit obscure (I was alluding to Four Weddings and a Funeral)--but with the Oscars coming up in a couple of days, and with my having seen, hmmn, let's see--a total of "zero" of the movies, I wanted to make reference to that grand little Golden Guy in some way or other in this post. ]
[Slice of birthday cake: chocolate layers filled with chocolate buttercream frosting, all topped with Sweet Potato Frosting]
It’s almost time for midterms at the college where I teach, so I’m afraid I’ll be MIA from the blog for a little while (not to be confused with the recently balloon-bellied, singing-at-the-Grammys, went-into-labor-and-gave-birth-the-next-day MIA). But before I bid you all adieu, I thought I’d mention three festivities leading up to said exams.
Shindig One: The most recent celebration we enjoyed here in the DDD household was an intimate birthday dinner for my friend Eternal Optimist (consisting of just the EO, the HH, and me).We three enjoyed a spectacular, yet simple meal of Potato-Miso Soup (Alisa’s uniquely delicious recipe: satiny smooth, rich and slightly yeasty from the hint of miso–in fact, this was the second time I’ve made this in a week!); trusty Tagine of Quinoa with Chickpeas, Olives and Prunes (always a hit around here); garlic sautéed rapini and collards; and a special b-day cake (chocolate layers with sugar-free chocolate buttercream frosting (both from Sweet Freedom) and the Sweet Potato Frosting I wrote about a while back.
[Alisa's Creamy Potato Miso Soup]
It was grand to spend a leisurely evening together fêting a dear friend. The EO also brought along her own pooch, another border collie cross, and The Girls were in heaven. (“We love having our friends over, too, Mum! Except next time, there should be a cake that we can eat as well.”)
Shindig Two: In addition to the birthday, the dinner was also occasion for a spontaneous mini-celebration in honor of the cookbook finally reaching the publisher. After numerous delays in formatting and glitches with the cover, it’s finally on its way! My publishing rep called yesterday to confirm that she received the files and their part of the book’s production will begin next week. YIPPPPPPEEEEEE!! (Of course, this means it will still take about three months before the book is in print, but it is out of my hands at this point). I can’t even begin to express what a relief that is! So we had a little toast in honor of Sweet Freedom last evening as well.
Shindig Three: Despite mountains of marking, I’ll be peeking in periodically at the Academy Awards, that shindig to beat all shindigs, that tribute to all things silicone and Juvéderm and Botox, that massive glitterati ego-massage that will take place on Sunday evening. From the Barbara Walters interviews to the Joan Rivers gaffes to the melodramatic and slurred acceptance speeches, I love it all. And even if I haven’t actually seen any of the movies, who cares? That’s not what the Oscars are all about, anyway!
Before I depart on break, I thought it might be fun to leave you with a little midterm quiz of your own to ponder while I’m away (and the best part–it doesn’t matter whether you know the answers or not!). I’ll reveal the “correct” responses when I get back (though with a bit of sleuthing, it should be fairly easy to find them before then).
[Chocolate birthday cake in all its uncut glory]
A Diet, Dessert and Dogs Mid-Term Quiz
Instructions: Please answer each of the following questions. Note that this is an open-blog test; answers can be found in previous entries. Please double space your answers.
1) DDD stands for:
a) The 2009, eco-friendly version of the pesticide “DDT”
b) Pamela Anderson’s bra size (now that she’s had a breast reduction)
c) a cutsie way to refer to “3-D” movies
d) the name of this blog.
2) “NAG” refers to
a) the HH’s endearing nickname for me;
b) the ol’ grey girl who ain’t what she used to be;
c) a healthy way of eating that includes whole, unprocessed, organic foods.
3) Ricki’s favorite food is:
a) chocolate
b) chocolate
c) chocolate
d) all of the above
4) “LC” stands for
a) Lon Chaney
b) Lewis Carroll
c) Love Chocolate!
d) Life Companion
5) Complete this phrase: “Rocker Guy (He of the —)”
a) broken guitar
b) off his rocker
c) rock collection
d) black leather pants
6) Ricki loves blogging because:
a) of all the amazing people she’s “met” in the blog world
b) it’s always fun to read other blogs and learn about new foods
c) reading your comments on her blog is the high point of her day (truly)
d) YOU GUYS ARE SIMPLY THE BEST!
I’m sure you all got an “A”! Have a great time at the Oscars, all, and see you in a week or so! 
Last Year at this Time: My Favorite Mistake: Savory Filled Breakfast Crepes
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
Now is the discontent of our winter.
