Best Ever Chicken Soup with Vegetables

I caught a cold last week and decided enough was enough—it was time to conquer chicken soup. Here's what resulted from a stubborn determination to make something unexpected enough to hold my foggy-brained, taste-dampened interest for an entire bowl of delicious.

Ingredients
6 cups chicken broth
2 cloves garlic, peeled and scored
2 chicken breasts (about 1 lb)
Olive oil
2 large leeks, white and light green parts, halved lengthwise and rinsed well
3-4 stalks celery
4 carrots
2 medium parsnips
1/2 bulb fennel (or 1-2 bulbs baby fennel)
3-4 thin slices fresh ginger, julienned
2/3 cups pink rice (or sub red or brown rice, or whole wheat orzo)
1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat the broth in a soup pot until it simmers. Add the garlic and chicken breasts and simmer 8 minutes (until tender and no longer pink). Remove pot from the heat, uncover, and let cool with the chicken sitting in the broth for about 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, chop the leeks, halve the celery stalks lengthwise and slice thinly, slice the carrots, and cut the parsnips into similarly sized pieces. Slice up enough of the fennel bulb so that you have equal parts carrot, parsnip, and fennel.

Heat a wide, deep pan over medium heat. When hot, add a glug or two of olive oil, then add the leeks and a pinch or two of salt. Sauté the leeks, stirring occasionally, for about ten minutes, turning the heat down to low after the first couple of minutes. Add the celery, carrot, parsnip, fennel, and ginger, and turn the heat back up to medium. Continue sautéing another 7-10 minutes or until veggies are al dente, adding a bit more olive oil as needed.

Meanwhile, remove the chicken from the pot and place on a cutting board. Cover the pot and bring the broth back to a simmer, then add the rice and simmer for 20 minutes or however long it says on the package (brown rice will probably take 30 minutes).

While the rice is simmering, shred the chicken into pieces with a fork. Fish out the garlic cloves from the broth, mash them, and stir back in.

3 minutes before the rice is done, add the veggies, chicken, and about half of the parsley. Stir to combine and continue to simmer. Adjust salt to taste.

Serve hot, sprinkled with parsley and freshly ground pepper.

 

Serves 4-6.

Mulligatawny Soup

This hearty stew is the perfect complement to a wintry day. Don't let the length of the ingredients list fool you...this recipe is one of those dice-a-few-things, simmer-for-awhile affairs that's simple to throw together and easy to size up for company or leftovers.

Ingredients

1 tbsp butter

1 tbsp olive oil

1 large yellow onion, chopped
5 cloves garlic, pressed

2 carrots, peeled and diced

1 orange sweet potato, peeled and diced

1 apple, peeled and diced

1 ½ tbsp grated fresh ginger

½ can diced tomatoes (Muir Glen fire roasted if possible)

3/4 cups red lentils, picked through carefully for stones and rinsed

3 cups chicken broth

1 tbsp good-quality curry powder

½ tsp ground cumin + an extra dash

¼ tsp ground turmeric

¼ tsp sweet paprika

¼ tsp ground cinnamon + an extra dash

¼ tsp dried thyme + an extra pinch

1 tbsp creamy peanut butter

Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

3 tbsp coconut milk, plus extra for drizzling

3 tbsp chopped fresh cilantro

Melt butter with the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onion and sauté about three minutes. Add the garlic, carrot, and sweet potato, and continue to sauté, stirring occasionally, for about seven minutes more until the onion is browned here and there.

Stir in the apples, ginger, tomatoes, and all the spices and continue to cook for a couple minutes more. Add the lentils and broth, stir once, and cover. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer about 30 minutes longer, stirring occasionally. Check that the veggies are tender, stir in the peanut butter, and turn off the heat.

Use an immersion blender to purée about half the soup (or decant half into a blender and pour it back again) to desired consistency. Add salt and pepper to taste, then stir in the coconut milk. It's fine if it sits for a bit at this point; reheat if necessary before serving.

Serve warm, drizzled with a spoonful of coconut milk and garnished with chopped cilantro.

Serves 4.

Moroccan Chickpea Stew

You know how sometimes people who aren't vegetarians will say to people who are vegetarians, "Oh, I couldn't imagine not eating meat...vegetarian food is so bland," and the vegetarian person will cast about for a suitable retort?


