le sauce

soup, accessorized

Above: Herb Soup with Eggplant Bacon

This time last year, Toronto (and most of the east coast) was cold and covered in a fairly fresh blanet of snow. Last week, it was summertime hot--26C degrees and sunny--which was only about 10 degrees hotter than the average for the past few weeks. It's cooler this week but still mild.

This time last year, I wanted soup for dinner.

This week, I still do.

Because while I want an ice cream cone around noon on the hotter days this month, the nights are still chilly and I'm reminded on more humid mornings that the April showers will be coming. There are grey, damp days ahead and I welcome them. I do love that we (usually) have four seasons, not for the least reason of which is the the food that comes with each season. I'll look forward to peas and strawberries in a few months, but for now, I'm looking forward to more cozy dinners that are just a little lighter than I'd make them in November...

...and that means soup.

Above: Tteokguk, Seared Onigiri in Green Tea Broth, Green soup with asparagus, potato hash, seed crackers.

Soup is not difficult and it's only as boring as you make it. Really, whatever you're craving, it can be made into soup--even a creamy piece of cheese or potatoes or radishes! I don't have a recipe on this site yet (note to self) but you can even make a pretty boozy soup, if you're so inclined. And I don't have to tell you that soup is as good hot as it is cold and pretty much everywhere in between.

But just as you would never forget to put your favourite toppings on your sandwich or pizza, don't forget to accessorize your soup. As you can see, I have a few ideas about how to do that (click on the photo captions for the recipes) and any one of these garnishes can be mixed, matched and tweaked to your tastes--plus you probably have a million more ideas which you should share with me, please. Let your soup simmer, prep your toppings and open a creamy white wine before you sip your way through a super-light but totally satifying dinner.

Below: Roasted Onion and Fennel Soup with Pistou, French Onion and Porcini Soup,Soup and Rice.

 

spicy mushroom hot pot

first taste: soup and rice

Childhood picture books, stories and TV shows that depicted food and dining made a real impression on me. Illustrations of steaming bowls of pasta or a piece of toast smothered in purple jam gave me my first taste of foods I'd yet to try, and are sometimes still the archetypes I hold food up to today. Instead of simply reminisce, I'm going to bring those dishes to life the way I imagined they'd be.

This is a story of a meal that I tasted first at home, not tastes imagined after being influenced by books or media, as with the other recipes in this particular column. I laid eyes on the book Chicken Soup and Rice after years of eating more than my share of bowlfuls.

The way I remember it, we--my cousin and I who grew up in a household of parents, aunts, grandparents--were expected to eat fish curries and rotis and whatever the adults were eating, for sure. But like any kids, we could be picky, and like any busy adults, there were times they just couldn't force us to eat more/worry about how little we'd eaten/deal.with.us. At times like those, we were fed "soup and rice".

Soup-and-rice, said more as one, three-syllable word, referred to salty, packaged, instant chicken noodle soup (which I never tired of and was sure to eat), with cooked white rice stirred in (always on hand as in any Asian household) to fortify the meal and to reassure our family that we fed. To appease us, they often made two packets of soup, strained the noodles out of one and added them to our broth and rice and that measly amount of noodles from just one package. The short, soft and slippery noodles were the treat that always got us to finish our bowls. I developed rituals where I managed to eat as much noodle-less spoonfuls of rice, drink the broth and be left with a glut of the reserved noodles at the bottom, hoarded in 5 minutes to be enjoyed in 5 greedy seconds.

That was pleasure enough but then, in one of the earliest examples I can recall, I saw something I was used to eating depicted elsewhere! Someone else put rice in their soup!? It might not seem like much but it was a validation of sorts. Perhaps you'll understand why if I tell you that when I was finally allowed to eat lunch at school (I hated being walked home for lunch when all of my friends got to bond at the lunchtables) my mom and I had to learn about cold-cuts and what actually might comprise a child's lunchtime sandwich (her use of bread was largely confined to spreading chilies on it). I felt out of touch with the rituals and foods of a country I was born in and one that, though cultrually diverse, still sent their kids to school with oddly identical lunches. Kids who knew instinctively how to order food on "hot dog day" and knew what they liked on their pizza. Finding a book about soup and rice was a taste of something familiar and some sort of nod to what went on in my home. This might have been my earliest taste of what it was to have my food--therefore my culture--therefore a large part of me--acknowledged.

Chicken Soup and Rice words and photos by Maurice Sendak.

