Last Night’s Dinner

Cooking with an ingredient that bites you back? Hey, why not.

I had been curious about stinging nettles for a while now, so when I saw them at the farmers’ market on Saturday, I decided to pick some up and figure out what to do with them later. Prepping them was a bit of a challenge, but in the end it was well worth the effort.

Since I hadn’t worked with them before, my first order of business was to check Food Blog Search for inspiration. Soup appeared to be the most popular preparation, and it seemed like a straightforward dish that would enable me to really highlight the flavor of the nettles.

Figuring out how best to clean the prickly little buggers was my next step, and I decided not to leave anything to chance. I donned a new pair of thick latex gloves while I pulled the leaves from the stems, and I made sure the prickly bits were safely discarded before proceeding. I had read that a quick dip in boiling water also helps to neutralize their sting, so I planned to blanch the nettle leaves as well.

I started the soup the same way I do my potato soup, melting a chunk of butter in the Le Creuset, adding chopped leek and cooking it until soft, then adding diced peeled potato (3 smallish ones), salt, pepper, water and thyme leaves. While the soup base cooked, I got a smaller pot of water boiling in which to blanch the nettles.

When I had removed all of the nettle leaves – carefully! – from the stems, I added them to the boiling water and let them cook for two minutes. I removed the leaves from the water using a spider, gently pressing out the excess water with a wooden spoon, and placed the softened leaves into my food processor. While the blade turned, I dribbled in about ¼ cup of cold tap water, just to loosen up the mixture and cool it down a bit.

I then added the nettle puree to the potato/leek base, simmering it another 10 minutes or so before blending it with a stick blender until velvety smooth. The soup could have taken a bit of crème fraiche or heavy cream, but I decided to preserve its vivid green color and float a couple of chevre-chive toasts on top of the soup instead.

This looked and tasted like springtime in a bowl. We finished every last drop.

In another lifetime, I was all about celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. There were far too many black and tans at the Gaelic League, “shaking my shamrock” with my best girl at the Old Shillelagh, big boiled dinners of corned beef, cabbage, carrots and turnips, but honestly, I’m just not that into it anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of Irish food, drink and music, but I prefer my celebrations on the quieter side these days.

Still, I decided to cook up something green, a simple potato and leek soup with fresh watercress just wilted in and the whole thing pureed right before serving. It was inspired by the soup on Suzanne Goin’s St. Patrick’s Day menu in Sunday Suppers at Lucques, and I had originally planned to serve it with her “Gentleman’s Relish” toasts but in the end I went simpler and made cheddar and chive toasts instead.

I’m not sure if it was because I’m fighting off the cold that my darling husband is trying to share with me, but this didn’t quite hit the mark. I kept adjusting the seasoning, adding a bit more salt, a splash of wine vinegar, and finally whisking in a blob of sour cream (which, of course, decided to separate), and while the end result was okay, it wasn’t delicious. That being said, I’m having some of the leftover soup for lunch today – hopefully the flavors will have improved overnight.

A week or two ago, my friend Kelly Sue asked for a split pea soup recipe. I told her about my version, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t actually made a pot of split pea soup in far too long. I knew there was a bag of split peas lurking in the back of the cupboard somewhere, so I resolved to dig it out and cook a batch of soup for our meatless Monday dinner.

This is not a “recipe” per se, but rather the basic method I use for most of the bean or legume soups I do. I always start with a base of onion and carrot, diced and sautéed in your lipid of choice (generally olive oil or butter in our kitchen). Since I had the last of a bunch of celery in the crisper, I chopped that up and added it as well. The chopped veggies go into the hot fat in a large heavy-bottomed pot with a pinch of kosher or sea salt, then cook over medium heat until they are beginning to get tender. If you want to add garlic, do so now and let it go for just a minute until golden and fragrant, then and add your split peas (or lentils or soaked beans or canned/drained/rinsed beans). Add a bay leaf and a few sprigs of fresh thyme and cover with liquid. The amount of liquid will vary depending on how many peas/beans/whatever you use, and how brothy you like your soup – I used five cups of homemade chicken stock to my 1.5 cups of dried split peas. Vegetable stock, canned or boxed broth or even plain water all work well.

