A Festival to Celebrate Winter (Plus Celeriac Soup)!

Just about exactly a month ago I posted about an event called the Fill Your Pantry and Winter Vegetable Sagra, a gathering of farmers, ranchers, plant breeders and folks who care about where their food comes from and how it’s grown. It offers the community a chance to order in bulk from local producers and pick up those orders at the event, but since most of the producers bring some extra meat, produce and bulk items along, it becomes a giant community farmers' market.

Mona Johnson and her heavenly celeriac soup.

Portland chefs known for their support of local producers—Chef Timothy Wastell; Katherine Deumling of Cook With What You Have; Jaret Foster and Mona Johnson of Tournant; Jim Dixon of Real Good Food; and Lola Milholland of Umi Organic Noodles, among others—cook up samples of dishes like radicchio Caesar salad, yakisoba with vegetables, bean and cabbage stew and creamy celeriac soup (recipe below).

So much goodness!

This year the event was literally packed cheek by jowl with people shopping, eating, talking and, in some cases, even singing the praises of our local bounty. I can't tell you how uplifting and inspiring it is to see your community come together to enjoy and celebrate the goodness that is produced here. The atmosphere was absolutely electric!

Thanks to Friends of Family Farmers, the Culinary Breeding Network and Oregon State University Small Farms Program for sponsoring this outstanding gathering.

All in the [Apiaceae] Family Celeriac Soup
By Mona Johnson and Jaret Foster of Tournant

This creamy, comforting celeriac soup is served with a supporting cast of characters from the same Apiaceae family to which it belongs. Celery, parsley, fennel and caraway all play a role in complementing celeriac's mild, earthy flavor. If time is short, feel free to top with only the ghee or gremolata, or skip both and just swirl in a dollop of creme fraiche or a drizzle of brown butter.

For the celeriac soup:
3 Tbsp. butter
2 medium leeks (white and light green parts only), halved lengthwise, sliced into thin half moons, rinsed and drained
2 medium fennel bulbs, halved lengthwise, thinly sliced
2 medium celery roots (about 1 1/2 lbs.), trimmed, peeled and chopped in 1/2" dice
1 c. dry white wine
1 Tbsp. kosher salt, plus more to taste
2 bay leaves
2 sprigs fresh thyme
6 c. water
1/2 c. heavy cream

For the smoky caraway ghee:
4 Tbsp. ghee
1 tsp. caraway seeds
1 tsp. smoked paprika

For the celery gremolata:
1/4 c. finely chopped Italian parsley
2 cloves minced garlic
2 Tbsp. finely diced celery
Grated zest of 1 lemon

To make the soup, melt butter in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add leeks and cook until beginning to soften, about 2-3 minutes. Add fennel and cook until softened, stirring occasionally, about 8-10 minutes. Add the celery root to the pot along with salt, bay leaves and thyme, stirring to combine. Add wine and simmer until mostly evaporated. Add water and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to low and continue simmering until all vegetables are soft enough to purée, about 10-12 minutes.

Purée soup with an immersion blender (or in batches in a blender) until very smooth. Heat purée over medium low heat, then stir in heavy cream. Taste for seasoning and consistency, adding more salt, cream or water if needed for desired taste and texture.

To make the ghee, melt ghee in a small saucepan over low heat. Add caraway seeds and smoked paprika and cook, stirring occasionally, about 4 minutes, being careful not to scorch spices. Remove from heat, let cool, then strain through a fine mesh strainer, discarding solids.

For the gremolata, add all ingredients to a small bowl, mixing to combine.

To serve, ladle soup into shallow bowls, swirl with infused ghee and sprinkle with gremolata.

Simple & Creamy: Mushroom chowder

In making the Choucroute Garnie featured in a recent post—it's an Alsation dish featuring sauerkraut braised for hours in chicken stock, with many meats added and then simmered some more—I apparently got a little over-excited estimating the number of potatoes that people might be hungry for. Then my husband and I got our wires crossed while grocery shopping and we ended up with an extra pound of cremini mushrooms.

To make a long story short, we had the aforementioned abundance of cooked potatoes and those mushrooms that were starting to look a little long in the tooth. Plus it coincided with our recent spate of late winter chilly temperatures hovering in the 20s and 30s. Always in the mood for a hearty soup—check out this 12-year collection of soup recipes if you don't believe me—I got the bright idea to make a mushroom chowder, albeit a vegetarian version since we're temporarily out of Dave's homemade bacon (a situation soon to be corrected).

To cut to the chase, this came together in about 40 minutes and was, frankly, the best mushroom soup I've had anywhere, including restaurants, that I can remember. (That opinion is backed up by those here who are not shy about criticism and not over-prone to praise, by the way.) And here's a wacky thought: If you should happen to leave out the potatoes, I'd even recommend it as a substitute if you've sworn off Campbell's cream of mushroom but still crave that comforting flavor.

Mushroom Chowder

4 Tbsp. butter
1 onion, chopped in 1/4" dice
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c. celery, finely diced
1 lb. mushrooms, thinly sliced
6 oz. sour cream
3 Tbsp. flour
1/2 c. white wine
2 c. chicken stock
2-3 c. whole milk, depending on how thick you like your chowder
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
3 bay leaves
1 1/2 lb. potatoes chopped in 1/2" dice
Salt and pepper, to taste

In a large soup pot or Dutch oven, melt butter over medium heat.

Add onions and sauté until tender. Add celery and garlic and sauté until tender. Add mushrooms and sauté until tender.

Remove from heat and sprinkle flour over the mixture, stirring well to combine. Put back on medium heat and stir frequently to keep it from sticking, about 3 minutes. Add wine and stir, scraping any browned bits from the bottom of the pot, and allow to thicken slightly.

Stir in sour cream until smooth, then add chicken stock, milk, bay leaves, thyme and potatoes. Bring to a bare simmer. Reduce heat and simmer on low heat, just enough to keep it barely bubbling, for 30-45 minutes or until potatoes are tender. (As mentioned above, leftover boiled potatoes are entirely substitutable.)

If you have some excellent bacon (like Dave makes), start with 3-4 slices cut in 1/4" pieces. Place it in the heated pan before adding butter and sauté until it's cooked but not crisp, then continue with the rest of the recipe.

Game-Day Comfort: Beer Cheese Soup!

When I heard that a couple we know have an annual party on Super Bowl Sunday, I was shocked. You see, if there are any of our friends who seem completely unlikely to be putting on giant foam hats or wearing team scarves or jumping around pumping their fists in the air (covered or not in outsized foam rubber pointy fingers) shouting at the television, it's these two.

Pimento cheese on a Ritz.

So I was relieved when they admitted, after witnessing our shocked countenances (mouths agape), that it was really all about the food for the event. It conjured images of miniature hot dogs swimming in mahogany barbecue sauce, overflowing bowls of salt-encrusted potato chips with virtual vats of onion and clam dips at the ready, as well as the requisite pimento cheese dip to slather on crackers—Ritz, Triscuits or Wheat Thins, depending on your inclination.