This. This is the retort.*

 

Make this as a meal in itself, or pair with lemon-mint couscous and carrots braised with toasted cumin seeds and lemon zest.

(Inspired by the soup here and the recipes here and here.)






Ingredients
Olive oil
3/4 tsp ground cumin
1 small onion, chopped
1 shallot, chopped
5 cloves garlic, pressed
Scant 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
3/4 tsp paprika
3/4 tsp Aleppo pepper (or sub 2 pinches cayenne)
1 cup chopped canned tomatoes
2 cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained (or sub 3-4 cups homegrown and precooked)
2 3/4 cups chicken and/or veggie broth
Salt, to taste
2-3 handfuls chopped mild greens (like chard or spinach; or sub 3/4 cup frozen spinach)
Fresh cilantro leaves, for garnish

Heat a soup pot over medium heat. Add a glug of olive oil and allow to heat through. Add the cumin to the oil and let it sizzle for 10 seconds to toast. Stir in the onion, shallot, and another drizzle of olive oil, and saute until the onions soften slightly. Next, add the garlic and a pinch of salt and saute for a minute or two more, turning the heat down a little to keep it from browning.

Add the cinnamon, paprika, and Aleppo pepper, and then stir in the chickpeas. Saute, stirring occasionally, for about 2 minutes, then add the tomato and saute for a minute more. Pour in the broth, cover the pot, and bring to a boil. Turn the heat down to low and simmer gently for 40 minutes.

Adjust salt to taste. Add the greens and simmer for another couple minutes, then turn off the heat. Use an immersion blender to blend just a bit of the soup to thicken it (or ladle one quarter of the soup into a blender, blend till smooth, and return to the pot).

If you have time, let the soup sit, covered, for another 10-15 minutes to allow the flavors to blend.

Serve warm (not boiling hot) and garnish with cilantro.

Serves 3-4.

Pairs in a heavenly way with an Amador County F8 Tempranillo.

*Dear bacon: Don't worry, I still love you.

Butternut Squash and White Bean Soup

Found in the cupboard: Cannellini beans. Found on top of washing machine: 1 butternut squash (don't ask). Found in freezer: Spinach. Solution on a wintry evening while fending off a cold? A hearty, soul-warming soup (adapted from here).

Ingredients
Olive oil
1 large shallot, chopped
1 small butternut squash (2-2.5 pounds), peeled and diced
1 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
1 bay leaf
3 cups chicken broth
1/2-1 cup frozen spinach
1 can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
Salt to taste (less if the chicken broth is highly salted)
2-3 pinches Meyer lemon zest
White pepper
A little Pecorino or Parmesan cheese (optional)*

Heat a soup pot over medium heat. Add a glug of olive oil and the shallot, and saute for 2-3 minutes until soft. Add the squash and saute, stirring occasionally, for about 5 minutes. Add the rosemary and bay leaf, and saute for a couple minutes more.

Pour in the chicken broth, stir once, and cover the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 12-20 minutes (depending on how big your cubes are), until the squash is just tender. Add the spinach and the beans, return the soup to a simmer, and cook for about three minutes more.

Add salt and lemon zest to taste (there's enough salt when the broth tastes flavorful, and there's enough lemon zest when you can taste just a hint of it). Ladle into bowls, sprinkle with white pepper, and grate just a very little cheese over the top if desired (like 2-3 passes across a microplane per bowl).

Serves 2-4.

*If you live near the Sacramento Co-op, there is a cheese there called Pecorino Moliterno with Truffles. Buy it, revel in what happens when you eat it alongside a tart apple, think of it obsessively the entire next day, and also use it here.

Roasted Vegetable Soup

Every now and then...approximately once a year, to be precise...we manage to roast so many winter root vegetables that we have leftovers.

You might wonder, given how frequently we roast them, that there aren't leftovers more often. I blame parsnips. You see, we'll start out with the best of intentions to stop eating before the bottom of the pan, but then there will be a parsnip, and the only way to get to the parsnip will be to eat the carrot above the turnip above the yam that's covering it. It's entrapment by parsnip. That's totally a thing. Look it up.

