I have a confession to make. It probably seems like I live and breathe
to cook, right? It probably seems like I never get tired of stirring
and whisking and chopping, like I go to sleep at night spooning the
refrigerator and wake up each morning to find a skillet under my pillow
and a rainbow arcing gently, benevolently, over the stove. But the truth
is, there are many days when I would rather do anything than cook.
ANYTHING. Like, hit-myself-over-the-head-with-the-aforementioned-skillet
anything. Anything.
Lately, I’ve been having a lot of those days. At first, I thought it was because of my recent run of bad recipes.
It’s hard to feel terribly excited about spending time in the kitchen
after you’ve botched a number of meals in a row. Remember that Great
White song, “Once Bitten, Twice Shy?”
I sort of feel like that. I am also so overdue for a haircut that I’m
starting to look like the lead singer in that video. This can’t lead
anywhere good, I fear, especially because I don’t have a pair of leather
chaps to complete the look.
But
really, I think my problem is even bigger than that. I think my problem
is peanut butter. I lose all motivation when there is a jar of peanut
butter around. Given an adequate supply of sandwich bread, I will eat
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches indefinitely, to the near-complete
exclusion of other foods. I might bake something sweet now and then -
the occasional cookie or cake, maybe - but otherwise, it’s all peanut
butter, all the time. I know this because it’s what my life has been
like for approximately a month. I am a sick, sick woman. Now you know.
But
Brandon, bless his optimistic heart, apparently believes that I am
still capable of redemption, because he staged an intervention last
week. He told me, quite simply, that I had to stop buying sandwich
bread. I nodded solemnly. Not long after, I successfully made a salad.
And yesterday, I made soup, a puréed broccoli soup with a lemony,
chive-spiked sour cream to spoon on top. I feel better already. Good
enough, even, to foresee another batch in my near future. And after
that, I might get my hair cut.
The soup in question is something that I had once intended to include in the book,
but I worried that it sounded too boring. I don’t know. Broccoli soup
isn’t an easy sell. I had a friend try the recipe, and she loved it -
so much so, she reported, that she had to stop herself from eating the
lemon-chive sour cream by the spoonful - but still, I was worried. So I
yanked it. I moved on. I made other soups, and I sort of forgot about
it. But the other day, while leafing through some photographs from a
couple of years ago, I found a shot of this soup, and I realized that I
missed it. So yesterday, I made it again, and now I don’t know why I
ever doubted it. It was delicious.
It’s a pretty quick, simple
soup, as these things go. It was inspired by a couple of different
recipes: one that I read somewhere for a fairly basic broccoli soup, and
one that Brandon found in college, a recipe for a puréed broccoli soup
with leek, served with an herbed sour cream. He tells me,
incidentally, that it was the first soup he ever puréed. I don’t know
how he remembers this kind of stuff. Obviously, the part of my brain
that was made to store such things is filled with song lyrics by Great
White.
Our joint version starts with some onion and leek and
garlic softening in a pot, and then into that goes a decent amount of
chopped broccoli, some stock, and the rind from a small piece of
Parmesan cheese. It all simmers together for about twenty minutes,
during which time you slice some scallions and chives and zest a small
lemon. Then you take out a small bowl and stir the scallions and chives
and lemon zest into some sour cream, along with a little lemon juice,
grated Parmesan, and garlic. By this point, the broccoli should be
tender, and the cheese rind should be soft and sticky, and the whole pot
should smell fantastic, very savory and fragrant with Parmesan. You
pull out the rind, purée the soup, stir in some of the sour cream
mixture, and then you serve it with another spoonful of sour cream on
top. It’s both mellow and bright, light and rich, soothing in parts and
punchy in others, and, I think, ideal lunch material. It’s not peanut
butter, but I almost don’t mind.
P.S. I built a little page to list my book signings, and if you haven’t yet seen it, The book comes out next(!) Tuesday(!), and I’ll be at the University Book Store in Seattle that night.
Broccoli Soup with Lemon-Chive Cream
I
like this “cream” best when made with sour cream, but I’ve also used
plain whole-milk yogurt, and it’s very good that way too. If you do use
yogurt, keep in mind that it has less fat than sour cream, so you’ll
probably need to add some olive oil to balance the acidity of the lemon.
(Or just use less lemon!) I also found that the yogurt-based “cream”
needed a pinch of sugar to balance it.
Oh, and should you have some of the sour cream mixture left over, it makes a great dip for potato chips.
For the soup:
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 medium leeks, white and tender green parts only, sliced
1 small yellow onion, coarsely chopped
3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 ½ lb. broccoli, both crowns and stems, trimmed and coarsely chopped
5 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 rind (about 2 inches square) from a piece of Parmesan cheese
¾ tsp. kosher salt, or less if your broth is well salted
For the sour cream:
1 cup sour cream (not low-fat or nonfat)
2 scallions, white and pale green parts only, very thinly sliced
¼ cup minced chives
1 tsp. grated lemon zest
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
½ tsp. kosher salt
¼ tsp. pressed or minced garlic
In
a small stockpot or Dutch oven, warm the butter and oil over medium
heat. Add the leeks and onion, and cook, stirring occasionally, until
they have softened and the onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. Add
the garlic, and cook for one minute. Add the broccoli, stock, Parmesan
rind, and salt, and stir to mix. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer,
and cook, partially covered, until the broccoli is tender, about 20
minutes.
While the soup cooks, prepare the cream. In a medium
bowl, stir together the sour cream, scallions, chives, lemon zest, lemon
juice, grated Parmesan, salt, and garlic, mixing until fully combined.
Taste, and adjust as necessary.
To finish the soup, remove the
Parmesan rind. Using a blender and working in small batches – when
puréeing hot liquids, never fill the blender more than one-third full –
purée until very smooth. (Alternatively, purée it in the pot with an
immersion blender.) Return the soup to the pot, add a few dollops of the
cream mixture – I add about 1/3 cup – and stir to incorporate. Taste
for seasoning, and adjust as necessary. If needed, rewarm the soup
gently over low heat.
Serve the soup with a spoonful or two of the remaining cream on top.
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