All that salt was, of course, as anyone knows who has succumbed to the siren song of free pretzels at their neighborhood watering hole, intended to encourage the consumption of any liquid within reach, normally beer, for purposes of hydration. Naturally I volunteered to bring any and all of the consumables mentioned above to the festivities, since, being a person of dodgy acquaintance with sporting endeavors yet always johnny-on-the-spot for anything involving chips and dips, I was, as they say, all up-ons.

The recipe file reveals all.

The conversation happened to coincide with running across a recipe from my college days when I managed a soup kitchen—we called it a "coffeehouse" at the time—at the U of O that served a soup and bread lunch for a nominal sum five days a week, relying on a haphazard yet dogged cadre of volunteer cooks to prepare several gallons of the potage of their choice for the day's service. Most were a simple combination of stock, vegetables and protein, like Robert's French Onion Soup l'Abbe or Jane's Potage Parmentier—but one in particular stood out for its inclusion of beer.

Mike, the ostensible manager of the campus Koinonia House, had a family recipe for a beer cheese soup that her family was  crazy about and that she volunteered to make on a weekly basis, a guaranteed winner in my book. It also became a viral hit in those pre-viral days, and I commend it to you for any and all of your game-day gatherings. Rich, creamy, with that certain beer-y je ne sais quoi, it's best made a few hours or even a day ahead to allow the flavors to meld and the beer to mellow. Or heck, if you want, just whip it up a few minutes before guests arrive and let the li'l smokies flow.

Mike's Beer Cheese Soup

3/4 c. butter  (one and one-half sticks)
1/2 c. diced onions
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c. diced celery
1/2 c. diced carrots
1/2 c. flour
5 c. chicken stock
1/4 c. parmesan cheese
1/2 tsp. dry mustard
6 oz. cheddar
1 12-oz. bottle (or can) of beer, preferably a lager or pilsner
Salt and pepper to taste

Melt butter in large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium heat. Sauté  onions until tender. Add garlic, celery and carrots and sauté until tender. Add flour and dry mustard, stirring to combine. Stir for two minutes to prevent sticking, then stir in stock and cook for five minutes. Blend in cheeses and beer, combining well, and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching. Using a stick blender or working in batches with a blender, purée the soup. Season to taste with salt.

This is best made a few hours or, better yet, a day ahead and reheated, which allows the flavors to mellow. Serve with salad and a good artisan loaf.

The "L" Word: Curried Coconut Chicken Soup

It may still be sunny, but there's a chill in the air. I hear leaves crunching underfoot as children walk by the house on their way to school. Agriculturist and author J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur first coined the term "Indian Summer" in 1778 in his Letters from an American Farmer, describing it as a season when "the rain is followed by an interval of calm and warmth…its characteristics are a tranquil atmosphere and general smokiness."

Tatsoi, an Asian brassica.

It's the season to turn on the stove again after a long, dry summer and think about soups and braises, stews and one-pot suppers. I'm back to my weekly habit of roasting a chicken, making sure to buy the largest available so there are leftovers for salads, tacos and soups, not to mention slowly simmering the picked-over carcass in water to make stock—yes, that's what "bone broth" is—that'll go into risottos, soups and myriad other dishes.

As I was casting about for something to make for dinner the other night (a situation that occurs all too often around here) I came across some of that leftover chicken in the fridge then found a couple of cans of coconut milk in the pantry. A glance in the vegetable bin revealed a bunch of spinach-like tatsoi (photo, above left) and a finger of ginger, and I was off to the races.

Thai-Style Curried Coconut Chicken Soup

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1 onion, roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1-2 Tbsp. curry powder, to taste
2 c. chicken stock (or corn stock or water)
2 13.5-oz. cans coconut milk
2 c. cooked chicken
2 kaffir lime leaves
2” finger of ginger, peeled and halved
4 c. tatsoi, chopped (or bok choi, spinach or other greens)
1 Tbsp. harissa (or 1/4 tsp. cayenne or to taste)
Juice of 1 lime
Salt, to taste
Cilantro leaves, chopped roughly (optional)

Heat oil in a large soup pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Add onion and sauté until tender and translucent. Add garlic and curry powder and stir to combine. Add remaining ingredients except for lime juice. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer and cook 30 minutes to an hour*, stirring occasionally. Just before serving stir in lime juice and adjust salt to taste. Garnish with cilantro leaves.

* If you like, while the soup simmers, put on a pot of rice and serve a scoop of it in your soup.

Read more The "L" Word posts about creative (and delicious) uses of leftovers.

Best Tomato Soup (Apologies to Campbell's)

Dinner at my family's table growing up was a product of the then-new and novel notion of convenience for housewives. Why spend hours preserving fruits and vegetables when you can simply open a can and have dinner on the table in less than half an hour? Cookbooks, women's magazines and television commercials touted "open a box" instant gratification for puddings, cakes, hamburger helpers and soup mixes with brand names that became part of the family—think Duncan Hines, Campbell's, Lipton and, yes, Betty Crocker.

Going in the oven to roast.

With three kids and a husband to feed every night, and especially when she started working full time, my mother needed all the help she could get. I've joked that during my childhood I thought that Campbell's cream of mushroom soup was the glue that held the universe together. Even when I was on my own, a good tuna casserole needed that special touch that only one product—I've since found a superior recipe—could achieve. My future husband wooed me with lunches he made himself with cream of tomato soup (Campbell's to the rescue again!) and grilled cheese sandwiches.

So, as with that tuna casserole, recreating the flavors I remember and the satisfaction they provided has become a bit of an obsession. A cream of tomato soup like the one from the can with its smooth, silky, tomatoey flavor—we always made it with water rather than milk—that filled your mouth and warmed your belly is one that has been at the top of my "figure this out" list.

After roasting, ready for anything.

Lots of recipes I researched called for various herbs and spices to be added; some add vinegar or honey, probably to balance out the acidity of the tomatoes. But I was looking for a recipe that was simple to make and that would have been easy enough for my mom to whip up for her family's dinner after a long day at the office, a glass of wine in one hand (would that she would have allowed herself that) and a wooden spoon in the other.

With a good supply of frozen, roasted astiana tomatoes in the freezer, I was all set with the main ingredient, and their perfect balance of sweetness to acidity made the notion of adding anything else just so much unnecessary froo-froo. Having made this soup a few times now, both with and without grilled cheese sandwiches, it's always brought back those days of yore, but with the satisfaction of knowing I no longer need help from the folks at Campbell's.