In any event, if you should ever find yourself with leftovers (to roast, simply cut your carrots, parsnips, turnips, and/or yams into equal-sized chunks, toss liberally in olive oil and—if you'd like—a couple cloves of pressed garlic and some chopped fresh thyme, then roast at 425°F for about an hour, stirring every 15 minutes, till caramelized and tender)...if this serendipitous and rare occurrence of abundance should ever happen to you, here's what you do:

1. Remove serendipitous leftovers from fridge.

2. Put in a pot.

3. Cover (almost to the top) with good-quality, flavorful veggie broth.

4. Bring to a simmer.

5. Blend with an immersion blender until desired consistency. (If it's too thick, you can add more broth, but note that thicker also means more roasted veggie flavor.)

6. Add a slosh of cream, and adjust salt to taste.

7. Serve warm, garnished with nasturtiums and/or a bit of chopped parsley.

Corn Soup with Sauteed Huitlacoche

There's no delicate way to phrase this. My husband is obsessed.

It all started innocently enough. In our Co-op, or in a corn field, depending on how far back you want to go. It doesn't really matter. The end result is still the same.

He returns home one day with An Announcement. "You'll never BELIEVE what I saw at the co-op." I perk up. (This was back at the beginning of September, when I was young and naive and innocently hopeful.) I think he's about to name a new exotic fruit that's shaped like a pear and colored like a parrot, or perhaps a six-foot long vegetable that gets roasted whole over a fire pit in certain areas of the Yucatan. "What??" I say, excitedly. He beams at me, or grins fanatically, depending on how you look at it. He leans forward. 

"There's this crazy mushroom that grows on corn."

"Yes," I say.

"Hyoo-it, hyoot, hwit..."

"Huitlacoche?" I say. (I had encountered it once in a phenomenal quesadilla at Toloache
in Times Square, where I'd learned both to pronounce it—weet-la-COH-chey—and not to think too carefully about what it looked like before it was prepared.)

"That," he says. He leans forward a little further.

"WE ARE GOING TO COOK IT," he says.

"Well," I hedge, "It's kinda..."

"WE ARE GOING TO COOK IT."

"It's like corn mold. I don't know if..."

"I'll cook it. We're cooking it. It's amazing."

He turns to his laptop, starts typing. I think maybe it's a reprieve—he's gotten distracted by email. Five minutes later, he looks up, clearly delighted. "It's also called CORN SMUT," he announces happily.

 
I think that was the moment I knew. It was huitlacoche or bust.

To prepare huitlacoche, which you'll be reassured to learn is a delicately corn-flavored, nutrition-packed delicacy, rather than a fearsome fungal predator, peel back the corn husk and silk and gently pry the "kernels" of the mushroom from the cob either by hand or using a table knife for a little leverage. You can either chop them, slice them, or leave them whole, depending on how adventurous you're feeling in terms of texture and taste (we left the smaller ones whole, just to see what they were like, but I think next time I'd try slicing or chopping to keep the texture a little more even). The mushroom (also known as Mexican truffle) should be fairly firm, like corn itself, and a cloudy, faintly bluish-tinged color when you buy it (slimy means it's over the hill). And despite my initial skepticism, this truly was delicious.

Ingredients
Olive oil
1 tbsp butter
1 small yellow onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, 1 pressed and 1 smashed
3 ears fresh corn, kernels sliced from the cob
Chicken and/or veggie broth (about a cup)
Pinch ground cumin
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1-2 tbsp cream
1 tbsp chopped Anaheim chile
2 tbsp huitlacoche
1 tsp chopped fresh cilantro, plus extra leaves for garnish 

Heat a pot over medium heat. When hot, add half the butter and a glug of olive oil. Add the onion and a pinch of salt, and saute until soft. Stir in the pressed garlic clove and saute a minute more, then add the corn. Cook, stirring occasionally, for another couple of minutes, then pour in enough broth to just cover the kernels. Bring to a gentle boil, turn the heat down to medium low, and cover. Simmer 5-10 minutes, until the corn kernels taste tender and fully cooked.