The dozen or so of you who were reading my blog last year at this time probably remember how much I hate the snowy season. (How much, you ask? As much as Gepetto hates dishonesty. As much as Ellen loves Portia. As much as the calories in a deep-fried Mars Bar (with whipped cream on top). As much as union disagrees with management. As much as my eternal incredulity at the popularity of Julia Roberts.) This morning, when I emitted a plaintive little lament about the fact that we’ve already surpassed last year’s (record-breaking) snowfall for this date, the HH helpfully piped up, “Yeah, and we’ve still got over a month more of this to go!” Gee, thanks, sweetheart.
So, what to do about a wall of pelting snow every time you leave the house, ice crystals forming on your eyebrows, the grey rime that coats your glasses like vaseline on a camera lens?
Make soup, that’s what.
When I was a carefree singleton* back in the early 90s, I developed a Friday evening cooking ritual. After arriving home from work, I’d change into sweats and a T-shirt, then spend most of the evening cooking food for the following week. By the end of the week, I was usually too pooped to socialize anyway, and I found cooking to be incredibly meditative. (Besides, if anything better male intellectually stimulating came up instead, I wasn’t irrevocably tied to my plan; I’d just cook the following day). I’d pack the prepared dishes into plastic containers, then freeze them for consumption later on. A relaxing evening plus seven days of healthy, homemade food–a pretty good arrangement, I thought.
In those days, I tended to cook a lot of soups. Perhaps I was subconsciously emulating my mom, whose chicken soup graced our stovetop every Friday evening as far back as I can remember. In fact, the very first recipe I cooked in my very first apartment was soup–split pea and ham, as I recall (which is odd, since even then I didn’t really like meat, and I’d never tasted ham at all before that–or since). In the interim, I’ve expanded my repertoire a bit, enjoying a variety of traditional or exotic or unusual soups over the years. With its ability to embrace any and all stray vegetables, then bathe them in a warm, soothing broth, vitamin and mineral-rich soup is an ideal meal-in-a-bowl.
Strangely, once the HH and I began seeing each other, I all but stopped making soups on Friday nights (he seemed to think our courtship should take place alongside a wine bottle rather than a stockpot). Then, a couple of weeks ago, I received a copy of Nava Atlas’s newly released Vegan Soups and Hearty Stews for All Seasons (this is a 4th edition of her earlier Vegetarian Soups for All Seasons) as part of the book’s virtual tour. Suddenly, soup was back on my radar. And I must tell you, I think this book has singlehandedly renewed my zeal for soup making.
The book is divided by season, so it made sense that the fall and winter offerings would appeal most right now, with innovative and interesting combinations like Broccoli, Apple and Peanut Soup or Almond-Brussels Sprouts Soup (which I just enjoyed for lunch today–splendid!), and classics like Hearty Barley-Bean Soup or Minestrone. But the spring and summer were equally tantalizing, with recipes for Creole Eggplant Soup and Gingery Miso-Spinach Soup and Strawberry Colada Soup. (Now I have yet another reason to wish winter would end soon.)
With our seemingly irrepressible mountains of snow (now taller than the HH, who is over 6 feet/1.8 meters) outside, a hearty winter stew seemed just the right antidote. This Sweet and Sour Cabbage and Bread Stew is a perfectly warming, filling, tasty combination, with a substantial broth, in which you simmer a variety of winter veggies, all imbued with a subtle sweet and piquant tang. Initially, the HH was a bit reluctant to try it (paradoxically, the guy will eat anything and everything if it’s derived from an animal, but is entirely unadventurous when it comes to vegetable dishes). After the first few spoonfuls, however, he pronounced it “a keeper” and was content to have nothing more than this for dinner.
I’m happy to say that I’m even looking forward to getting back in the swing of Friday evening soup-a-thons. And these days, I won’t be cooking alone (hear that, HH?).
“Mum, you know that we’d love to help you cook, too, if we could. There’s just this little matter of the ’no opposable thumbs’ thing. But we’re still more than happy to help clean up the leftovers.”
* Okay, I was never “carefree,” but more like “unattached, at loose ends, having no weekend plans.” The closest I’ve ever gotten to “carefree” was probably during that time before I embraced all the responsibilities and anxieties of adulthood–like, maybe, when I was three.
Sweet and Sour Cabbage and Bread Stew
from Vegan Soups and Hearty Stews for All Seasons
by Nava Atlas
Here’s a variation of classic sweet-and-sour cabbage soup, given a bit more heft with bread cubes nestled in each serving.