Creamy Roasted Tomato Soup

8 Tbsp. (1 stick) butter

2 med. onions, chopped fine

3 cloves garlic, minced

1/4 c. flour

2 qts. (8 c.) roasted tomatoes or 3 28-oz. cans crushed tomatoes with their juices

2 c. chicken broth

1 Tbsp. kosher salt plus more to taste

1 tsp. celery salt

1/2 tsp. black pepper

In a Dutch oven or large soup pot, melt butter over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until tender and translucent. Add garlic and continue to sauté 2 minutes. Add flour and stir, making sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan, for 3 minutes. Add broth, tomatoes, salt, celery salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer for 30 minutes, stirring frequently to make sure nothing sticks to the bottom of the pan. Remove soup from heat and, using an immersion blender,  purée the soup thoroughly until smooth*. Add more salt to taste, if needed. Serve.

* I don't mind a little texture from any bits that don't get totally blended in, but if you want a completely silky smooth finished product, you can press it through a sieve, which will catch any remaining seeds or other bits.

Spring Seafood Chowder

Spring in Oregon is a flighty thing. She can be wearing a summer dress and flip-flops one moment, then bundled up in fleece and rain boots the next. She's been seen making daisy chains and picking peonies aplenty, but there's just as good a chance you'll catch her stomping through ankle-deep puddles.

Pea shoots.

A Northwest spring is the time for taking the cozy flannel sheets off the bed and putting the heavy sweaters and coats in the closet for next year. But any Oregonian worth her salt knows that even a several-day stretch of warm, summery weather will almost always turn toward the cool and damp at some point, at least until after the Fourth of July.

Sorrel at the farmers' market.

That's the reason my braising pot is never far from reach this time of year, so I can pretty much whip up a big batch of stew or soup whenever inclement or chilly weather returns. The chowder below is quick and simple, and you can use any fish or shellfish that comes easily to hand. And it's perfectly permissible to substitute chicken, vegetable or corn stock if you didn't boil up your fish bones or crab shells to make fish stock—just make a note to do it next time!

The fun thing about making soups in spring is throwing in whatever's growing in the garden—curls of pea shoots, green tips from favas, chard or sorrel that's starting to come back—to give that chowder some color and a little zip of flavor. Slice a few thick pieces of bread for sopping and you've got a meal in a bowl.

Spring Seafood Chowder

1/4 c. butter or margarine
1 onion, chopped in 1/2" dice
2 stalks celery, cut in 1/4" dice
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 med. russet potatoes, cut in 1/2" dice
4 c. whole milk
4 c. fish stock
3 c. pea shoots, cut in 1" pieces
1 lb. white fish, such as cod
1/2 lb. shrimp, peeled and cut in 1/2" slices
3 sprigs fresh thyme (each about 4" long)

Melt butter over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until it becomes translucent. Add celery and garlic and sauté till tender. Add potatoes and sauté about 5 min. Add milk and fish stock and bring to a simmer. Add fish, shrimp, pea shoots and thyme sprigs. Return to a simmer and cook for at least half an hour, or longer if possible.

Soup's On: Perfect Pot of Winter Warmth

For those of us who don't always have the funds to go out for dinner when we don't feel like cooking—or don't have the time to whip up a culinary feast for our hungry families—I highly suggest jumping off the plate and into the pot. In other words, think soup.

It's almost the perfect winter warmer. Its steaming heat warms the body and fills the belly, especially when you add beans, pasta, potatoes, rice or root vegetables. It's easy, usually taking no more than 30 minutes or so to go from start to finish. It satisfies a crowd, needing only a good loaf of bread and maybe some cheese or a green salad to make a meal. Seriously, it's hard to do better when you're feeding a family or, indeed, a table full of guests.

And I've been making a lot of soup lately, from a Thai-inflected curried squash soup to a Tuscan white bean soup to a split pea soup with bacon to a corn chowder. Though at my house we often call it "stewp" because it invariably turns out to be less brothy and more hearty.

The soup in the photo above was a complete improvisation. I was pressed for time to make dinner on a recent weeknight and was rummaging in the freezer for ingredients I might be able to thaw quickly. That's when I ran across a package of frozen chorizo sausage I'd bought from Don Felipe at the Portland Mercado. Hm. A start.

A bit of digging in the vegetable bin brought up some carrots and a couple of garnet yams, and I found a container of leftover black beans I'd made earlier in the week (though you could always use canned). Perfect.

And, like I said earlier, in just over a half hour we were sitting down to what may be my new favorite soup.

Chorizo, Black Bean and Yam Soup

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

1 lb. fresh chorizo sausage*

1 onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, chopped fine

3-4 c. cooked or canned black beans

2 large carrots, chopped in 1/4" dice

2 medium garnet yams, chopped in 1/2" dice

4-6 c. water, depending on how brothy you like your soup

Heat vegetable oil over medium-high heat in a large soup pot or Dutch oven. When it shimmers, add the chorizo and brown, breaking up with a spoon as it cooks. Add onion and garlic and sauté till tender. Add black beans, carrots, yams and water and bring to a boil, stirring to combine. Reduce heat to simmer and cook until carrots and yams are tender.

* I highly recommend Don Felipe's Tolucan-style red chorizo sausage, or you can make your own version with this simple recipe.

Two Soups Double Your Winter Comfort

I grew up in a time of convenience, when to make a cake all you had to do was open a box, crack an egg and add water. It was like magic, guaranteed to turn out perfectly every time. It was also long before I thought to read the ingredients in the tiny print on the labels and wonder what those multisyllabic words meant. During our courtship, Dave wooed me with his lunches of grilled cheese sandwiches alongside a bowl of canned condensed tomato soup—when getting fancy meant making it with milk instead of water.

Coffeehouse flyer and recipes.

But there was a period in college when I was drafted to run a coffeehouse-cum-soup kitchen on campus, coordinating volunteers to make the day's featured soup. Most were made from scratch, and I still have the collection of recipes ranging from Mike's beer cheese soup to Jane's "potage parmentier" to Robert's killer French onion soup. One I didn't get, despite much begging and pleading, was Dr. Coleman's secret recipe for split pea soup. Lusciously thick, with a spicy heat that left a warm glow, he always brought a huge pot of it into the kitchen already made, so I couldn't even sneak a glimpse of the ingredients.

Curried coconut squash soup.

What that early experience taught me was that soup recipes can take myriad forms, from one with an ingredient list the length of your arm, dozens of steps and hours of chopping and simmering to something that can be thrown together in a few minutes from whatever's in the pantry and the vegetable bin.

Have a couple of potatoes, an onion, a couple of cups of milk and some canned clams or frozen corn or shrimp? Chowder! A couple of carrots, onion, garlic, canned beans and tomatoes? You've got the makings for minestrone!

Here are a couple of soups I've made this past week that are perfect for warming up chilly winter evenings. I usually just slice some of Dave's homemade sourdough and call it a meal, but you can get official and make a salad to serve with it if that makes you feel better. Call the neighbors over if you're in the mood, since adding more stock or water or a few more ingredients can stretch it to feed a crowd!