Meanwhile, heat the rest of the butter and a glug of olive oil in a small pan over medium heat. Add the smashed garlic and the Anaheim pepper, and saute for a minute or so until they soften, pressing the garlic into the olive oil to flavor. Add the huitlacoche and a pinch of salt, and saute for about two minutes. Turn off the heat, remove the garlic clove, and sprinkle in the cilantro.

When the soup is done, puree with an immersion blender until smooth or desired consistency. Add a dash of cumin, a slosh of cream, and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Ladle soup into bowls. Place a dollop of the huitlacoche in the center, drizzle the soup with a little of the extra oil from the pan, and garnish with cilantro leaves. Serve hot.

Serves 2-3.

Curried Pumpkin Soup with Ginger

This soup is straightforward and fairly quick as homemade soups go, and involves (are you ready?) both pumpkin and curry leaves. Needless to say, I adore it. It's good on its own, and downright heavenly if you pair it with toasted strips of whole wheat lavash bread—just take a sheet of lavash, slice it crosswise into 1-inch strips with a pizza wheel, and lay the strips on a baking pan that you've lightly coated with olive oil. Toast in a 400°F oven for 4-6 minutes or until golden brown and crispy, then use the strips to dip in the soup as a sort of edible spoon.

Which brings me to a point that's been bothering me for seven to ten seconds now: Why aren't all spoons edible?

Ingredients
Olive oil
10-12 fresh curry leaves
1 large sweet onion, chopped
Medium-hot, good-quality curry powder
Fresh ginger, sliced thinly and julienned (about 1 tsp or a bit more)
15 oz canned pumpkin (one can)
1/2 bay leaf
3 cups chicken and/or veggie broth
Ground cumin
Freshly ground white pepper
Pastured cream
Fresh cilantro for garnish

Heat a soup pot over medium heat. When hot, add a glug of olive oil. Add the curry leaves and let sizzle, stirring occasionally, for about 30 seconds, then add the onion and saute until golden around the edges, turning the heat down slightly if necessary.

Push the onion to the side of the pot, and add about a tbsp of olive oil to the empty side. Add a spoonful of curry powder and the ginger, and toast in the oil for 10-20 seconds, then stir to combine with the onion.

Stir in the pumpkin, broth, and half bay leaf (the half is so you can figure out which is the bay leaf rather than the curry leaves later on, to fish it back out). Cover, bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and simmer for about 30 minutes.

Turn off the heat, remove the half bay leaf, and blend with a hand blender until smooth or desired consistency. Add additional ginger, a dash or four of cumin, and freshly ground pepper to taste. Stir in a slosh of cream.

Garnish with the chopped cilantro, and serve warm (rather than piping hot, which actually obscures some of the flavor) with strips of toasted lavash or pita bread.

Serves 3-4.

Grilled Corn Soup with Peppers and Cilantro

I am deeply ambivalent about corn.

On the one hand, everything I wrote here.

On the other hand, corn muffins, corn bread, cornmeal gnocchi, corn pancakes, cornmeal pizza crusts, grilled corn on the cob. Back on the first hand, corn on the cob after it's gotten stuck in your teeth when you're sitting somewhere trying to have a polite conversation with someone while developing a new technique for turning your tongue 270 degrees in order to try, and of course ultimately fail, to get it out. On the second hand, corn soup. CORN SOUP.

I have this fixation about it. Can't not order it when I see it on a swanky restaurant menu. Roll my eyes around embarrassingly in front of fellow diners while eating it. Chatter about it incessantly through the rest of the meal. "Go home!" the fellow diners say, and I reply, "Corn soup! Corn soup! Did you taste it? Wasn't it amazing?"

After a recent episode involving corn and zucchini soup at Chez Panisse, I decided it was finally time to stop mooning over it in restaurants and make it ourselves. So we did. This version serves two (or maybe three, if you were just serving little cups of it), but would be easy to double or triple. If you can find Padrón peppers (available right now at our co-op in Sacramento as well as The Spanish Table in Berkeley), they work perfectly as a garnish on the top, and you can fry a batch up to serve on the side while you're at it.