Aside from all of that, the book had so much more appeal. I mean just look at this book! How fun! I love Maurice Sendak, as an author and as a honest, sometimes crusty, brilliant person. I love that this book is a book of months, in which each spawns a different season to enjoy chicken soup and rice, in the sea, with March winds knocking over and lapping up your bowls, and for having irreverant sentences like

"Whoppie once, Whoppie twice, Whoopie Chicken Soup and Rice!"

grilled onigiri in a green tea broth

(Ochazuke with Yaki-Onigiri)

I'm going to tell you what you might be thinking as you read through this recipe anyway.... this is seemingly odd combination of mild, punchy, salty and sweet flavours. I agree. But, you know how people are always talking about balancing flavours? There's a lot of complimentary tastes happening here, and a predominently warm, soothing texture. It requires you to perhaps get one or two ingredients that you might not always have in your kitchen, but substitions are welcome. But before we get to that, and in case you're unfamiliar with it, let's say hello to onigiri.

Onigiri are balls of rice made with freshly cooked, starchy, sushi rice or other glutenous, short-grain rice, and they often hide a little treat in the middle. Tuna, seaweed and, as in the case here, omeboshi (pickled plum) paste, are common fillings, and onigiri are often triangular in shape. Here's how to make them and here's why mine are rectangular:

1. Cook your rice.


2. While the rice is hot, use wet or oiled hands to form your shape, or better yet, an onigiri  mold. Create an indent in which to add a tiny amount of fillling, then enclose the filling with rice and work the shape while the rice is still hot, otherwise the grains will not stick to each other well or be easily maliable.


3. Hot rice is too hot to handle! Having no onigiri mold, I tortured myself for as long as it took to make two onigiri and they were less of a triangular shape and more shaped like the outline of searing pain. I couldn't bear to work the shape long enough and when they cooled to just punishingly hot, the grains were no longer cooperating. Thus, I turned to the smallest little yet deep enough mold I could find to accomodate a 1-cup scoop of rice, and that ended up being a rectangle plastic container. Yours might be a measuring cup, single-serving yogurt container or you may go out and get an onigiri mold! In any case, make sure to oil your mold so you can tap the packet of rice out easily.

If you are running out to get seaweed, just the right tea or that onigiri mold (wow, you are hardcore) for this recipe, please do get omeboshi paste. I recently wrote about its sharp, deep, briny flavour which I love, and combined with that subtle, warming tea, salty seaweed and those caramalized shallots and scallions...well, you'll have highly pleasurable, balanced spoonfuls in your bowl.

herb soup w/ eggplant bacon...plus ABC kitchen (manhattan)

One day in late spring I was cooking so many things at once that my counter was covered in tough, outer baby artichoke leaves, leek tops and empty pea pods. I could have tossed them all out but I bagged them and shoved them in the freezer instead. Weeks later, I soaked the scraps in warm water to thaw them, rinsed them well, and along with some garlic they formed the flavor base of a fresh, cool spring soup in the heat of summer. After simmering for half an hour, I strained and discarded those dutiful misfits, lowered bundles of bright herbs in to add the top notes to my soup, then cooled it before serving.

While I was happy to use those scraps so well, the whole reason behind making this soup was to chop up what might seem like too many fresh herbs and serve them on top. I've been obsessed with the idea of sipping a soup and practically having to chew on fresh herbs since I had a similar experience at ABC Kitchen--their sweet pea soup had generous strands of mint floating on top of it. It wasn't overpowering at all, but it was such a memorable part of the soup.

Although the croutons in their soup were delicious, I think I chose an even better topping for mine, if I do say so myself. Remember that eggplant bacon I wrote about once? I skipped the fake stuff (liquid smoke) and instead brushed my eggplant with smoked paprika, oil and salt before roasting the slivers in the oven. I wasn't expecting them to come out looking anything like bacon, so I had to show you the picture below. How did the eggplant know what I wanted it to become?

Magic.

Everything at ABC Kitchen was wonderful--except for me. I had been dreaming of dining there for over a year, hearing nothing but rave reviews, tweets and "mmmm"'s and as I put on my dress to get ready...I almost threw up. Out of nowhere. Just not feeling so good. Le sigh... I did my best to literally grin and bear it but I only got through the first course. The soup was so good, it resonated despite my horrible state, but clearly I need a do-over as soon as possible. I can tell you that the pickled snacks they start you off with, the creative cocktails (I had only sips of them--that is how low I felt), the service and the stunning, rustic yet whimsical setting were without flaw. Get there if you can.

almost too good: rice noodle-wrapped fritters with sesame and hoisin

Congee is so good, as you probably know. If you're no stranger to it, you probably enjoy congee with fried dough fritters for dipping, yes? But have you had the fritters wrapped in rice noodles? They're my favourite. They usually come with sesame paste and hoisin sauce for an added sweetness and umami hit. It's almost too much of a good thing--the kind I eat too fast, too greedily because I want to taste everything again again again!