Tuscan White Bean Soup with Sage

1 lb. dried white beans (cannelini, borlotti or any small to medium-sized white bean)
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 Tbsp. fresh sage leaves or 1 1/2 tsp. dried
6-8 c. water or chicken or vegetable stock (or a combination of the two)
Salt to taste

Put dried white beans in a pot and cover with water by 1 inch. Soak overnight or for several hours. Drain.

In a large soup pot, heat oil until it shimmers. Add onion and sauté over medium heat until tender. Add garlic and heat until fragrant, but don't brown it. Add stock, sage leaves and drained beans. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer for at least two hours or until beans are tender, adding more water if the beans absorb too much of the liquid. Add salt to taste. It can be served at this point, but I like to purée it with an immersion blender until it's smooth. (This can also be done in batches in a blender or food processor, but cool it slightly first or it'll explode all over the kitchen.)

Options: Chop a head of kale and stir it in to wilt at the end of cooking the beans, though this probably means you wouldn't want to purée it. Add a chunk of bacon or ham when you add the stock, (removing if you decide to purée the soup), then shred it and add back to the soup before serving.

* * *

Curried Coconut Squash Soup

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1 onion, roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
2 tsp. curry powder
1/8 tsp. ground cayenne
1 13 1/2 oz. can coconut milk
2-4 c. water or chicken or vegetable stock (or a combination of the two)
4 c. roasted squash, cut in 1" cubes
1 kaffir lime leaf (optional)
Zest of 1/2 lime
Juice of 1/2 lime

In a large soup pot, heat oil until it shimmers. Add onion and sauté over medium heat until tender. Add garlic and heat until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add curry powder and sauté for 1 minute. Add cayenne, coconut milk, water and/or stock, squash, lime leaf, lime zest and juice. Stir to combine. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove lime leaf and discard. Purée with immersion blender until smooth. (This can also be done in batches in a blender or food processor, but cool it slightly first or it'll explode all over the kitchen.)

 Here's one attempt to replicate that split pea soup, though adding white pepper may be the secret to the heat. Check out these recipes if you're inspired to start your own soup saga.

That Weed In Your Yard? It's the New Superfood.

For years I'd been battling the red-stemmed, succulent-like weed with the fat, oval leaves, wondering what in the heck kind of invader it was. It wasn't particularly hard to pull out, but it was pretty darn persistent, coming back every year like those door-to-door fundraising dudes with their clipboards. I'd seen it in other people's yards, too, even growing out of the most inhospitable cracks in the sidewalk.

Purslane in a grain salad.

Then, out at Ayers Creek Farm one day, I saw its familiar shape and made some kind of smart remark to Anthony Boutard about needing to do a better job weeding his rows. First, never mention weeds to an organic farmer…the plant you're pointing at might be a valuable nitrogen-fixing cover crop for soil improvement or be providing shade for a sprout that's just peeking out of the soil. He informed me that the "weed" I was disparaging was purslane, one of the bonus crops he sells at the farmers' market, along with other field greens like chickweed, lamb's quarters and more.

Purslane in buttermilk soup.

In Theo's, a Greek restaurant in the town of Penticton in British Columbia's Okanagan wine region, I saw purslane offered as a salad on the menu and pointed it out to Dave. The owner overheard us, and came over to tell the remarkable story of how his mother, Mary Theodosakis, was walking through a farmer's field and saw it growing under a plant in one of his rows. Having grown up foraging the plant called glistritha in her native Crete, she asked the surprised farmer if she could take some to serve at her restaurant. Long story short, the farmer started growing it just for her and then, when her customers began asking where they could buy some, he began growing it as a cash crop. (Full story here.)

Crunchy when fresh, with a mild, lemony flavor, it's most often used in salads, either as the main ingredient or combined with other greens and grains—try this terrific main dish recipe for tuna, grain and purslane salad. My friend Linda Colwell follows Deborah Madison's lead and includes it in a buttermilk and frikeh soup. Anthony likes to do a quick and easy pickled purslane (recipe below) that keeps in the fridge and can be featured on an antipasto platter or as an accompaniment to grilled meats.

Incredibly high in omega-3 fatty acids—more than any other vegetable—it's also a great source of beta-Carotene, with five times the vitamin E of spinach, according to an article by my friend Leslie Kelly. No wonder it's starting to get some buzz as the new Superfood.

Pickled Purslane
From Anthony Boutard at Ayers Creek Farm

Our staff keeps a nice kitchen garden outside of their front doors. For them, the plants they call verdolagas are an essential green. They are delicious boiled, sautéed, pickled or as a salad. The Lebanese serve them with yoghurt. The French salt purslane overnight before adding it to a salad. Boiled, it can be dressed with a bit of olive oil and ground pepper. Or mix the wilted leaves into a potato salad.

For us, purslane is an essential pickle. Many books suggest pickling just the stem. We prefer to pickle the whole shoot—leaves and stem together. This recipe works for two or three bags of purslane:

We heat and add a tablespoon of salt to 1-1/2 cups of water, then mix in an equal amount of white wine vinegar.  Add a few cloves of garlic, quartered, a tablespoon of peppercorns and a dried pepper.  Drop the purslane into the heated vinegar mixture and let it wilt for a bit.  Pack the purslane and vinegar mix in a mason jar. If you need to, top off with vinegar and water in equal proportions. Store in the refrigerator. We start using them about an hour later, but they will keep for several months.  Some recipes call for full strength vinegar, but we much prefer it diluted.

Winter Soup to Warm Your Bones

Contributor Jim Dixon's annual olive oil garage sale is an institution among aficionados of good cooking and good eating in town. In the tradition of his beloved New Orleans, he always offers a lagniappe, or a little something extra, to his Real Good Food customers, usually something warming to drink and a cup of his famous "garage sale soup."

Garbanzo, Farro & Squash Soup

Soak about a cup each of garbanzos and farro together in plenty of water overnight. Drain, add enough water to cover, stir in some salt, and simmer for an hour—longer is even better—or until the beans are tender. Cut up the rest of the ingredients while the beans and farro cook.

Chop an onion, 3-4 stalks of celery and a few cloves of garlic. Chiffonade a bunch of collard greens (leave the center stalk attached; it'll cook enough to get tender).

While I like to use one of the big, pumpkin-y squashes (Cucurbita maxima, like kabocha or Hubbard), for this, almost any winter squash would work. Cut it in half, pick out the seeds (roast them with olive oil and salt for about 25 minutes) then grate the raw pieces (and leave the skin on, even with the gnarly-looking kabochas). It’s easiest in the food processor, but a box grater works, too. You want about 2 cups worth.

Add the grated squash, onion, celery, garlic and collards to the pot. Add a large can of diced tomatoes (or the tomatoes you roasted and froze last summer). Sprinkle in a good handful of Pantellerian oregano, pour in plenty of good olive oil, taste for salt and let the soup simmer for a couple of hours if you can. Soup always tastes best with long, slow cooking.