Ingredients
3 ears fresh summer corn
1 clove garlic, pressed
Olive oil
1 yellow onion, chopped
1-1/2 cups chicken broth
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1-2 tbsps cream
3-4 Padrón peppers (optional -- you could also try a little grilled bell pepper, chopped, or just a bit of mild jalapeno, minced)
Small handful baby arugula, coarsely chopped
A few fresh cilantro berries (15 or so) or sub a little chopped fresh cilantro

Shuck the outermost leaves off the corn, leaving a couple layers of husk all the way around. Dunk the ears in a bowl of cold water and let soak for about 15 minutes. Preheat the grill to 350 degrees.

Shake the water from the ears, peel back the husk (but don't rip it off) and remove the silk. Rub each ear with some olive oil and garlic, then replace the husk and tie once around each ear with twine. Grill over medium heat for about 8 minutes, turning two or three times as it browns. Move away from the heat or to the upper rack and continue cooking another 10 minutes or so until kernels are tender. Set aside to cool, then cut the kernels from each ear.

Heat a pot over medium heat. When hot, add the olive oil, then the onion and a pinch of salt. Saute until the onion is soft and sweet-smelling. Add the corn and saute for another couple of minutes, then add enough chicken broth to cover the corn. Bring to a gentle boil, turn the heat down to medium low, and cover. Simmer 5-10 minutes, until the corn kernels taste tender and fully cooked.

Meanwhile, heat a frying pan over medium heat. When hot, add a drizzle of olive oil, then the Padrón peppers. Fry for 1-3 minutes, turning as white blisters develop on the bottom of each pepper. When all sides are blistered, turn off the heat and set the peppers aside for a couple minutes to cool. Slice crosswise into small rings.

When the soup is done, turn off the heat and puree with an immersion blender until smooth or desired consistency. If the soup is too thin, you can simmer off a little more liquid for a minute or two; if it's too thick, stir in just a bit more broth to thin it out. Next, add a dash of cumin, some freshly ground black pepper to taste, and a little more salt if needed (you probably won't need it unless your chicken broth is very low in salt). Stir in a small slosh of cream, and serve.



Garnish with cilantro berries, sliced peppers, and some chopped arugula.


Serves 2.

Sorrel Soup

Spring arrived in our CSA box last week in the form of sorrel, which is apparently the gastronomic equivalent of a robin. When you acquire sorrel, you are to make sorrel soup, just as when you see a robin, you are to shout "Hey! The first robin of spring!" Now usually, when I shout about the first robin of spring, my husband smugly informs me that he saw a robin yesterday, to which I smugly reply that I actually saw a robin two weeks ago, and so begins the first faux-argument of spring. In contrast, the sorrel soup produced murmurs of contentment on both sides, and no season-specific altercation. I'm not saying I don't like robins, but if I had to vote in a bird vs. plant run-off for most beloved springtime indicator, I think I would pick the leafy green one.

Regardless of your relative preference for sorrel versus robins, here is what you should do with the former, adapted from this recipe.



Ingredients
1 tbsp pasture butter

1 tbsp olive oil
2 large-ish red spring onions, halves lengthwise and sliced (white/red part only; about 1 cup)
1-2 stalks green garlic, chopped (2-3 tbsp)
2 sprigs fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
2 large yellow potatoes, peeled, halved, and sliced
3 cups chicken broth
2-3 big handfuls spinach, briefly steamed or blanched, drained, and chopped
1 bunch sorrel, sliced
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
Splash cream

Heat the butter and olive oil in a pot over medium heat. When the butter has melted, add the spring onion and saute until soft, then add the garlic and herbs and saute for a minute more.

Next, add the potatoes and stir to coat with the onion and garlic mixture. Saute for 3-4 minutes, then add the broth, cover, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for about half an hour, until potatoes are tender.

Meanwhile, put the sorrel in a Cuisinart and blend until finely chopped.

When the potatoes are soft, remove the bay leaf and thyme stems. Stir in the spinach and then use a hand blender to puree the soup (or pour the soup into a regular blender to puree, which may be easier to do in small batches). Add salt and a little freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Just before serving, stir in the sorrel and a splash of cream (you want to do this moments before you bring the soup to the table, since sorrel turns grayish green as it cooks and after a few minutes your soup will lose some of its vivid green color. The spinach helps with this, and so does adding the sorrel raw right at the end, but it will still be prettier if you serve it sooner).

Ladle into bowls, and serve with some crusty multigrain brain and aged gouda.

Serves 3-4.