Category Archives: soup

White bean, turnip, and thyme stew and cheddar cornmeal biscuits

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white-bean-turnip-stewAs you may recall, I’m reading The Brothers Karamzov, and I have been for some time. (It’s not that I don’t have time to read, but I feel a little guilty taking the time to read, which is sort of funny, because I was an English major, so once-upon-a-time, reading was my job.) Anyway, be that as it may, I’m slowly working my way through Bros. Karmazov, and I’d like to talk about Alyosha. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. He’s one of the most appealing characters in literature (to me), and I’ve been pondering this fact, and thinking about other characters of his type that I’ve also been drawn to over the years. Alyosha was named after Dostoyevsky’s own son, who died as a child, and I can’t help but think that the character is a sort of embodiment of the man Dostoyevsky might have hoped his son would become. He’s handsome, kind, good but not preachy, thoughtful, sympathetic. But I don’t find him cloyingly good, because, strangely, despite all of his ridiculously good qualities, he’s a very real and human character. He’s full of wonder, he’s often confused, his mood shifts from one sentence to the next, as we’ve all felt our own do. He’s part of the drama, obviously, he’s one of the brothers Karamzov, so he’s a major character, but he’s aside from the drama. Most of his struggles are internal – they’re philosophical or spiritual. He has faith, but he’s constantly questing and questioning, swayed by his cynical brothers, but very strong within himself. He reminds me of Gareth, from Once and Future King, who was one of my favorite characters when I was little. Like Alyosha, Gareth grows up in what we would today call a dysfunctional family. His father is at war, his mother rivals Alyosha’s father for evilness, and his brothers are caught up in the brutality around them. But Gareth is different. He has a sort of natural gentleness, “Gareth was a generous boy. He hated the idea of strength against weakness. It made his heart swell, as if he were going to suffocate.” In one scene, the four brothers attempt to catch a unicorn, but they kill it, and then, faced with the reality of butchering it, they’re sick, covered in sweat and blood and punctured intestines, and by the time they get the head home to their mother, there’s nothing left but a grisly, unrecognizable lump of flesh. This scene was so powerful to me when I first read it! And it made me love Gareth, who begged his brother not to kill the unicorn, and who lies crying in the heather once it’s killed, staring into the sky and imagining himself plummeting off the earth, and catching onto the clouds to stop his fall. And like Alyosha, as the story goes on, Gareth does not become as embroiled in the violent family turmoil. I love these characters, and I’m sure there are others (Kostya Levin from Anna Karenina comes to mind, but I’ve already talked about him!) Their stories become the most interesting, because they question not just the morality of the people around them, but the morality that drives the plot itself. In real life, I’m always impressed by people who can transcend their upbringing to question the world around them, and form their own values and ideals. It kills me that an author can create a character who stands in for himself (in these instances) in questioning the values of the world that he’s created. It’s brilliant, really, because it doesn’t feel like a moral judgement, coming from these characters, it feels like a difficult but natural peeling away of layers of accepted corruption and violence. In both cases, you can feel the force of the author’s affection for the character, and the depth of his sympathy for their confusion. Can you think of other characters like this? Atticus Finch, maybe? Or Herbert Pocket? Hamlet, even?

Sorry to go on and on as though this is some sort of addled, half-baked essay for a second-rate online literature course! I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately. But I’ve been cooking, too, so let me tell you about this stew! It’s loosely based on an old recipe I found for French lamb stew, called Navarin, I believe. The original stew similarly contains turnips, potatoes, carrots and peas simmered in white wine and thyme. And I substituted white beans for lamb. I think it turned out very nice! Warm and sustaining, but not too heavy. And I made these cornmeal cheddar drop biscuits to go with it. They’re extremely quick and easy to make, and crispy outside, soft inside, and comforting.