Just before serving taste it again; if it seems to need a little something, add a splash of Katz Gravenstein apple cider vinegar [good quality regular cider vinegar works, too. - KB]. Drizzle with more oil at the table, and a pinch of Parmigiano would be good, too.

Farm Bulletin: A Soup to Sustain a Farmer

Though the Hillsdale Farmers' Market will not be in session this weekend—it has begun its twice-monthly winter season schedule, in effect through April—contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm kindly provided an excellent recipe that will tide us over until the market convenes again on Dec. 21st.

Myrtha Foradori studied in southwestern Germany for two years. During that time she signed up for a weekly produce box that provided, among other vegetables, black radishes. Made aware of our insecurity with respect to cooking black radishes, she mentioned how much she enjoyed a simple soup prepared using the root. Myrtha kindly sent along the recipe.

Potato-Black Radish Soup

4-5 medium sized potatoes, chopped in cubes
Half of a big black radish, thinly sliced
1 big yellow onion, chopped
Some garlic, minced
Olive oil
About a glass of white wine
Enough vegetable or chicken broth to cover while simmering
Sour cream (optional)

Heat the olive oil in a soup pot over medium heat, add the onions and garlic and sauté. When the onions are translucent, add the potatoes and stir on medium heat. Add white wine. After it has evaporated, cover the potatoes with a fair amount of broth. Cover with a lid and let cook on medium heat. When the potatoes are almost done, add the black radish and cook for a short time until tender. Purée and season with salt and pepper. Serve with some sour cream.

The farm chef, Linda Colwell, prepared the soup today substituting butter for the olive oil, leeks instead of onions and no garlic, reflecting her northern European orientation. We sprinkled grated horseradish over the top. It is a very fine soup and, with specks of black skin from the radish, very attractive as well. Recommended.

Rerun: A Good Woman Makes a Good Soup

I made this soup the other night, and if you looked up "comfort" in the dictionary, it wouldn't show your mom or your teddy bear or your pillow or your fuzzy slippers. It would be a picture of this soup along with the recipe. (BTW, I puréed it this time…what can I say but OMG.) Warm, terrifically flavorful and fill-your-belly delicious, it's easy and perfect for the season. And, though I don't do this often, I'm rerunning the original post I wrote two years ago. Enjoy.

Just before the holidays I was out at Ayers Creek Farm helping Carol and Anthony get ready for the big holiday market at Hillsdale. Well, I say "helping" but it's more like "trying to not seriously f*** things up" while packing boxes of preserves, weighing and measuring beans, polenta and wheat into little bags with a big scoop.

One of the great things about these days at the farm, aside from getting to wear my boots if outside work is required, is sitting down at the table for a big lunch of soup or stew, a hefty loaf of bread and a nice chunk of cheese. On this day, a bit before lunchtime, Carol asked me to pull a big pot out of the fridge that contained braised leeks and potatoes in a white-ish liquid.

While that warmed on the stove, Carol and I went just outside to the kitchen garden to gather a few leaves of sorrel that hadn't yet gone dormant. (Note to self: plant this next year!) It was chopped and thrown into the pot, a cup or so of sour cream was stirred in with some salt and we had a classic "Potage Bonne Femme," a potato leek soup rather like vichysoisse only with more leeks than potatoes.

Carol prefers to use water to cook her vegetables rather than chicken stock, feeling that the flavor of the leeks is more pronounced. In my attempts to recreate this at home, I used half chicken stock and half water and it didn't seem to overwhelm the leeks, and also added a little richness. I've made it with both real sour cream and (purists don't choke) Tofutti sour cream—Dave's lactose intolerant, remember—and both were amazing, even according to my very choosy son who's not crazy about substituting tofu products for the real thing.

It's a comforting, rich and company-worthy meal that is super simple to make in an hour or so. Add a crusty loaf of bread and some cheese with an ice-cold glass of French chardonnay alongside and you're going to get raves from your crew.

Potage Bonne Femme (Potato Leek Soup)

3 Tbsp. butter
4 leeks, halved and cut into 1/2" slices, about 4 c.
3 Tbsp. flour
2 c. water
2 c. chicken stock
4 med. Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1/2" or so cubes
2 tsp. salt
1 c. sour cream
1 c. coarsely chopped sorrel (optional)
3 Tbsp. chives, minced (optional)

Melt butter in soup pot or large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add chopped leeks and cook slowly for 5 min. Remove from heat, add flour and stir. Put back on heat and cook, stirring constantly and without browning for a minute. Add water and stock, stirring well. Add potatoes and salt. Bring to boil and lower heat to simmer for 50 minutes. Add sour cream and chives and stir to heat. Adjust salt to taste. Serve, garnished with chopped chives.

Option: Purée with immersion blender before adding the sour cream or cool and purée in a food processor (or blender) in batches. For a vegetarian or vegan version, substitute margarine for the butter and use water or a vegetable stock and Tofutti sour cream. Really, it'll be fantastic.

Gathering Together Farm: Growing for 27 Years

"I still go to the markets because I love talking to people about food."
- John Eveland, Gathering Together Farm

On a quiet stretch of the Marys River just outside Corvallis in the tiny town of Philomath, John Eveland (top photo) and his wife, Sally Brewer, are running a certified organic farm on a combination of rented parcels and land that's been bought from neighbors over the past 27 years. John estimates that in 2014, total sales at their Gathering Together Farm will top two million dollars between 12 farmers' markets—three in Corvallis, six in Portland, the Beaverton Farmers Market and two at the coast—a year-round CSA, wholesale customers, restaurant customers and the farmstand and restaurant on the property.

John checking a hoophouse.

John and Sally don't get to keep all that money, of course, since, aside from hard costs, at the peak of harvest season John signs 128 full and part-time paychecks every month and even in the slower winter months he employs a crew of 40. The farm has two managers, Rodrigo Garcia and Joelene Jebbia; a chef, J.C. Mersmann, who runs the farm restaurant and catering arm; as well as an HR department.

All this started on just two acres of land in 1984. It wasn't meant to be more than that, originally, just enough to supply the vegetarian restaurant, Nearly Normal's, that John, his first wife and three friends started in Corvallis in 1980. Dissatisfied with the quality of vegetables they could get from distributors, a group of them decided to try to become farmers and grow their own. The other partners found it a bit more of a commitment than they anticipated and dropped out, leaving John and his first wife (and eventually him and Sally), to manage the new farm on their own.

Year-round markets were a game-changer.

John said that, unlike today when we have a rainbow of heirloom vegetables to choose from, back in those early days carrots came in one color, orange, and tomatoes were big red slicers, mostly beefsteaks. From the beginning the farm used hoop houses, a series of plastic-covered hoops set over rows of crops, to extend their growing season, but things would pretty much shut down in November until planting season began again in January.