Cover the pot, reduce the heat to low and simmer until the peas/beans/whatever are tender – about 45 minutes to an hour, in this case. Fish out the bay leaf and thyme stems, taste and adjust the salt if necessary. At this point I generally add a dash or three of hot sauce, and since I wanted a little hit of acidity to balance the earthiness of the split peas, I splashed a couple of teaspoons of sherry vinegar into last night’s version. If you want to guild the lily even more, a dollop of crème fraiche added at the end is lovely.

Some people like pork in their pea soup. If that’s what I want I generally go with pancetta, half a pound, thick-sliced, diced into about 3/4- to 1-inch pieces and sautéed in a small amount of olive oil before the onion and carrot go into the pan. The rendered pancetta fat then becomes part of the cooking fat and gives a subtle porky flavor to soup.

As with most soups, a green salad, some crusty bread and a nice glass of wine (or three, if you’re glued to coverage of the latest political scandal while dining) are all you need to round out your meal, and the flavor of the soup is even better the next day.

Seared Nantucket Bay scallops, cauliflower puree and parsley oil

It has been quite a week.

New York City finally saw a little snow yesterday, though by lunchtime it had turned to a steady rain. By the time I got home from work I was tired, damp, cold and a little cranky – and not terribly motivated to do much in the kitchen. Luckily, I had plenty of freshly made chicken stock in the fridge, which would be the perfect foundation for a simple meal. I chopped up a head of escarole and rinsed it well, then sautéed it with garlic and chile flakes in a bit of olive oil. I added two quarts of stock to the pot, tossed in a parmesan rind from the freezer and brought it to a boil. I added a bag of cheese tortellini from Ceriello’s, letting them boil just until tender, tasted and adjusted the seasoning, and then ladled the soup into bowls. I grated a little bit of Parmagiano Reggiano on top of each, then sat down to what has to be one of the easiest soups ever – soothing, satisfying, just what the doctor ordered.

I wasn’t in the mood for the dinner I had planned for Tuesday night, so once again I decided to switch things up. The thought of wrestling with a Kabocha squash with achy hands was pretty unappealing, and besides, I had the better part of a bunch of broccoli in the crisper drawer that was starting to look less than perky. What I really wanted was soup, and this easy, cheesy version was a big hit.

I started by sautéing about a cup of chopped onion in a little olive oil, then adding a couple of smashed garlic cloves and cooking them just until they were fragrant. Next I added my broccoli – the florets as well as the peeled and chopped stems. I poured in about 8-10 cups of my homemade chicken stock, added a pinch of salt, a few shakes of Tabasco, and two heaping tablespoons of Colman’s mustard powder, then covered the pot and let it simmer about 30 minutes, until the broccoli was very tender. I turned off the heat and pureed the soup with my stick blender, then stirred in about 1/2 cup of crème fraiche and my cheese – about 2/3 cup of grated Grafton 2-year aged cheddar, and 1/3 cup of Grafton 4-year.

I ladled the soup into bowls and served it with some of the winter mesclun blend that Mike has been picking up at the Greenmarket, but what I really wish we had had was some crusty bread – the tiny slices of leftover baguette we had weren’t quite enough to mop up the last bits of soup from our bowls, so in the end we just resorted to using our fingers (we’re classy like that). This one’s a definite keeper.

Since the day I watched the presumed-dead-but-very-much-alive Emily Sloane preparing it for dinner in a remote Tuscan villa, ribollita has seemed like a very romantic dish to me. I have a soft spot for peasant-style fare anyway, and what could be cozier than sharing a dish based on beans, bread and hearty greens with your (hopefully not evil) beau?

Maybe it captures my fancy since it isn’t really ribollita until the soup itself is on its third day, reheated or “reboiled” with bread, leading a girl to wonder what distractions led to the soup not getting eaten on day one or two… a little too much wine and canoodling in front of the fire, perhaps?