Sometimes, sometimes, I even pass up chili oil to enjoy it just as pictured above--that should tell you something about how good an experience this is.

tteokguk (korean rice cake soup)

Winter is clinging on, pathetically at this point. Sunny, mild days are winning out for the most part, but that freak snowfall last week (more than we got in February? It seemed that way...) was enough to send me running for soup. I learned how to make a simple tteokguk (tteok=rice cake, guk=soup) when my friend, Hannah, came over to cook Korean food with me last year. It's simply broth simmered with seaweed, thick slices of onion and garlic, and of course, rice cakes. I added some frozen Korean dumplings too, that inevitably break open and flavour the broth more. It's traditionally made to bring in the Korean new year. Maybe it will officially signal a new season, winter? Hmm?

 

must make: smoky eggplant, soup and vanilla bean pudding

The unthinkable has happened. I can't eat. No, I haven't lost my appetite (never!), but I'm not able to eat at the moment. A minor oral surgery has me drinking only broth, juice and tea--not even a mushy noodle can cross my lips for days! Don't even get me started on not being allowed to put wine in my sippy cup. 

And not being able to eat even soft food has me, of course, daydreaming about soft food. As soon as I can manage it, I know I'll be finding a way to make the mashed, smoky eggplant pictured above, without using charcoal (suggestions, anyone?) The recipe (and the picture) are from a new-to-me blog called Istanbul Eats and they've just started posting simple but mouth-watering recipes like this one.

There are two soups I can imagine being able to get down: my roasted onion and fennel soup is silky and still perfect for winter. And I can't wait to try this curried lentil and apricot soup from the famed soup spot RaviSoups! 

Plus this is the perfect excuse to make this vanilla bean pudding, which I'd pick over chocolate any day.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, I ate a LOT in advance of this procedure to bring you as many posts as recipes as always. Next week will be a very unique week, in fact. I'm featuring recipes from an entire menu. It was a collaboration and a special meal that I have been wanting to share with you for months. 

curry laksa

While following this intensive recipe for Yotam Ottolenghi's laksa soup I had time to ponder, almost meditate, on a few things...

1. If I can go to the effort of making this soup, I really never need to buy a pre-made broth, stock or flavour base of any kind. (The paste in this recipe is so flavourful that I think you could get away with using water instead of the broth that's called for.)
2. Why the hell didn't I double this recipe and freeze the paste that's the flavour base of this soup? I could have had laksa with almost no effort next week if I'd had the foresight to do that.
3. This soup isn't going to be as spicy as I remembered it. These chilies are milder than the ones I used last time.
4. Could it be that I really only feel alive when eating chilies? Is this an addiction? If this is a vice does that mean I have to give up another vice because I'm only supposed to have one vice by this age?

There's nothing difficult about making this soup, it just takes effort. The ingredient list is 20 strong, and I would suggest that while you can make a substitution here and there (mostly in the vegetable or garnish area), you need each one of them. It's well worth the effort if you want a creamy, spicy, complex but harmonious homemade soup that is the definition of laksa, just don't let my musings go to waste...

just right for tonight: rice cooker congee

The city is an ice rink right now. Within the last 48 hours we had a deep freeze, a huge thaw, and now we're back to cooooold. Eastern-seaboarders, that has to happen at least once every winter, right? All I'm craving is something hot and cozy, but I've been especially ravenous lately and the idea of a thin soup won't cut it tonight. I scrolled back through some recipes and found this rice cooker congee I made last year. It's so easy that there's hardly a recipe to speak of. Don't worry about not having anything to flavour the water, congee can be made with nothing more than salt, and if you don't have a rice cooker with a congee setting, check out this simple stovetop recipe for the rice-water proportions you should use. 

To make my dinner even healthier, I might make my congee with brown rice tonight. I was worried about it not having enough starch content to get a congee-like consistency, and then I found a tip: throw in just a little mochi or some heavy-starch white rice! I'll give it a try and report back. 

Update! January 20: The starchy white rice seems to have worked, but my rice cooked assumes I'm using white rice for the porridge setting, so I didn't get quite the desired slight soupiness I was after. I will try this on the stovetop instead so I can control the water and texture better.