"The game has changed with winter markets," he said, and more varieties of cold-tolerant crops that do well in the maritime Northwest made it possible to keep plants in the ground through the winter. But what really pushed Gathering Together Farm into its current year-round status was that his crew needed full time employment to stay in the area, so the farm now grows leeks ("They're bullet-proof," Eveland said.), turnips, rutabagas,  parsnips, kale and a popular winter salad mix, with more added every year.

The covered patio at the restaurant at the farmstand.

Plus, he said, "People are a lot more sophisticated in terms of their taste and what they're looking for." Unlike the old days where shoppers would turn up their noses at root vegetables or anything that wasn't a standard shape, he said they're now willing to try new things and buy non-uniform vegetables. And for those crops that might have blemishes but are otherwise perfectly good to eat, the farm has developed what are called "value-added" products like salsas, jams, pickles and sauces.

Delicatas are perfect for soup (recipe below).

Now pushing 66 years old, Eveland laughed and said he plans to be out in the field until he drops. Turning momentarily serious, he said that it's been critical to develop a staffing structure that provides a pool of expertise and knowledge to keep the farm humming along, especially since he considers himself "a creator, not a maintainer."

Reflecting on nearly three decades of farming, Eveland said it's certainly a much bigger, more complex farm than he would have ever dreamed of back in those early days.

"We're proud of what we've created in the community and the reputation we've earned," he said. "I just hope we've created something solid that makes the world a better place in some small way."

Ricky’s Delectable Delicata Soup
Adapted from Gathering Together Farm

The farm’s CSA coordinator, Hannah, says this is her favorite soup. It comes from Ricky, one of the cooks in the farm’s restaurant.

2 medium onions, julienned
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 leeks, whites only, chopped
8 oz. roasted red peppers
3 small delicata squash or 2 large ones (the flesh should equal 4 cups)
1 qt. vegetable stock (chicken stock works well, too)
1/2 c. cream
Pinch of cayenne
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Salt to taste

Preheat oven to 350°.

Halve squashes and scoop out seeds. Roast in oven until flesh is tender when pierced with a fork, about 40 min. Cool and scoop out flesh to make 4 cups. Purée in blender or food processor.

Over medium heat, sauté onions, garlic and leeks until they are softened and glassy.

Add roasted peppers, delicata purée and stock. Bring to a simmer and cook for 15 minutes. Add cream, cayenne, lemon juice and salt to taste. Stir well to combine.

Purée the soup in a blender in batches or use an immersion blender. You can also serve it without blending; the finely sliced onions and slivers of pepper make it quite a pretty soup as is.

Note: You can also speed up the process by peeling the delicatas with a vegetable peeler, halving them, scooping out the seeds and chopping them into 1" cubes. Add cubed squash when you add the stock, increase the cooking time to 30 minutes, then purée. This also works with other types of cucurbitaceae like butternut, acorn, etc.

This article was developed in collaboration with the Beaverton Farmers Market, a sponsor of this blog. Top photo of John Eveland by Jake Stangel.

Chilling Out with Refreshing Chilled Soup

The last thing I wanted to do was turn on the stove when the temperature hit 90 degrees for the fourth day in a row. The house was already uncomfortably warm, and even with the AC unit in the upstairs window cranking on high and fans buzzing all over the house, the effort to create something like a wind chill effect felt more like a sirocco on the Sahara.

I could tell that crankiness was right around the corner, so taking inspiration from Mark Bittman's article on gazpacho in the NYT, I decided to turn that sweaty frown upside down with a chilled vegetable soup. Eschewing the idea of steaming or sautéing anything beforehand, I decided to try my luck with raw ingredients. A minimum of chopping, a bit of time in the blender and dinner was ready.

Very refreshing served with sliced heirloom tomatoes and a dry white wine, I was almost able to imagine myself dining poolside in the tropics.

Chilled Cucumber, Avocado and Fennel Soup

2 cucumbers, seeded

1 avocado, peeled and seed removed

1 fennel bulb, cored and quartered

1/4-1/2 onion, roughly chopped

1 clove garlic, roughly chopped

Juice of 1/2 lemon

1 c. water

1/2 c. sour cream or tofu sour cream

1, 1" slice day-old artisan bread, crusts removed and cut in 1/2” cubes

Salt to taste

Place half of the cucumbers, avocado, fennel bulb, onion, garlic, lemon water and sour cream in a blender. Blend until mixture is thoroughly puréed. Add half of bread cubes and continue to blend until it is a smooth mixture. Add salt to taste. Pour into large mixing bowl. (At this point you can taste and adjust amount of onion, etc., for the other half of the soup.) Repeat with second half of ingredients. Stir to combine. Can be refrigerated (or not) before serving.

Simply Delicious: French Onion Soup

The lunches of my youth, growing up as I did in a small town in Central Oregon, where the annual summer festival celebrated the potato and crowned a potato queen, were a typical smorgasbörd of the times: bologna sandwich on white bread alternated with tuna fish, with cottage cheese and potato chips on the side.

Soups, which occasionally made an appearance at lunch or dinner, were from the good folks at Campbell's, usually chicken vegetable or Scotch broth (my mother's favorite). Dave wooed me with his doctored canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I didn't learn to make a pot of soup until college, when I ran a coffeehouse in the basement of the university's Koinonia center. Mind you, I didn't cook the soups, but had a crew of volunteers I'd wrangled from friends and staff who would make the day's offering in a five-gallon pot.

The soups—and the price, which was just a couple of bucks for a big bowl of soup and a slice of "peasant" bread—attracted a large, regular following, running the gamut from Jane's potato-lentil to Ed's split pea to Mike's startlingly good beer cheese. Robert's French onion was always a huge hit with its rich, beefy stock and chunk of cheese-topped bread. I had a file of all of their recipes, since on occasion I had to pinch hit as chef du jour when one of my cooks couldn't make it in due to colds, flu or a raging hangover (it was college, after all).

I still make my favorites now and then, and have added a killer black bean soup, curried squash and a few chowders to the mix. My friend Kathryn recently reminded me of my soupy beginnings when she mentioned a particularly amazing yet simple French onion soup she'd made recently from a recipe by Jacques Pepin. Since we've no doubt got a few days left of rain, I thought it might be appropriate to share it.

French Onion Soup
Adapted from Jacques Pepin

1 lb. onions, quartered lengthwise and sliced thinly crosswise
2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
8 c. chicken stock
3-4 cloves garlic, minced fine
3 sprigs fresh thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
3/4 lb. Emmenthaler, Gruyère or Jarlsberg cheese, grated
Baguette, sliced crosswise into 1/2" thick slices, toasted

Preheat the oven to 425°. Place 6 small oven-proof crocks (1 1/2 c. capacity) on a cookie sheet. Place 2-3 slices baguette in each crock. Sprinkle 1 or 2 Tbsp. cheese on top of bread.