In any event, when the weather turns cold and I’m looking for ideas for hearty meatless dinners, my thoughts often turn to ribollita, but my soup never quite makes it to that third day. It’s funny how a soup so simple, a mixture of onions, garlic, carrots, celery, parsnips, beans, tomato paste, kale, herbs and water, a combination you wouldn’t think would taste like much, can turn into something so sublime. Sure, a parmesan rind in the soup helps, as does a liberal slather of pesto on top of crusty peasant bread in the bottom of the bowl, but really, the earthy beans and kale are the stars of the show. For such a substantial and hearty soup, it’s amazing how quickly and easily it goes down, dashing my hopes for a proper reboiled version.

Maybe we just need a fireplace.

You regulars may have noticed the lack of a “Weekend Eats (and Drinks)” post yesterday. This weekend was filled with some truly wonderful food and drink, but it turned out to be my undoing.

After spending the better part of our Saturday trekking around the city on food safari, and then heading out again on Sunday to check out Wintermarket (you can see my photos here) – well, let’s just say that my body was not entirely happy with me. Two days in a row of schlepping around in the cold and damp while carrying heavy bags sent me right into a flare, and I spent much of my Monday in bed trying to recover.

But I don’t always do a good job of listening when my body tells me to slow down, so I didn’t rest as much as I probably should have – who can rest this time of year, anyway – and I went forward with the dinner I had planned for Monday night.

I used to make a version of this white bean and roasted garlic soup all of the time using canned beans, but on our last visit to Marlow and Sons I noticed they are now stocking the Rancho Gordo beans all of you Bay area peeps rave about, so of course I grabbed a bag.

Using dried beans instead of canned required an extra step and a bit more time on the stove, but I think the soup benefited from both. The hardest part was the chopping, really, and once everything was in the pot I could sit back with my feet up and relax with the cats while it simmered away.

White Bean & Roasted Garlic Soup

8 oz. dried cannellini beans
Olive oil
2 leeks, halved and sliced into half-moons
3 sprigs winter savory (rosemary, thyme or sage would also work well)
4 cups rich vegetable or chicken stock
1 parmesan rind
1 head garlic
2 cups diced potatoes
1 cup diced carrot
Salt
1/2 cup ditalini or other small tube-shaped pasta

Rinse and pick through the beans, place them into a pot and cover them with enough cold water so that there is about an inch of water above the top of the beans. Place a lid on the pot and bring it to a boil, then turn off the heat and let the beans soak for an hour.

In a large, heavy bottomed pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the leeks and cook for a few minutes until tender. Add the beans with their cooking liquid (you should have about 2 cups worth), the savory, the parmesan rind and the stock, cover the pot and simmer for about an hour, until the beans are tender but still a bit firm.

While the soup simmers, preheat the oven to 375. Cut the top off of the garlic bulb, place it in the center of a square of aluminum foil, drizzle a bit of olive oil over the top and seal the garlic up in the foil. Place the garlic into the oven and roast until the garlic is very soft, about 45 minutes. Remove from oven and set aside until it is cool enough to handle. Remove the roasted garlic cloves from their skins, place them into a small bowl and mash into a paste.

Remove any savory stems from the soup and discard (the leaves should have fallen off into the broth). Stir in the garlic paste until well-incorporated, then add the potatoes and carrots. Season with salt, re-cover the pan and let it simmer another 30 minutes or so, until the potatoes and carrots are tender. Add the pasta and cook for another 10-15 minutes. Remove the parmesan rind and spoon the soup into bowls, topping with grated parmesan if desired.

I’m trying to stay upbeat about the fact that winter is staring me square in the face, really I am, but it’s getting mighty difficult. First off is the fact that Mike and I both seem to be fighting colds, our second colds of this young season. My head is stuffy, my sense of taste is dulled, and gosh it’s hard to get excited about putting together a meal that we will likely neither smell nor taste fully. I’ve got a case of the blahs, and is it just me or did I cook nothing but a week of brown-ish dinners? Yeah. Blah.