Cornmeal cheddar biscuits

Cornmeal cheddar biscuits

Here’s Family Tree, by Belle and Sebastian
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Vegetable soup that my boys like

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Vegetable soup

Vegetable soup

Here at The Ordinary, we have an institute devoted to deciphering The Meaning of Christmas. Apparently, nobody knows what it is anymore, so we have different theories thrown at us with alarming speed. It’s bewildering! Is it the presents? (ask a seven-year-old!) Is it peace on earth good will to all men? Is it the food? Is it the partridge, sitting plumply in the pear tree? The time off work? The hope for snow? The solstice? And then, of course, there’s the Christ, which apparently somebody has stolen from Christmas. This one has been drawn to our attention by lawn signs and billboards. We are not experts, here at The Ordinary, nor are we Christian in any organized sense. And yet we understand about the Christ in Christmas. It’s his birth day, after all, that we’re celebrating! Of course, in our not-very-well-informed opinion, Christ as we understand him is not the sort of fellow to want some big hoopla on his birthday. And he’s certainly not the sort to pout because he doesn’t get a big hoopla from every single person on earth. The problem, for me, is that it often seems as though the people bemoaning the lack of Christ in christmas are the very same people who are opposed to gun control, suspicious of welfare recipients, supportive of lowering taxes for very wealthy people, and of wars that serve no function other than to benefit the oil companies and weapons makers. There’s a disconnect! You can’t have it both ways! Surely a person can’t seethe with righteous rage, as christians, that people don’t say “merry christmas,” without understanding the lessons that christ taught. Admittedly I’m no scholar, but shouldn’t we be working for peace, and helping all people, including the less fortunate, and recognizing the value of good will and good works over money? Charity and forgiveness! This is the time of year to reinforce those ideas, and remind us of their importance, and strive to make the light of our understanding last the whole year!! Holy smoke (get it?) I’m getting all preachy. I apologize!! I’ve obviously been spending too much time in the basement vaults of The Ordinary, pondering the reason for the season, as we examine tinsel through the magnifying glass, and dissect candy canes in petri dishes.

I’ve been making some fancy food lately, in anticipation of Christmas. Double-crusted this, and sugar-crusted that. I felt like making something simple, nurturing, and warming, which almost feels more in keeping with the season, in a way, if that way is that I love my boys so much, and I want to make them healthy and happy, and somehow making a soup they like feels like a rung on that ladder. It’s a very simple soup, just broth and vegetables, and we had it with pasta shaped like tiny shells. But you could serve it over rice if you preferred. And you could always add beans, if your children like them and you felt like upping the protein content, which is always a good thing. I used vegetables my boys like – potatoes, carrots, peas and corn, which also felt like a very basic and traditional type of vegetable soup, but you could always alter to suit your taste.

Here’s Jimmy Smith with God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. I love this song, and I love this version!!

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Vegetarian broth (and savory baked custards)

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Broth with tarragon and savory custards

Broth with tarragon and savory custards

I’ll admit it, I’m fascinated by the history of food. I’m a buff. I’m curious about what people ate, and how they cooked it. I’m curious about how people discovered that food acted in certain ways when it was cooked – that some things melt and some things solidify. I’m curious about the things that people ate every day, and the elaborate dishes they created to impress people, for holidays and celebrations. I love to see pictures of ornate, inticately detailed jellies and creams, and pies bigger than my dinner table. I like to think about the care and craziness that went into these productions, which we still exhibit today when we make something special. I like to read about the foods people believed to be restorative, the meals they fed their children when they were sick; the cakes that contained a bit of soul; the gold-flecked cordials that held the power of the sun. Food is so much a part of who we are and where we live, such an elemental and intimate way to understand a person and the way in which he or she lived. It’s fascinating to see how things have changed, and how much they’ve remained the same. If we are what we eat, and the food that we’ve eaten has changed drastically over the centuries, have people fundamentally changed, too? It boggles my little mind. The history we read about in books may have been made in war rooms and battlefields, but surely a more profound and human understanding of the past can be gleaned from the larders and kitchens.

I stumbled upon this website, recently, called Historical Food. It’s a treasure trove of recipes and stories! Some outlandish, some delightful. Recipes for quince and gooseberries, asparagus ices, medlar cheese and the queen’s potage. One recipe is very similar to my version of Jane Austen’s white soup, right down to the pomegranate seeds and pistachio kernels. (Red and green for christmas!) And one was very similar to my version of soup meagre, except that it had little decorative savory custards floating in it. I read about this when Malcolm was sick and craving brothy foods, and it seemed such a sweet and simple preparation that I decided to try it. I don’t have the fancy punches to cut out the custard that they had at the time, so I made diamonds, but I made them red and green with smoked paprika and spinach. I made a broth and added baby spinach, green peas and tarragon. I wanted it to be simple and green. I thought it was quite good!! The little pieces of custard were a bit like pasta, I suppose, and the whole effect was very comforting. I should say that my kids liked the savory custard, but once it was floating in their soup they decided it was weird. Oh well!! I also thought I’d take this opportunity to post my recipe for vegetarian broth. I’ve been making broth every week, this season, and adding it to soups, stews, and risottos as I go along. I’ve provided my simplest version, and you can add vegetables, spices and herbs to suit your finished dish. And that’s that!