3 to 4 cups (720 to 960 ml) cubed (about 1 inch) Italian or sourdough bread [I used spelt sourdough--which, as you can see in the photo, comes pre-sliced; still tasted great!]
2 Tbsp (30 ml) olive oil
2 large onions, quartered and thinly sliced
3 to 4 cloves garlic
5 cups (1200 ml) water
2 large carrots, peeled and diced
2 large or 3 medium potatoes, diced
4 cups (960 ml) coarsely shredded green cabbage
1 medium green or red bell pepper, diced
One 16-ounce (450 g) can salt-free diced or stewed tomatoes, undrained
1/4 cup (60 ml) dry red wine
1 tsp (5 ml) paprika
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) cumin
3 Tbsp (45 ml) lemon juice, or to taste
3 Tbsp (45 ml) natural granulated sugar [I used agave nectar]
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Preheat the oven to 300F (150C). Spread the bread cubes in a single layer on a baking sheet and bake until golden and crisp, about 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside.
Heat the oil in a large soup pot. Add the onions and garlic and sauté over medium heat until golden, about 10 minutes.
Add the water, carrots, potatoes, cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, wine, paprika, and cumin. Bring to a rapid simmer, then lower the heat. Cover and simmer gently for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender.
Stir in the lemon juice and sugar. There should be a subtle sweet-sour balance. If you’d like it to be more pronounced, add more lemon juice and/or sugar to your liking.
Season with salt and pepper, then simmer over very low heat for 10 minutes longer. If time allows, let the stew stand off the heat for an hour or two, then heat through before serving.
When ready to serve, divide the bread cubes among the serving bowls and ladle the stew over them. The bread will absorb much of the liquid and add a tasty, textural element to the stew.
Per serving:
Calories: 231 Total fat: 6 g Protein: 6 g Fiber: 6 g
Carbohydrate: 43 g Cholesterol: 0 mg Sodium: 114 mg
Last Year at This Time: A North American’s Anzac Biscuits (Or, Ode to the Antipodes)
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
Years ago (oops, make that a decade), during the tumultuous year after my starter marriage dissolved, I lived with my friend Gemini I. As two single thirty-somethings interested in social events or activities that might bring us into contact with eligible men, we decided to try out some cooking classes (what were we thinking? We might as well have looked for guys in the pantyhose department at Macy’s. . . oh, wait a sec: apparently, in Australia, that’s exactly where you might meet some guys these days).
In any case, we signed up for one series run by a well-heeled Toronto chatelaine who’d attended Le Cordon Bleu (it was only a weekend seminar, but she never told us that) and decided to teach classes out of her home. It took just one evening, and I was hooked; after that, Gemini I and I attended about half a dozen more classes as well. It’s not that I actually learned very much; and the food, while fine, wasn’t the most spectacular I’d had, either. But oh, what a house!
Oh my, how I envied her house. Situated beside a thickly forested ravine on a cul-de-sac in the tony Rosedale area, Ms. Culinati’s residence was a massive, ivy-covered, stone-and-brick Tudor style mansion of at least 5,000 square feet, almost more like a museum than a home. At over 100 years old, the building’s interior had been completely renovated and rendered ultra-modern inside. The setup was perfect for cooking classes: after passing beneath the towering entryway, we participants filed across the open-concept first floor (tiled in marble), toward a state-of-the-art kitchen just off the entrance. There were six cushy stools lined up against one side of a wide, grey and black granite peninsula, which also divided the room and separated us from the cooking area.
Ms. Cordon Bleu held forth on the opposite side of the counter behind the built-in stainless steel stovetop, prepping ingredients and chattering about the best shop in Paris to buy Le Creuset, the plumpest, most perfect berries at All the Best on Summerhill (even back then, I recall that a pint–about 500 ml.–of strawberries cost over $4.00 at that store), or how she flew to New York last weekend to pick up the very best fleur de sel (because really, you simply couldn’t use anything less).
Despite the fact that our personal orbits existed in completely different universes, I still enjoyed the recipes, the skillfully selected wines that accompanied them, and the stolen glances around the rest of the house as I ostensibly attended to our cooking. And, of course, it was always rewarding to have an evening out with Gemini I.
Most of the dishes I encountered in those classes, I will never make again, either because they contain ingredients I no longer eat, or because they contain ingredients far too extravagant for everyday consumption (last I heard, her courses had morphed into all-out travel tours, wherein participants flew to Tuscany for a week to cook and live together in a villa. Who are these people, and how can I be written into the will? Just asking).