Melt butter or margarine in Dutch oven or soup pot over medium-high heat. Add onions and sauté till golden brown, stirring frequently so they don't burn, about 15 min. Add chicken stock, garlic and thyme and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 10 min. Remove any twigs of thyme and add salt and pepper to taste.

Fill the crocks to the brim with the soup. Sprinkle each crock with 1/2 c. cheese, pressing the cheese onto the rim so that it will form a crust. Put the cookie sheet in the oven and bake 30 min. until the cheese is golden, puffed and crusty.

Creamy Comfort, Thy Name is Cauliflower

What is it about creamed dishes that are so comforting on chilly winter nights? They're like wrapping up in your favorite blanket with a good book and a warm dog asleep at (or preferably on) your feet. Not to get all cliché, but it's that indefinable, je ne sais quoi of texture, flavor and warmth that spells cozy with a capital C.

This simple cauliflower soup warmed us up the other evening, and was terrific for lunch a couple of days later.

Cream of Cauliflower Soup

For the soup:
1/4 c. butter or margarine
1/4 lb. bacon or pancetta, chopped in 1/4” cubes
2 med. onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 tsp. basil
1/2 tsp. thyme
1 head cauliflower, separated and chopped in 1" pieces
2 c. chicken or vegetable stock
Salt to taste

For the roux:
4 Tbsp. butter or margarine
4 Tbsp. flour
1 c. milk
4 oz. (1/2 c.) sour cream or cream cheese

Melt butter in large sauce pan or soup pot. Add bacon or pancetta and sauté till fat is rendered. Remove bacon and save for garnishing the soup.

Add onions to fat in pot and sauté over medium heat until translucent. Add garlic and sauté briefly to warm, then add basil and thyme and sauté until fragrant. Add cauliflower, chicken stock and salt, then cover and simmer 30 min. until cauliflower is tender.

In separate pan melt butter over medium-low heat. Remove from heat and stir in flour until lumps disappear. Return to heat and, stirring constantly, cook the roux for one minute until it loses its raw taste. Still stirring, add milk. When it starts steaming and thickens, add sour cream or cream cheese and stir till it melts into the sauce.

Remove soup from heat and add roux, combining it thoroughly. With immersion blender, blend until soup is a thick, creamy consistency. (This can also be done in batches in a blender, but the soup must be cooled first.) Return to low heat for 30 minutes to allow flavors to blend. Adjust salt. Serve in bowls garnished with bacon cubes.

The "L" Word: Salmon Two Ways

I went a little crazy buying fish this past year, but my excuse is that the stores were offering such darn great prices. I mean, two whole albacore tunas and two gigantic salmon, both filleted on the spot with the bones and heads bagged and ready to go in the stock pot for half (or less) of what they normally go for? It was a deal I obviously couldn't resist.

Beautiful Northwest salmon. Wow.

All this is to introduce a dilemma, albeit a delicious one, that I faced last week: a friend from New York was visiting his family over the Thanksgiving holiday and we'd cajoled him into stopping by before he flew out of town. A freelance writer and playwright, his first produced play will be opening in January in the Big Apple, a pretty darn momentous event that deserved to be celebrated.

Contestant #1: Salmon mac'n'cheese.

My thoughts immediately swam to one of those amazing salmon fillets waiting patiently in the freezer, envisioning it glistening from the heat and smoke of the grill, served with a risotto of wild chanterelles and an oh-so-Northwest kale salad. So that took care of dinner. For four people. Which meant that there was a huge amount, probably at least two pounds, of gorgeously smoky cooked salmon left over.

Contestant #2: Salmon and corn chowder.

What to do? Well, two ideas came to mind, one a completely over-the-top, possibly much-too-much, macaroni and cheese casserole with chunked salmon folded in at the last minute. The other was a more sedate, but totally delicious, salmon chowder with corn and bacon.

I made both (on separate nights) and put them to a family vote. Which did they like better?

To my surprise, the mac'n'cheese (top photo) was the winner, selected because, well, it's a darn good recipe for that cheesy classic and the smoky salmon was perfectly complemented, but not overwhelmed by, the sharp cheddar. Though the voters said that any time I wanted to make the salmon chowder again, they'd be willing to help make it disappear. So nice!

Decadent Macaroni and Cheese with Salmon

1 lb. dried pasta
4 Tbsp. butter*
4 Tbsp. flour
2 c. milk*
3/4 lb. extra-sharp cheddar cheese, grated
8 oz. cream cheese*
1/2 tsp. hot pepper sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
2-3 c. cooked salmon, chunked into bite-sized pieces
Smoked Spanish paprika (pimenton), optional

Boil large pot of water. While water is heating, melt butter in medium-sized saucepan. Remove from burner and add flour, stirring to combine. Place back on burner and cook on low heat for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add milk gradually, stirring/whisking until it thickened, then add cheese in handfuls until melted. Add cream cheese and stir until sauce is thick and creamy, then add hot sauce with salt and pepper to taste.

Add pasta to boiling water and cook till al dente. Drain and put back in pasta pot, add salmon and cheese sauce and stir gently to combine. Transfer to baking dish. Sprinkle with smoked paprika, if desired. Bake in 350 degree oven 30 minutes.

* For Dave, who is lactose intolerant, I use margarine instead of butter, substitute lactose-free whole milk for the regular milk and Tofutti cream cheese for the cream cheese. It works great…even the lactose-loving will rave.

* * *

Salmon Chowder with Corn and Bacon

3 slices bacon, cut in 1/4" pieces
2 Tbsp. butter*
1 onion, chopped fine
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 potatoes, chopped into 1/2" dice
2 c. fresh or frozen corn kernels
2 c. chicken stock, fish stock or corn stock
4 c. milk
2-3 c. cooked salmon, flaked
Salt and pepper to taste

Cook bacon pieces in a large soup pot over medium-high heat until the fat is rendered and the bacon is cooked but not crispy. Add the onion and garlic and sauté till translucent, then add the butter and allow it to melt. Add potatoes and sauté till slightly tender. Add corn and stir to bring up to temperature, then pour in stock and milk. Add salt and pepper to taste. Bring to simmer and cook until potatoes are completely tender. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Add the salmon to the pot and stir gently until it's just warmed (a minute or so).

* As in the mac'n'cheese recipe above, margarine was used in place of butter and whole lactose-free milk was substituted for the regular milk.

Dining Month Portland: Six Days and Counting…

We're nearing the end of Dining Month, those thirty or so days in early summer where Portlanders have an excuse to check out a new spot or haunt an old favorite with abandon, and where restaurants can fill up otherwise empty seats during a slow season. It's also where not feeling like cooking is an acceptable reason to go out rather than trying to sell the old "breakfast for dinner" approach.

Why? Because more than 80 of the city's best…and I'm not exaggerating…restos are offering three courses of dining deliciousness for just $29. Now of course this doesn't include your beverages or a gratuity, but considering some of these places charge $29 for the entrée alone makes it quite the deal.