Here’s Linton Kwesi Johnson with Making History.

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White bean and tomato bisque with fennel, black olives and red peppers

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White bean and tomato bisque with fennel, black olives, and red peppers

Our little Clio is overbearing. If you’re human and she doesn’t know you, she needs to meet you, and try to scale you, vertically, and kiss you on the cheek. If you’re a dog, of any size or age. She LOVES you. She wants to put her paws around your neck and lick your mouth. She knows you want to play with her! She just knows it!! That’s what it means when you growl and snap at her, right? If you’re human and she knows you – watch out. If she hasn’t seen you for ages and ages, like five whole minutes, she will launch herself at you, and hover in the air before you furiously pummeling with two white paws. She will flip around like a happy fish, tangling herself in your legs and trying to knock you over, so (if you’re one of my sons) she can dance joyfully all over you. If you’re cooking, she feels compelled to stand on her back legs, paws grabbing the edge of the counter, or sit on your feet, in case you need help. At night she starts at the foot of the bed but slowly slithers her way up till her head is on your pillow. You push her back, and she slowly slithers up again, to make contented grumbly whuffly noises in your ear. She’s so excited for her food that she’ll frantically gobble it down before it even hits her bowl. She’s relentless. She’s too much for some people. But not for me! I love her merry exuberance. Obviously I’m cool and insouciant, now, but there was a time in my life when I was overbearing, too. I was so excited to get into class and have the right answer and share things I liked. I was always super eager for dinner, though I’ve never gone so far as to empty the bowl before it even hit the table. I remember, once, seeing a teacher roll her eyes at my eagerness. And I remember how that felt – the sudden realization that I was annoying. And I have to tell you that trying, awkwardly, to be less annoying only makes you more annoying. To be honest, I’m still too eager to share recipes and music and anything else that I like. I still talk way too much, especially when I’m nervous or excited. Yesterday at our conference with Malcolm’s teachers they told us that he’s bright and kind and getting good grades. But…he’s growing too fast! His arms and legs are too big and he doesn’t know what to do with them! He has too much energy, and he can’t contain it! He can’t sit still, he can’t keep to himself. That’s right, Malcolm is overbearing, too. I could hear the little eye roll in their voice as they labeled my son a certain way, whilst expressing their fear that he would be labeled a certain way. I could hear the annoyance in the way they said his name, and I know that he could hear it, too. And I imagine that would make him nervous, and I know him, nervousness makes him antsy so he can’t sit still. Yesterday was a rough day, and I felt undirectedly angry. I yelled at Malcolm a little bit, because I’m worried. And then we sat on the couch and snuggled, we had a good talk, we studied for his science quiz. He was calm and peaceful and attentive, just like we all know he can be. And my overbearing puppy jumped up and curled next to him, because she finds his calmness and strength reassuring (how do I know? Well, that’s what she told me!) What a day!

This soup is full of overbearing and assertive flavors, yet the combination is smooth, unusual, and very flavorful. I’ve been wondering for some time now why I’ve never encountered olives in a bisque. (Picture me, walking down the street, scratching my head. Why? Why? Why no olives in bisques?) They go so well with other flavors! I love olives with fennel and tomatoes. I love cauliflower in a puréed soup, because it makes it smooth and creamy, I love tomatoes and roasted peppers and smoked paprika this time of year. So that’s the kind of soup I made. The boys ate it over pasta as a sort of sauce, but I thought it was lovely all on its own. With plenty of flavors that mingle well together.