Still, almost despite herself, in one class Ms. C.B. provided us with this recipe for Curried Root Vegetable Chowder with Dumplings. And while the original soup contained chicken broth, butter and wheat flour, it was a cinch to convert.
I’ve loved this chowder since the first time I slurped it back in the 1990s. It’s one of the easiest soups you’ll ever make (and while the dumplings are marvelous and do elevate the broth an echelon, you can just as easily forego the sophistication, toss in some elbow pasta, and happily spoon this up for a quick weekday dinner). Once the veggies are chopped, it’s a matter of a quick sauté, a splash of prepared broth, and a sprinkling of ONE spice: mild curry powder. It also makes use of an underused, but very tasty, root veggie: celery root.
It sounds almost too simple, I know; but believe me, the result will astonish you. The varying levels of sweetness from the different roots, along with the whisper of curry, combine for a soothing, warming and entirely captivating dish. This is one soup you’ll want to stay at home for. In fact, it’s the perfect soup to charm those eligible guys–that is, once you find them.
This month’s No Croutons Required is asking for soups or salads with pasta. I’m hoping these dumplings count. The event was started by Lisa and Holler and is this month being hosted by Holler.
Curried Root Vegetable Chowder with Dumplings
(adapted from a very old recipe from The Art of Food Cooking School)
This is the perfect soup to serve to guests; the dumplings elevate this to a fancier level, yet the soup is down to earth and very appealing. For a gluten-free option, omit the dumplings or use your favorite dumpling recipe with GF flour.
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) extra virgin olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1-1/2 tsp. (7.5 ml.) mild curry powder
4 cups vegetable broth
2 medium carrots, peeled, halved and cut into 1/2-inch (1 cm) pieces
2 large parsnips, peeled, thick end halved lengthwise, and cut into 1/2 inch (1 cm.) pieces
1 small celery root (celeriac), trimmed, peeled and cut into 1/4 inch (1/2 cm) cubes
1 medium sweet potato (yam), peeled and cut into 1/2 inch (1 cm.) cubes
1 tsp. (5 ml.) sea salt, if broth is unsalted
freshly chopped cilantro, for garnish
Dumplings:
1 cup (140 g.) spelt flour
1-1/2 tsp. (7.5 ml.) baking powder
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) sea salt
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) nutmeg
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) cold coconut oil
1/4 cup (60 ml.) currants
5-6 Tbsp. (75-90 ml.) unsweetened soymilk or almond milk
To make the soup, heat the oil in a large pot or dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 3 mintues. Add the garlic and curry powder and cook for another minute or so.
Stir in the broth, carrots and parsnips. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cover and simmer for 10 minutes. Stir in the celery root and sweet potato and cook for 10 more minutes.
Meanwhile, make the dumplings: In a medium bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg. Rub in the coconut oil (pinch the mixture between your thumb and fingers repeatedly) until the mixutre resembles a coarse meal. Add currants and toss to coat. Add milk and stir with a fork until the mixture comes together.
Season the broth with salt and pepper to taste. Then roll bits of the dumpling dough (about a tablespoon for each) into balls and place on top of the simmering broth. Cover and cook without disturbing for 15 minutes. Remove the cover and divide the soup into 4 bowls [I've found it makes much more than this]. Garnish with cilantro and serve. May be frozen.
The three of you who were reading my blog last year at this time may recall that I am not a fan of winter. “What?” the rest of you ask, “and you from Montreal?”
Well, I’m here to tell you that being born in a certain place doesn’t automatically predispose one kindly toward the weather of said location (nor does it predispose one to winter sports; in other words, no, that’s not a tatoo on my rear, but a lingering bruise from a skating accident back in 1981). To me, the ideal climate would be temperate, neither too hot nor too cool (I’m thinking between 68 and 80 Fahrenheit, or 20 and 22 Celsius), with sun about 95% of the time (just enough rain to ensure there’s no drought) and terrain surrounded by lush, grassy, fragrant forests with treetops that sway and quietly rustle in the breeze, like Hawaiians doing the hula. Oh, and no bugs. And no snakes. Or spiders. And, what the heck, may as well throw in a yellow brick road, while you’re at it.*
But here we are, too far into November to deny the imminent crystalline entombment, and I must face the fact: it will be winter soon. And what is there to do? Generally, when I’m feeling down, my options fall into two categories: 1) food-related; and 2) dog-related. As I write this, The Girls are sleeping off their early walk with the HH; and so, it seems, the next step is alimentary, my dear.