Dinner last night was neither colorful nor particularly inspired; in fact, it was a result of pulling a bag of this and a container of that and another container of some such out of our fridge and freezer, adding a boatload of veggies and tossing it all together. Those veggies came first, a combination of chopped leek, a few multicolored carrots and a parsnip, all cut into about 1/2 inch chunks. I sautéed them in a bit of butter, seasoned them with salt, and then covered them with a quart of our most recent batch of homemade chicken stock. We had some shredded cooked chicken in the freezer which I had thawed earlier, and I added that to the pot as well, then I lidded up the pot and let it come to a boil.

I wanted to thicken the stock a bit, but I didn’t want to go with something as rich as cream, so I decided to make a slurry of one part flour to about one and a half parts buttermilk, which I shook up in an old jam jar and then whisked into the boiling liquid. At this point I could have added some rice or pasta or beans to the pot, but I had decided I wanted dumplings, and rather than make a fresh batch, I thought I’d try using something we already had on hand: ricotta gnudi left over from the batch I made for Valentine’s Day, which had been individually frozen on a cookie sheet and stashed in a freezer bag (and which I had pulled out to thaw the night before along with the aforementioned chicken). I added the gnudi to the still-boiling broth, turning them gently with a spoon as they cooked. After a few minutes, I ladled some of the chicken and creamy broth into our bowls, then carefully nestled a couple of dumplings in the center of each.

I hate to even call this a recipe, because honestly, all I really did here was remix some odds and ends, but you know, it worked. I’d even go so far as to say it was quite good, satisfying our craving for something comforting without being super rich or heavy, and I really do believe that a good dumpling can chase the doldrums right away.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ve probably noticed that our Friday night dinners at home usually feature something meaty – a steak, pork chops, that sort of thing. But as last week drew to a close, we still weren’t sure what Mike’s work schedule was going to look like. He’s been in a crunch period and has been working heavy overtime for the last couple of months now, but there was a possibility that if he and his coworkers could push through and finish up what they needed to on Friday evening, they wouldn’t have to work another Saturday. As it turned out, that’s exactly what happened – I got my husband back, and we could look forward to a relaxing weekend.

Since things were still up in the air as of Thursday night, I had planned something pretty simple for Friday dinner – a big pot of onion soup that could simmer away as long as necessary, and bitter greens salad with sherry vinaigrette and poached egg. Onion soup is the very first thing I taught myself to cook when I was around 11 or 12 years old, and the recipe has definitely grown with me. My current version uses a mixture of both beef and chicken stock, a healthy splash of brandy, and loads of sweet red onions. While my younger self loved to blanket crocks of onion soup in a heavy layer of cheese, I prefer a lighter take these days – a toasted slice of good sourdough bread, topped with a judicious amount of finely grated cave-aged Gruyere and popped into the oven or broiler until golden.

We did get our steak dinner this weekend, but we decided to let someone else do the cooking (and the clean-up). After all, we had cause to celebrate, and now that our lives and schedules are getting back to normal, we’ll have plenty of opportunity for dinners at home.

Onion Soup

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 medium red onions, peeled, halved and sliced
Kosher salt
1 tablespoon tomato paste
2 oz. brandy
2 cups chicken stock
2 cups beef stock
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon dried marjoram

Heat butter and oil in a deep, heavy bottomed pot over medium heat. When the butter is melted, add the onions, season with salt, toss them to coat with the butter/oil mixture, and allow them to cook until very soft – 20 minutes or so. Move the onions aside to clear a spot on the bottom of the pan and add tomato paste, allowing it to cook in the hot spot for a minute or two before stirring it through the onions. Carefully pour in the brandy and let it bubble away for a few minutes before adding the chicken and beef stocks, bay leaf and marjoram. Cover, reduce heat to low and cook for an additional 20-30 minutes, tasting and adjusting the seasonings as necessary.

To serve, ladle the soup into bowls or crocks and top with toasted Gruyere croutons or your favorite bread/cheese combination.