Here’s My Adidas by Run DMC. Malcolm has been wearing an old pair of adidas I had, so I just played this song for him, and he used some of his legendary energy to show off his moves.
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Golden beet, turnip and sweet corn bisque

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Golden beet and turnip bisque

Well! Thank god all of that Thanksgiving nonsense is over, and now we can get on with our lives, and go back to being ungrateful acquisitive bastards. Now here’s my christmas list. See that you get exactly what I specify!! I’m kidding, of course. But I was thinking about the phrase “thank you,” and how, when it seems spontaneous and sincere, it’s as welcome and unexpected as sunshine on a winter’s day. I have a friend with four children, and her three-year-old doesn’t talk much. But he’ll say “thank you” at the most surprising times, when she does some little thing for him. And when she told us about this, she put her hand to her heart as if the fact that he says “thank you” is so sweet it almost hurts. It’s a funny thing, being a mother. You do so much for your little ones, all day every day, and you can teach them to say “thank you” out of politeness. But it’s not likely that these small, incompletely developed people understand why they should feel grateful for your tireless service. After all, you’ve been catering to them since before they were born. To them it’s just the way life is – it’s how they need and expect it to be. They don’t know how much your life has changed since before their birth – how much you’ve given up for them, and how much you’ve gained. Your life is theirs, in some ways. Their knowledge of you and their sense of your history with them is something that they cling to. And, to be honest, I feel so cranky and anxious half the time that I forget to acknowledge the sweet things they give to me every day. I take for granted their light and warmth. The other day Isaac came and sat behind me on my chair, and rested his head on my shoulder. Did I say “thank you” for this great gift? I did not, I said, in a cranky voice, “what are you doing?” I feel like I’ll always regret that! I was thinking today that we’re all like oblivious children as we move through the world. People ring up our groceries and put them in bags, serve us in restaurants, leave us tips when we serve them in restaurants, help our children to cross the street, pick up our garbage, pump our gas. We might say “thank you” because it’s polite. but when it seems sincere, when somebody really seems to recognize the value of each small job in all of its great weight, that feels like a gift in itself. And then gratitude feeds upon gratitude to form a giant mountain of thankfulness!

When I make a meal, David always says thank you. And when they hear him say it, the boys say it, too. And then they say, “but I don’t really like it, can I have pasta and tamari instead?” But they liked this soup, they all liked it! It was a little smokey, a little sweet, a little tart and a little spicy. But overall warm and comforting.

Here’s Gratitude by the Beastie Boys. Live!
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Roasted root veg stew with chickpeas, red wine and oj, and semolina mozzarella volcanoes

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Roasted root veg and red wine stew

(I promise this is the last time I’ll talk about the damn power outage – until the next time!). I live in a small city. It’s a nice community made up mostly of kind, eccentric people who have either had family here since the 19th century, or who have recently moved here from New York or Philly because they had a kid or got a dog, or just want a bit of peace. It’s built on a mid-1800s industrial scheme, with lots of brick row houses, attached or semi-attached, and small back yards that look into neighbors’ small back yards. Like many communities in which people live in close proximity, the town is quite liberal, socially and politically. We respond well to natural not-quite-disasters. Snowstorms and floods bring people out to walk the quiet streets and help neighbors shovel out or dry out. During the recent power outage, everybody gathered at city hall in the center of town to power their phones and lap tops – our only connection to the outside world! I’ve been thinking that you could write a tense, highly-wrought existential play about city hall during the ten days without power. The technology that usually keeps people apart, separate in their own rooms, with their own devices – the technology that sometimes seems to have made it impossible for people to have a coherent conversation without checking their little glowing screen – brought people together in this small building. It was first come-first serve for an outlet, and people would divide into groups – some in the bright front room, with the coffee and donated donuts and cakes, and some in the cramped, dark back corridor. You saw people you didn’t know lived in this town – people you didn’t see in your daily routine, because they don’t have children or dogs. At first the place was packed, and everyone was friendly and cheerful, everybody making the same jokes, asking the same questions. We’ve all been through it before, we’d get through it again. Everybody wanted to know the same thing – when would the power come back on, was it safe to drive out of town. The ladies that worked at city hall didn’t know. The men in official-looking suits didn’t know. The mayor wandered about, looking lost. He didn’t know. Surely somebody knew? Surely the power company knew. No, nobody knew. Nobody. And then people started to act stressed and depressed. Why was it taking so long? Why could nobody tell us when it would be fixed? But somebody would say they’d seen footage of other towns, where things were worse, and nobody could complain after that. The crowds thinned as the nights became freezing and people left town. You’d overhear the mayor admitting that they hadn’t even started work yet. Then people started to get angry. The fabric of society was breaking down. There were tales of crews of electricians from Ottowa or Ontario, but nobody saw them, there were no fleets of trucks. They were phantom linesmen, and we were told not to talk to them or they’d go away. There was a sign scrawled on white board. “Don’t yell at the linesmen.” The linesmen that nobody saw. The crowds dwindled, and the people that remained were desperate and dirty and angry. By the last day people stood on the steps of city hall screaming and angry, helpless and powerless. And the curtain falls on the dark stage, exeunt omnes. Can’t you just see it? I don’t really know what it would be about, but I’m sure I could write some sort of review that talks about alienation in the age of computerized communication and electrical lights as a symbol of our futile search for false knowledge, and you know, some kind of double entendre about “power” for the people. Oh yes.