While baking is always my first instinct in the kitchen, I do enjoy cooking as well. These days, it’s rare for me to spend any more time than necessary making dinner (read: 20 minutes, tops), but yesterday, I felt the need for the extended, meditative experience of slow cooking. In the morning, I loaded the dutch oven with dried beans and water; and by 7:00 PM, we were feasting on my age-old, many-times-refined, much-tweaked recipe for chili with mixed beans and “ground turkey.”
[Seems I still haven't quite mastered the focus on my dandy new camera, but you can still make out the meaty-looking crumbles in there, can't you?]
When I was a kid, I used to think chili acquired its name because it was meant to be eaten in cold weather. While it’s true that this soup-cum-stew is best served in cool weather, it wasn’t until I began to read up on Indian cuisine that I discovered the name actually referred to a spice blend often used in the mix. Trusty Wikipedia tells me that Chili con Carne is the official dish of Texas; and that particular bowlful, it turns out, is the version made without beans. Most of us, I’d wager, still think of beans when we think of chili, however.
I also think of chili as the chameleon of stews: years ago, a friend who’d just returned to Canada from three years in Mexico served me mole, another form of chili; the notion of sharp spices with just an undertone of bitterness seemed immensely appealing (don’t be alarmed at the coffee and chocolate in this version!). And a recipe once given to me by a former student from India featured simmered, pulled beef and a variety of curry spices with lentils.
I first cooked chili when I was an impoverished graduate student living in Windsor, Ontario. The recipe developed over the years, and what was once a fairly basic vegetarian chili has morphed over the years into my own version of the dish. I include frozen tofu that’s been defrosted and crumbled to resemble ground meat (in fact, the first time I made this for the HH, he assumed the tofu was ground chicken. Perfect for skeptics!). The HH and I also both agree that chili should be more of a stew than a soup, so I simmer mine until almost all the liquid is absorbed and the beans are suspended in a kind of spicy tomato sauce. If you prefer yours thinner, simply cook a bit less or add a bit more water.
Eventually, my own additions became so numerous that even my enormous dutch oven was barely adequate to hold the stew, and I had to stop adding ingredients. As a result, this makes a huge batch, and enough to freeze in single-serve containers that will sustain you through the winter. While you slurp it up, just imagine that you’re somewhere warm, and green.
Oh, and with all these legumes in here, I thought this would be the perfect submission to My Legume Love Affair, the monthly event started by Susan at The Well Seasoned Cook and this month hosted by Simona at Briciole.
Chili to Last Through the Winter
This chili provides a thick, spicy, filling and very substantial meal. Don’t let the long ingredient list deter you—this recipe makes a big batch that you can freeze for later, and it’s definitely worth the effort!
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) extra virgin olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 small jalapeno pepper, minced (remove seeds for less heat)
1 green pepper, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 rib celery, chopped
1 large carrot, diced into small cubes
1 block firm tofu (about 12 ounces or 350 g.), frozen at least 24 hours, defrosted in boiling water, squeezed dry and crumbled
1-1/2 cups (375 ml.) dried beans, soaked overnight and cooked (try a combination of kidney, black, pinto, romano, chick peas, yellow peas, lima beans, great northern beans, navy beans, or other beans of your choice)
2 large cans diced tomatoes
1 small can tomato paste
1 Tbsp (15 ml.). chili powder
1 tsp. (5 ml.) dried coriander
1 (5 ml.) tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. (5 ml.) dried basil
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.)dried cumin
1/4 tsp. (1 ml.) cayenne
1/2 tsp. hot pepper sauce (such as Tabasco or Red Hot)—omit for less heat
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) instant coffee or coffee substitute
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup (120 ml.) corn kernels (use drained, canned, or frozen)
Heat oil in a large dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, and jalapeno, and sauté until onion is soft. Add peppers, celery, and carrot, and sauté about 5 minutes, until vegetables begin to soften.
Add remaining ingredients except corn. Stir well and allow to simmer for at least 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. (This chili is best if left to simmer over very low heat for about an hour). Add corn and heat through.
Serve in soup bowls with hearty bread. Makes 8 servings. May be frozen.
*That’s right, mate, it’s no coincidence that my dreamscape is pronounced “OZ.” (Well, except for the spiders and snakes. Darn.)
