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December 6, 2006

Soup: A Flash of Foodified Summer

There are two things assured during the winter months – we will wish for it to be summer, and we will wish to have a bowl of hot soup.

On the surface, the two might be unrelated desires, but they are not.

In their hearts, what both represent is warmth. Summer is warmth of the outside, and soup is warmth of the inside – the yin and yang of heat. This leads us to the question – is soup really just a flash of foodified summer, or is summer nothing more than the atmospheric expression of soup? Poets, philosophers and the chronically unemployed may debate this question. For the rest of us, it is the warmth we crave.

No soup works as well in this regard as a bean soup. It sits solidly in the belly, warms the body and cheers the soul. The winter might be cold and its skies the color of dirty dishwater, but to hold a bowl of soup to it is like holding a candle to the darkness. It is like holding a cross to a vampire, a brussel sprout to a child, a job application to a food columnist.

We start with the simple white bean. Look at it, consider it, ponder it. It is an austere, sober bean, preferring not to lolly-gag about, but to get right to the task.

And so we take it up on its challenge. If you are using the dried bean, you should procure yourself a pound of them – or two cups. You may either soak them for a long time in cold water, or for a short time in hot water. It is possible to skip the entire process and simply buy them by the can, but that hardly seems sporting.

After the beans are seen to, heat olive oil and two cloves-worth of minced garlic in a pot. Add most of your vegetables – a chopped onion, two sliced carrots, and two sliced stalks of celery.  Stir them frequently until all begins to soften in the heat.

Once they are no longer crisp, we address the issue of what will constitute the soup’s broth.  Take one can of chicken broth, and empty it into the pot. Fill the can four times, and each time dump the water in the pot. It is not unlike making a pitcher of juice from frozen concentrate, except that you are using four cans instead of three.

Here, we think of meat. A ham hock is traditional in white bean soup. It unleashes flavor as it cooks. Here, however, there are secret ingredients yet to come, and perhaps sliced smoked sausage might be more attuned with personal taste.

Do what you will, for it is your soup and you alone will grade its success or failure.

Now, you wonder just what spices you will need. The hand reaches to the spice rack, and perhaps darts in quick succession to parsley, oregano, thyme and maybe marjoram. But, it fails to pick up any of those. Instead, when you pull your hand back, you will find your jar of cayenne pepper in it.

You are puzzled, perhaps stunned.

Cayenne pepper? Yes, cayenne pepper, he says with a satisfied smile and a wink – one full teaspoon.

Dump it into the soup pot and stir it in. There is another secret ingredient, the suspense for which is now building.  It is this:

Stewed tomatoes.

And a hushed, “Oooooh!” spreads through the audience.

Mix it, stir it, allow it to hold you in thrall.

Simmer your soup for an hour, especially if you are using a ham hock, which will need some time to release its flavor. A good guide to its doneness is this – if the beans are hard, they are not cooked. If they are soft, they are cooked.

Once it is time, a point recognizable to all but definable by none, remove the ham hock, slice off the meat and return it to the pot and cook it until tender. Add salt, pepper, and . . . the juice from one squeezed lemon, one final surprise that has now come at you with the surprise and fury of a roundhouse kick.

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