So when I was offered a chance to check out one of the listed restaurants, Clyde Common, one night last week, I said, "Heck, yeah!" After all, I'd been there a couple of times since they'd opened and loved it. And I was curious to see what was proffered for the three courses…after all, they weren't going to be handing out filet mignon for that price.

What they did have on offer was: a starter of a spring green soup with crème fraîche and olive oil (see recipe, below), a big helping of braised pork shoulder with farro, mushrooms and pearl onions as the entrée (right) and, to cap it all off, an insanely luscious layered little glass (just the right amount, imho) of chocolate pot de creme, panna cotta and fresh strawberry preserves with a cashew cookie (below left).

As you can tell from the menu (above left), though, it specifically says "no substitutions," a common restriction for these menus. This meant that Dave, with his lactose intolerance, could have none of them and had to order off the regular, and thus much more expensive, menu. So if you're planning on taking advantage of this monthlong dining bonanza, and it is indeed a rare chance to sample the best of PDX for a song, I would strongly encourage you to check out your menu choices and any restrictions before arriving at the door.

Our evening? It was lovely, of course, from the drinks in the bar—my Americano served in a little soda bottle and Dave's stunning barrel-aged Negroni—to his choice of the pasta with lamb ragu. A fun chance to head downtown and hobknob with the denizens while not spending an arm and a leg to do it.

Spring green soup with herb crème fraîche

From Clyde Common

2 yellow onions, sliced

5 cloves garlic, thinly sliced

2 green bell peppers, seeds removed and thinly sliced

2 green zucchini, washed with ends removed and thinly sliced
1 green tomato (when in season), cored and chopped

1 serrano pepper

1 bunch of scallions, chopped

1 head fennel, thinly sliced

3 Tbsp. salt

1 Tbsp. sugar

1/2 c. Champagne vinegar

1/2 c. olive oil


1/2 c. blanched peas

1/2 c. blanched asparagus tips

1/2 c. blanched broccoli florets
1 bunch of parsley, picked and coarsely chopped

1 c. crème fraîche

1 Tbsp. minced chives

1 Tbsp. minced chervil


Salt, pepper and lemon juice to taste



A day ahead, combine the onion, garlic, pepper, squash, scallions and fennel in a non-reactive container. Add the salt, sugar, olive oil and vinegar. Mix well, cover and allow to sit overnight.



The next day, add in the cooked peas, asparagus, broccoli and chopped parsley. Mix well, and purée the vegetables in small batches in a blender until smooth. (The vegetables should have released quite a bit of liquid overnight. Add that liquid to the blender if the vegetables have trouble pureeing. If more liquid is needed, use vegetable stock or water.) After all the vegetables are pureed, re-season the mixture with salt, pepper, lemon juice and a 1/2 cup of the crème fraîche. Place in the refrigerator to chill.

 In a mixing bowl, take the remaining crème fraîche and combine with the minced chive and chervil. Set aside.



Divide the soup into four chilled bowls and serve with a heaping spoonful of the herb crème fraîche.

Photo at top courtesy Clyde Common.

Read my posts about previous visits to Clyde Common: Common Vocabulary, Our Night on the Town and Quick Hits: Clyde Common, Theory, Relish.

Farm Bulletin: Colwell's Marriott Krensuppe

Contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm doesn't just love horseradish, he adores it in the same way other people get weak in the knees over chocolate or spontaneously drool at the mere mention of foie gras. Proof is provided when he talks about his idea of the perfect restaurant, where instead of over-large pepper mills, servers carry horseradish root and graters for sprinkling on salads.

There is not much of a horseradish lobby, so its wonderful health benefits are barely explored and publicized. For example, digging it offers wonderful cardiovascular stimulation. In addition, it is clearly an aphrodisiac as we love putting it on all manner of foods. Linda Colwell, who shares our affection for this mulish root and helps us dig it for the farmers’ market, recreated two krensuppe recipes from lasting memories of a soup we enjoyed years ago.

A strike at Charles DeGaulle Airport had thrown the European airline schedules out the window, necessitating a layover in Frankfurt, Germany. We were given a room in a Marriott Hotel miles from anywhere and quite late in the evening. The dining room did not look promising at first, but reading the menu we relaxed. The fare was simple German cooking using local ingredients. Among the soups offered was krensuppe. It was actually two soups: a red and a white soup served in the same bowl.

Although they can be served on their own, the red and the white versions together in a soup bowl make a striking visual display and, with the shared horseradish, harmonize wonderfully on the palate. The colors, by coincidence, are those of the Austrian flag, and horseradish soups are part of Austrian cuisine. Served hot or cold, they provide good vegetarian fare. The third version is from an old Romanian cookbook of Linda's. It uses beef stock, roux and a very generous quantity of horseradish. The grated root is cooked with the flour, softening its flavor in the soup; the flavor is peppery and mellow.

Red and White Horseradish Soup

For the horseradish and potato (white) soup:
2 Tbsp. butter
1/2 medium onion, diced
2 1/2 c. potatoes, peeled and cubed
6 c. water
1 tsp. salt
4 Tbsp., more or less, freshly grated horseradish

In a large enameled pot, melt the butter and cook the onion in it over medium-low heat for about 15 minutes, until the onion is translucent and soft but not brown. Add the potatoes, water and salt. Simmer over low heat until the potatoes fall apart, then cool them to room temperature.

Purée the ingredients through the medium plate of a food mill (or immersion blender or in batches in a blender). Bring the soup to a simmer, taste, season accordingly. Add freshly grated horseradish to taste.

For the horseradish and beet (red) soup:
2 lbs. beets
3 c. water
2 tsp. red wine vinegar
1 tsp. salt
4 Tbsp., more or less, freshly grated horseradish

Cook the whole beets in their skins in heavily salted water until tender. When cool enough to handle, peel and cube them. Pass them through the medium plate of a food mill (or mash well with a potato masher) into a large enameled pot. Add the water, vinegar, and salt. Bring to a simmer, taste, and season accordingly. Add freshly grated horseradish to taste.

To serve the soups, ladle the beet soup into one side of a shallow soup bowl and the potato soup into the other side, so the soups meet in a line down the middle. Serves 6.

* * *

Horseradish Broth Soup

2 Tbsp. butter
2 c. grated horseradish
2 Tbsp. flour
1 tsp. salt
6 c. beef broth, heated to a simmer
1/2 c. heavy cream
Bread and butter for croûtons

In an enameled cast-iron pot, melt the butter over medium-low heat. Add the horseradish, and cook until wilted and soft, about 4 minutes. Add the flour and salt and cook thoroughly without browning. Add the hot broth slowly, whisking to prevent lumps. Simmer 10 minutes. Add the heavy cream, taste, and season accordingly. Serve hot with croûtons—cubes or slices of bread fried in butter or fat until they are golden brown and crisp—prepared at the last minute so they sizzle as they are scattered on the soup. Serves 4.