It seems like another lifetime now, but the year after my starter marriage ended, I lived in a townhouse with my dear friend Gemini I. Shortly after the furniture was placed and the boxes unpacked, we began to negotiate the rules of housework, grocery shopping, and TV usage when we got to chatting about food. I remember asking, “Do you like cous cous?” (In those days, I ate it all the time, though it’s pretty much verboten now since I don’t eat wheat). I was taken aback by her answer, which, at the time, I found a little odd.
“Well, I suppose I do,” she responded. “There are times when I’ll cook it every day for two weeks, but then I might not touch it or even think of it for 8 or 9 months.” I couldn’t imagine ignoring a food I actually enjoyed for that long (and chocolate? Well, that one would be calculated in hours–nay, minutes–rather than days or weeks).
These days, though, I understand exactly what she meant. When one maintains a food blog, the quest for the novel and atypical dish never ends. This pursuit sometimes leaves old favorites languishing in the dust–or at the back of the cupboard (or both, in the case of our cupboard). On the other hand, I might whip up something new from a recipe I found on another blog, and enjoy it so much that the HH and I will feast on said dish several times during the next week. And the following week. In fact, we might just consume that comestible every second or third day for two to three weeks (which does provide several useful photo-ops, after all)–and then dump it unceremoniously, just as Chaser dumps her squeaky ball (ad nauseum, I might add) at my feet. Once I’ve gotten my fill, I move on, seeking the next culinary encounter.
Well, I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that I often find myself with a surplus of overripe pears in the house, as I did a couple of evenings ago. Since the HH refuses to share in the burden of eating fruit (hey! That could be the title of Michael Pollan’s next tome: The Burden of Eating Fruit: An Exposition on Overripe Organic Produce), I’m always on the lookout for tasty recipes with pears, before they become too soft and squishy, too oozy, too yellow-flecked-with-brown. Our freezer is already bursting with chopped, frozen pears, so I needed to cook up these babies–and fast.
It was then I remembered an erstwhile favorite, one that we consumed for a spell and then promptly forgot. It’s from one of my favorite cookbooks, Green by Flip Shelton. From what I understand, Shelton is kind of like an Aussie Rachael Ray, and isn’t taken very seriously as a chef (what’s that bogan doing cooking biscuits on the barbie? What a dag! Well, she’s still ace to me. G’day!). The recipe sounds like an incongruous combination of ingredients (though not as incongruous as radishes, olives and grapefruit), mixing pear and parsnip with sautéed leeks, but the final result is incredibly tasty. Fragrant, slightly sweet from the pears and slightly peppery from the parsnip, with a velvety smooth, light texture. Yum-O!
And since this soup features both fruit and, well, soup, I’m submitting it to this months’ No Croutons Required, a monthly event hosted alternately by Holler (this month) and Lisa, which asks us to cook up either a salad or soup with fruit as a main ingredient.
Oh, and before I sign off, I really must thank all of you for being so understanding and so polite. I mean, it’s painfully evident that I was a total bust at the ACD this time round (okay, maybe not a TOTAL bust–I did last almost 2 weeks). And yet you’ve all had the diplomacy and tact not to mention it! For that, I am grateful.
And while I’ve decided this may not have been the best time to embark on an even more restrictive diet (school starting up, cold weather coming, cookbook calling), I do still try to eat foods that would fit within the parameters of the diet as often as possible, perhaps minus one or two ingredients. Well, turns out this fantastic soup could easily qualify as an anti-candida meal, even without trying (if you’re following the version that permits non-tropical fruits, that is). It’s also a very simple, very nourishing concoction that offers fabulous fiber from the pears, a hit of extra calcium from the parsnips and a satisfying early autumn tummy-warming. You may even decide to make it again and again–at least, for a couple of weeks or so.
Pear and Parsnip Soup
from Flip Shelton’s Green
It may not be entirely photogenic, but this easy, quick recipe produces a satisfying soup. The combination of slightly sweet, slightly peppery, and slightly creamy works beautifully here.
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) olive oil
2 large pears, peeled and chopped
2 large parsnips, peeled and chopped
1 leek, chopped (white and light green parts only)
2 pints (1 liter) vegetable stock [I've even used the powder in a pinch]
sea salt and crushed black pepper, to taste
Warm the oil over low heat in a heavy-based saucepan. Sweat the pears, parsnips, and leek, stirring often, for about 15 minutes, or until they start to soften. (Basically, you want them soft but not brown). I covered the pot to help speed this process.
Add the stock and bring to the boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes, until the ingredients are soft.
Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly before blending with an immersion blender; or pour into a regular blender in batches and purée. Season to taste with salt and pepper, and serve hot. The recipe says this serves two, but I’ve found it’s more like 4 servings. May be frozen.
Who could have ever guessed that our summer would FINALLY arrive on Labor Day Weekend? The weather this past weekend was glorious: brilliant sunshine, sky entirely unsullied by even a speck of cloud, so blue even the dogs seemed able to perceive its piercing azure, colorblind or no. The temperature’s been hovering at around 28C (that’s high 80s, my American compadres!), and–best of all–no humidity! What a perfect way to usher out the summer as students prepare to get back to school tomorrow and parents prepare to shout obscenities at all the extra drivers on the newly traffic-clogged roadways.
It does seem strange to be bidding summer adieu when it feels as if we never actually had a real summer this year to begin with. Let’s see: before this weekend, I can recall a total of three sunny days. And it’s official: this summer, we surpassed every known record for rainfall in Ontario between June 1 and August 31st.
And so, to celebrate the late arrival of warmth and to send off the season that never was, I thought I’d present this heavenly soup. It’s one I mentioned waaaaay back when I ran the last Lucky Comestible series on avocados. As the warm weather dissipates and the stealthy chill of autumn returns with its crisp sheets in the evenings and dewy sprays of frost on car windows each morning, this is a soup you can make to remind you that, before you know it–a mere 293 days from now–the warm weather will finally return. That is, if there’s actually a summer next year.
The soup is creamy, rich, and very refreshing after an afternoon in the sun. It’s also great as a quick dinner if you’ve been taking advantage of one of the rare balmy afternoons left in which you can go outside in just a T-shirt and shorts.
So long, Oh Blazing Sol of the summer. So long, lush, humective grasses and tomato blossoms, amazonian mint, purple clover and sundry weeds in a multicolored tangle like some crazy knitting basket in my vegetable garden. So long, little Chaser slurping at the hose. So long, G & Ts on the patio, tan lines on my shoulders, shoes slipped on casually with no socks. So long, coveted, much cherished, far too short and ever appreciated summer weather.
Summer, we hardly knew ya. Sniff. Boo hoo. But now, there’s soup. . .
Oh, and for those of you returning to school tomorrow (or those who’ve just returned this past week)–welcome back!
Chilled Avocado Soup
This is a simple, quick and delicious soup for a summer’s evening. Avocado offers healthy monounsaturated fats, and cucumber is cooling and alkalizing.
1 English cucumber, peeled, seeded and roughly chopped
2 large ripe avocados
2 green onions, roughly chopped
2 apples (choose fairly crisp, tart apples like Granny Smith or Spartan), unpeeled
1-1/2 cups (360 ml.) plain soy or almond milk (more if thinner soup is desired)
1 cup (240 ml.) coconut milk
½ tsp. (2.5 ml.) mild curry powder
2 T. (30 ml.) freshly squeezed lemon juice
cilantro (or whatever’s flourishing in your herb garden), for garnish
In bowl of food processor, process all ingredients until smooth. If soup is too thick for your taste, add a bit more soymilk. Chill until ready to serve. Garnish with fresh cilantro (or, if you have a forest of it in growing along the side or your house, mint).
Makes about 4 servings.
*Or, Do I Dare To Eat a Chilled Peach Soup?
Well, I’ve just completed my second day on my Total Health cleanse, also known as the Grain Drain.
(I must interject here just to say thank you to everyone for your great comments, suggestions and encouragement–I am truly blown away by all the positive wishes and love hearing from you all. And it makes a huge difference to know that the support is out there!)
After two days of eating this way, I’m feeling a tad self-reproaching. You see, so far, I’ve found the diet nowhere near as difficult as I’d anticipated. In fact, it’s been downright easy–one might go so far as to call it enjoyable, even. (I know–I was shocked, too!)
I mean, what could be wrong with a fresh and juicy Earth Bowl for breakfast? Or a classic Three-Bean Salad for lunch? In order to keep my blood sugar levels steady, I’ve been munching on nuts and seeds, baby carrots, prunes (or, as they’re now called, dried plums) and wee bits of Cocoa Nibbles. I feel lighter and my allergies seem to be diminishing. Whoo hoo!
And then, most unlike Eliot’s eponymous poltroon, I most certainly did dare to eat a peach. Several, actually, all blended into a smashing soup. That, followed by a serving of Red Pepper stuffed with Raw Asian Pâté, (recipe in a future post), and dinner was rather spectacular. So, let us go then, you and I, and I’ll fill you in on all the details of Chilled Peach Soup with Cashew Coconut Cream.
