Showing posts with label soup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soup. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

From chicken comes broth.

I didn’t know this at the time, but the best part about roasting a chicken is the soup you make with the leftover carcass. After I failed to roast my chicken, I embarked on a new journey with the remains: Chicken broth. I plopped that medium-rare salmonella fest in my Dutch oven, filled it with water to cover, turned on the heat, and walked away. I thought about adding some herbs and aromatics—I keep onions, bay leaves, and rosemary on hand—but I didn’t want a stock, I wanted a broth.

I let the chicken simmer for about two and half hours, then I strained it with a fine sieve and transferred the liquid to Tupperware containers, storing half in the fridge and half in the freezer. Next, I picked through the bones and muck, separating out all the nice (fully cooked) chickeny bits. Fantastic: I had a homemade Make Your Own Chicken Soup kit.

And not a moment too soon. Alex has come down with what my sister refers to as a “man cold.” It’s been three weeks and he’s still coughing, and whining about it. In an effort to appease his inner little baby girl with some wholesome, genetically relevant food, I gave my chicken soup kit a Mexican twist.

When I cook (not bake), I don’t like to follow recipes. Rather, I prefer to go to experts I trust for a method (in this case, shock, I looked to Martha Stewart and Rick Bayless). Once I know how they would do it, I pare down their recipes to something that I consider more reasonable—I mean, yeah I think Rick es muy fabuloso, but I don’t keep any epazote in the house).

So I arrived at this simplified, yet delicious, chicken soup for el alma.

Tortilla soup, serves two

2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided

1 small onion

1 cup shredded chicken

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 teaspoon chili powder (I am a wimp—if you like more heat, up this)

3 and half cups of chicken broth (rescued from the chicken you undercooked)

Salt and pepper

Mandatory garnishes

½ cup shredded Chihuahua cheese

1 diced avocado

1 sliced lime

Tortilla strips (Take four corn tortillas, brush them with vegetable oil, cut them into strips, salt them, and bake in 400-degree oven for about fifteen minutes.)



Heat up your soup pot with some oil. Add the chopped onion. Season with a nice pinch coarse salt and a few cranks of freshly ground black pepper. When the onion is translucent, add the chili powder and tomato paste. Stir to incorporate and cook for about two minutes longer before adding the chicken broth and shredded chicken. Bring to a boil, then take the heat back and allow to simmer for however long you can. We waited about ten minutes because we were hungry.

Divide cheese between serving bowls, placing a sizeable mound at the very bottom of each. Laddle soup into bowls and garnish with tortilla strips and avocado chunks. Serve with lime wedge and Tabasco sauce.

Added bonus: we used the leftover leftover chicken, tortillas, and cheese for quesadillas. Bam! said the lady.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Greens and Beans Soup

Alex’s dad, Fred, is famous in the family for his soups. (He is also famous for a continuing failure known as Gummy-Bear Pie, but I’m not going to get into that because in his own words, “It was like eating a tire.”) Fred serves a soup to start almost every meal we have at his house; most of the time it’s the crowd-pleasing lentil soup with triangular chunks of bright orange carrots and salty turkey sausage. Sometimes it’s a new creation, like last week’s butternut squash and ginger soup. His best experimental soup—which has become a staple in the rotation—was brought to being when Alex’s vegetarian cousin came for dinner and he couldn’t use the old lentil standby. He calls it “Greens and Beans Soup” and not only is it delicious, it is crazy easy. Crazy like Steve Buscemi looks and easy like your mom. Boom—roasted!

I whipped up a batch last night, subbing out broccoli rabe (which I didn’t see at the farmers’ market) for kale (which I did). Fred’s recipe (displayed at the end of this post in its original) calls for three main steps: Add the onions. Add the greens. Add the beans.

Both the greens and the beans give this soup a great texture: softness from the cannellini and chew from the kale. The broth, which is naturally thickened by the beans, is minimal (a plus for me), so if you like a soupier soup, I’d recommend adding more liquid (water or stock). The best part (for the cheese eaters in the crowd) is the freshly grated parmesan that melts over the hot soup, a sharp burst of flavor blanketing the bowl like a winter’s first snowfall.

If you’re like me, and you can’t just eat soup, serve with toast (rubbed while hot with a fresh garlic clove for kick). The crispy bread will sop up the soup juice nicely and its crunch in your head will help drown out whatever it is your company is telling you about petroleum or mixed martial arts so you can focus on how super your dinner is.

GREENS AND BEANS SOUP

1-2 Tablespoons olive oil

1 bunch broccolini (aka broccoli rabe). Chop up, stems and all.

1 large onion, diced

2 cans cannellini (white kidney beans)

2 cups water

1 vegetable stock cube (or chicken stock cube)

Salt (and black pepper?)

Grated parmesan cheese

Heat oil in soup pot; add diced onion and let simmer until translucent. Add chopped broccolini and cook until it begins to wilt. Add water and stock cube. Add beans, including liquid from cans. Stir and let simmer about 20 minutes or more. Before serving, add salt (and pepper) to taste.

Serve in open soup plates with a generous spoonful of parmesan on top.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Souper sweet Saturday

I put two cookbooks through the rigors of the Miller test kitchen: the recently released Soups and Sides by Catherine Walthers and seemingly author-less oldie but goodie Cookies! A Cookie Lover's Collection.

Both cookbooks have a hearty variety of recipes all thoughtfully organized in useful groupings. I scanned them all and found myself needing more scraps of paper to indicate must-try recipes because almost all are tempting. Perhaps a first, but I didn't notice any recipes in either cookbook that made me want to turn the page because I had no idea who would want to make—or eat!—the shown foods.



Soups and Sides ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
I made "Cauliflower Soup with Great Hill Blue Cheese" with "Parsley Sauce" (modified per Walthers' "optional" suggestion, swapping out blue cheese for sharp cheddar—creamy and yummy!, p. 64); "Potato-Leek Soup" (perfect exactly as she advises you make it—tasty and straight-forward!, p. 69); "Mexican Quinoa Salad with Black Beans, Corn, and Edamame" (my only change was to not add my food nemesis cilantro—delish and quick!, p. 88); and, "Lime Spice Cookies" (an easy-to-make, simple shortbread-esque tea cookie with an unexpected but delightful hint of lime—special and a new fave!, p. 198). The time listed for each step to make in each of these recipes was accurately described and not exorbitant. Any of these dishes would be do-able, even in a pinch after a long day at work. The servings were also on the money. I only wish she had provided ballpark nutritional information. Most of the recipes, save for the butter-tastic cookies, seem healthy enough.




Cookies! A Cookie Lover's Collection ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
I made "Choco-Cherry Macaroons" (these were so simple to make and they smelled like heaven because of the recommended addition of almond extract, p. 67) and "Crunchy Butterscotch Chip Cookies" (bizarre in texture but über-addictive in the taste department—definitely a keeper!, p. 105). I need to invest in a new oven thermometer because the cooking time for each was more than listed, but that was the only snag I encountered. The nice thing about all of the cookie recipes in this book is that they don't require too many odd-ball, not-in-your-pantry ingredients. Plus, every single darn cookie has a big and beautiful picture so you know exactly what you'll wind up with when you're done. Hurrah for retro cookbooks with gratuitous photography budgets!




I recommend both of these cookbooks without reservations. Queue up Soups and Sides for your cookbook wish list and troll your library for their old copy of Cookies!. Neither will disappoint you—or, the people you make eat the treats you cook using recipes from them.