Pretty root vegetables

And this is exactly the kind of meal I longed to make during that time that I promise not to talk about any more! Warm, comforting, and very flavorful. We got some root veg from our CSA, and it was the prettiest root veg you’ve ever seen! Golden beets, and peppermint candy-striped beets. By the time I’d roasted and stewed them, they were quite drab, but they made up for it by being delicious. I thought I’d combine all the root veg-y flavors – sharp peppery turnips with sweet carrots and potatoes and earthy beets, with a sauce of red wine and orange juice, lemony sumac and smoky paprika, and autumnal herbs. It turned out very nice. And I made these little semolina muffins, but I tucked mozzarella inside, and when it melted and the muffins baked, it came out of the top like little volcanoes. Fun, and tasty with the stew.

Here’s Neighborhood #3 (Power Out) by Arcade Fire.

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Isaac’s birthday! and Curried carrot, cauliflower and cashew bisque and seeded biscuits

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It’s Isaac’s birthday! He was born seven years ago on a golden glowing fall day, just like this one. I felt such a surge of joy and love when he was born, and it hasn’t really abated in these last seven years. My sweet, small, jolly Isaac is getting tall and thin. It’s hard, with the second one, to notice all the changes – he’s always the little one. He’s so excited about his birthday. He was sad that halloween was cancelled, and needed assurance that nobody could cancel his birthday, not even the mayor. He was a robot for halloween, the cutest robot you’ve ever seen. I walked him to the consolation party at the school, and he looked out of his toilet-paper tube eye-holes at all his friends running around to the dance music. He sat on a metal folding chair against the wall, because it’s actually hard to do the robot, when you are a robot. He sat and waited for the faux trick-or-treeting. I wonder what goes on in his busy mind, at times like this. I want to tell him to run around with his friends, because I worry about him feeling lonely, but I’m glad that he doesn’t need to. He’s always been very self-sufficient and content with his own company. He’ll sit for long periods of time drawing and singing. Inventing worlds and creatures to live in them. He’s compelled to draw, and he’s almost always happy with the results. He sings constantly, about everything going on in his life. He sings his life, with sweet, pretty songs that get stuck in your head. He talks a lot, too. He’s always had a lot to say, and a smart, clear, peculiar way of saying it. He talks faster and louder and in a higher pitch when he’s nervous or angry, until only dogs can hear him. He likes to talk to everybody he meets, telling them things I sometimes wish he wouldn’t. (“Mom, isn’t that the boss you don’t like?” Heh heh, noooo, that’s some other boss…) You can’t really look at Isaac without wanting to snuggle him, and he’s a natural cuddler, he’ll cuddle you right out of bed. He’s a man who has invented an entire vocabulary around cuddling. There’s the circle cuddle, the tent cuddle, the birthday cuddle, the super-fast, intense, concentrated cuddle (actually I invented that one.) He’ll tell you that he loves you and you’re fun to be with, just because he feels it. (For now!) He’s frustratingly vague and flighty. He doesn’t understand the concept of walking in a straight line. He floats and spins and stops and goes. He won’t tell you he wants something till after it’s gone. He’ll walk right by a brand new bike on his birthday, back and forth many times, and you’ll have to tell him that it’s there. (Whereas Malcolm could sense a brand new bike in the house, if it was hidden behind closed doors several floors away.) He’s got pale golden hair, and pale soft skin, and he glows with all of the radiance of his bright cheerful sweetness.

I’m going to tell you something shocking. Isaac doesn’t generally like my cooking. It’s true! Hard to believe, I know. It’s tempting to say that Isaac only likes pale foods with butter, but the truth is he loves sharp, spicy strong-flavored food. He loves olives, and capers. And his favorite food is Indian food. Which is why he liked this soup. He refused to taste it, at first, but I gave him a small bite with basmati rice, and he went on to eat a whole bowl. He really liked it!! I was so proud. Everybody liked it, actually. It’s simple and flavorful, and smooth, and nice with the biscuits, which have a bit of texture from the seeds. I used nigella seeds, black sesame seeds and mustard seeds, but use what you have!