Last week, on one of those grey days when the fog rubs its back upon the window-panes, we received a true harbinger of summer: four plump, downy, rosy peaches in our organic produce box. I was so thrilled that I devoured one immediately before I realized there will be time, there will be time to eat more of them throughout the summer.
As it happened, I’ve been on a bit of a library kick lately. Maybe it’s the ever-increasing tower of unread magazines that waits patiently in the corner of my office; maybe it’s my newfound frugality; maybe it’s the fact that I had to go get this month’s book (About Alice by Calvin Trillin) for my book club; whatever the reason, I found myself at the local library and decided to drop by the cookbook section. And there, after reading a variety of recipes (the dishes measured out in coffee spoons), I happened upon The Artful Vegan by Eric Tucker et al.
Tucker is executive chef at the famed Millenium restaurant in San Francisco, one of the very first vegan restaurants to introduce elegant, exciting and innovative cuisine for vegans (and one of the places on my list of “must-visit”s). I did have the enormous pleasure of sitting in the audience while Tucker demonstrated several recipes a few years ago at the inaugural Vegetarian Awakening conference; it was a revelation to watch him tame a tomatillo, pipe aïoli, or wrangle a fennel bulb. Everything he made was visually stunning and entirely delectable. (And even after the sampling, the cups, the marmalade, the tea–it would have been worthwhile. Oh. . . perhaps it’s the perfume from his Five Spice Watercress that makes me so digress? ).
Many of Tucker’s recipes are multi-faceted, multi-tiered, multi-stage affairs that require three days of preparation and innumerable specialty utensils to accomplish; the true appeal of his cookbook is that it allows you to gaze in awe at the culinary gymnastics his creations represent. And yet, as luck would have it, about midway through the book was a recipe for a chilled peach soup with a rosewater cashew cream. And best of all–it was perfectly accessible to a home cook! I bit off the matter with a smile, thinking this soup would definitely be worthwhile.
Preparing the soup couldn’t be easier–if not for the cashew cream accompaniment, I would certainly designate this a Flash in the Pan recipe–and it is entirely transporting when you taste it.
I made quite a few changes to the original recipe, so I’ll print my own version here. The soup is intensely fruity, with a slight sour note balanced by the hint of sweetness in the cashew cream topping. It is entirely refreshing on a smoldering summer day. This soup fairly hums “summer.” And even though there’s nothing in it that The Girls must avoid, this soup was too good to share.
(“Yes, Mum, I did hear the peach soup singing. But I do not think that it will sing to me. . . it did look good, though.”)
Okay, enough with the Prufrock. . . just don’t get me started on Nabokov’s peach reference!
Since this recipe hails from a truly “gourmet” cookbook and is also extremely low-cal (only 53 calories per serving, according to The Artful Vegan), I thought it would be the perfect submission to the Fat Chefs or Skinny Gourmets event, hosted by Ben of What’s Cooking and Ivy of Kopiaste’. They’ll be posting a roundup at the end of the month.
Chilled Peach Soup with Cashew Coconut Cream
With an irresistible deep coral color and light, refreshing flavor, this soup is the perfect first course to a cool summer meal. It would also be great as a breakfast soup.
Cashew Coconut Cream:
1/2 cup (125 ml.) raw cashews
1 tsp. (5 ml.) light miso
1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) pure coconut extract
1/2 cup (125 ml.) plain or vanilla soymilk
Soup:
4 large ripe peaches, washed
juice of 1 large orange
juice of 1/2 lemon
1 tsp. (5 ml.) finely grated ginger
1/4 tsp. salt (optional)
Make the cream: In a blender (a food process or won’t work for this recipe), blend the cashews, miso, nutmeg, coconut extract and about half the soymilk until almost smooth. Scrape down sides. Add remaining soymilk and blend until perfectly smooth and velvety. Pour into a container and refrigerate until needed. If cream thickens too much after being refrigerated, thin out with a bit more soymilk or water.
Make the soup: remove pits from peaches and coarsely chop the flesh (Tucker suggested blanching them and then removing the skins, but I preferred them skin-on, both for the added color and fiber). Place the peaches along with the remaining ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Refrigerate the mixture at least 3 hours, or until well chilled.
To serve, pour the soup into four bowls or mugs. Spoon about one tablespoon (15 ml.) of the cream over top, and garnish with mint leaves, if desired. (These days, everything we make is garnished with mint leaves). Makes 4 servings.
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