Here’s Memphis Minnie with I’m Gonna Bake My Biscuits. I’ll let Isaac choose the song when I tell you about his birthday cake!

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Roasted carrot and sweet potato bisque (and more Eliza)

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Roasted sweet potato bisque

I feel like I’m in slow motion moving through a fog. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have so much that I want to do, that I’m not doing any of it, and I frequently find myself on the couch with a soft warm puppy rather than attending to my important tasks. I blame it on the power failure, dammit!! I used up all my batteries, apparently, and now I’m blinking and stuttering like a machine about to lose all power. Well…I’ll catch up eventually, or realize that none of it matters. In the meantime, here’s a recipe for soup and another installment of the serialized drama known temporarily as Eliza and Hyssop. (For previous episodes, click here.)

We have ten pounds of sweet potatoes at the moment, from our CSA! And two huge bunches of beautiful carrots. What better way to use them then roasted in this smoky spicy bisque? It’s a very simple soup – just a few ingredients and spices. So it’s quite light, though satisfying. The warm sweet flavor of the vegetables really shines through.

Could be a spoonful of diamonds, gold, or sweet potato bisque!! Here’s Etta James with Spoonful.

And here’s Eliza, after the jump. When last we left her, she had raced to the top of the stairs, looking for the boy who had come to enlist her help in healing his brother…
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Greens, white bean and potato soup & more Eliza

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Greens and white bean soup

If you cast your memory back to last weekend, you may recall that we’re going to share a story in these virtual pages in serial format. It’s time for our second installment of Eliza and Hyssop! Someday it will have a real title! This is a good season for soups – we’re having grey and chilly weather. And soups go nicely with Eliza’s story, because she finds comfort in a warm bowl of soup after wandering, cold and weary, through dark streets. Just as all self-respecting characters in stories do! We get a nice spicy fall mix of greens from our CSA. It’s a combination of little sharp lettuces and leaves…too bitter for a salad, but lovely in soups and savory tarts. I combined them with white beans and red potatoes for a simple, satisfying and delicious meal. If you don’t get bags of spicy lettuces from some random source, feel free to use any greens you have…spinach, arugula, kale…anything would work here! I was really taken with this soup – I had two big bowls, and we ate them with sharp cheddar melted on whole wheat toast, for the most perfect warm and comforting meal.

Here’s Howlin Wolf with Built for Comfort. I feel as though the connection between my songs and my rambling preambles (my prerambles?) is becoming more abstruse!

More Eliza after the JUMP!

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Walnut, roasted mushroom and french lentil soup

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Walnut, roasted mushroom, french lentil soup

We’re going to try something new, here at The Ordinary. In my imagination, actual ordinaries, in which people ate meals hundreds of years ago, had newspapers lying around the tables for patrons to read as they ate. People frequented the ordinaries as they travelled, and they shared tables with strangers. I imagine that they caught up on the news of the day as they paused in their travels, and they engaged in heated discussions about the news with their tablemates. Maybe they enjoyed a serial story in one of the newspapers and looked forward to reading the next installment at their next port of call – combining the pleasures of a warm fire, nourishing food, and a good read. At least that’s how I imagine it! So I’m going to try posting a serial story, right here in the virtual pages of The Ordinary. It’s actually a story I started some time ago, and that I got stalled on. So part of the motivation is that week-to-week, I’ll keep writing. It was inspired by the story of Florence Nightingale and her pet owl Athena, but it’s not really about them. It’s a story I would have liked when I was little, but I think I’d still like to read it now. It’s about every kind of Claire-y thing…secret pockets, boxes with little bottles in them, ship journeys, warm comforting food on cold days. My plan is to post a few pages every week, after the jump. Feel free to skip to the recipe, if you like!

The recipe for today’s installment is one of the better soups I’ve ever made! I love roasted mushrooms, I love french lentils, I love them together, but I’ve never combined them quite like this. I pureed the mushrooms with walnuts to make a lovely savory, meaty sort of bisque, with sage and rosemary, and I added the lentils and their broth just before serving.

Here’s A Wee Bird Cam’ Tae My Apron by Jean Redpath.

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