.:ELECTRIC VELOCIPEDE:. Nonfiction

“I don’t really understand this obsession myself, so that is why I thought talking it out might be the best way to understand my feelings. The compulsion may perhaps be a latent desire to return to infancy, when all life depended upon the nourishment of a liquid diet. Maybe it is connected to my current penchant for a dram of something sustaining on cold winter’s evenings . . . or perhaps I’m just a little off. I’d like your honest opinion, Doc, if possible. What do you make of my passion for soup? Why is it that every week I can be found boiling some carcass found in my deep freeze as a means to making a meal that will last for several days? Why is my bed littered with oyster cracker crumbs? Why do I find myself with a hot mug of broth at the strangest times of day . . . and let’s be honest, in the middle of the night, as well? Am I crazy?

“I really think it might stem from the fact that, cold or hot, soup is simple and satisfying . . . two traits so hard to find together in today’s gourmet and/or fast-food obsessed society. Soup fills the gastronomical void while sparing your wallet. After all, it is basically old bones and a handful of past-prime veg that make the base for soup stocks . . . and those things come as cheap as chips, and are great for those of us who have let things in the freezer or crisper hang on a bit longer than their peak. So, soup requires little planning for the absent-minded. And, soups are an absolute boon for the palate when you can’t seem to get it together to shop, plan, and cook that multi-course menu you always intend to make. Soups are the best one-pot renditions of the tastes and flavors of many individual courses. Perhaps, that is what this obsession is about . . . getting the most out of something that requires me to give very little. Is that reading too much into this passion?

“Take the most recent recipe I’ve concocted. It combines sophistication and simplicity into one small bowl . . . ok, I served it in a shot glass at my last soirée as something to offset all those little appetizers served by white-gloved butlers. But, even so, in the small serving vessel, the payoff was vast.

Cool as a Cucumber Soup Shots

12 oz. Greek yoghurt (If you can’t get this, simply buy plain yogurt, and dump it into a cheesecloth-lined sieve positioned over a bowl and allow the yogurt to drain for a couple of hours until thick and creamy)

½ c. half-and-half
1 English cucumber, with peel, but seeded and chopped
¼ c. chopped red onion
3 scallions, both white and green part, chopped
2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. ground black pepper

Mix these items together and place mixture in food processor in small batches to pulse until drinkable. After which, fold in

2 T. fresh chopped dill
Juice of two lemons

Chill until cold, at least two hours. Decant into tall double-shot glasses. Recipe yields about 12 shot glasses of soup. Then, to garnish, float on top of each shot:

12 shaved pieces of smoked salmon, rolled into rosettes. (Roll the piece from one short side to the other. Then pinch one end of the roll and fan out the other end.)

“See, Doc, simple and elegant. But that isn’t the only reason I’m mad for soup. There is such versatility. You can remake a classic soup with just a few adjustments to the ingredients. Take gazpacho. This cold tomato soup is an export of Spain and it is superb. But, what if that Spanish soup was conquered by those south-of-the-border types from Mexico? Wouldn’t it serve those Spaniards right to have their former colonists take something from the motherland and remake it with New World ingredients? I like the poetic justice of that conquest . . . and from that, this soup was born.

1 ½ lbs. tomatoes, peeled (place an “X” on the bottom of each tomato with a knife, and submerge in boiling water until the skin starts to split, then put into ice water and the skin will slip off quite nicely)

Seed the tomatoes over a sieve to catch the seeds, but drain the juices into your mixing bowl. Help this process by gently pushing on the seeds with your finger or a spoon. Then cut tomatoes into bite-sized pieces and add to the bowl.

To the tomatoes and juice, add:

1 small can (5.5 oz) of tomato/vegetable juice (Use a “hot ’n spicy” one for a real kick)
1 c. peeled, seeded and diced cucumber
½ c. chopped red bell pepper
½ c. chopped red onion
1 jalapeño, seeded and minced (or leave the seeds if you like the heat)
1 clove garlic, minced
¼ c. olive oil
Juice of 1 lime
2 tsp. balsamic vinegar
2 tsp. Worchester sauce
½ tsp. cumin seeds, toasted and ground (in mortar/pestle or spice mill)
1 tsp. salt
¼ tsp. black pepper

Stir together and let chill for at least 2 hours. Then, when you are ready to eat, place soup in bowls and garnish over each serving:

¼ c. black beans
¼ c. shredded Mexican cheese (like queso fresco or shredded Monterey Jack)
¼ c. fresh or frozen-and-thawed corn kernels
¼. c. hand-crushed tortilla chips or fried tortilla strips
1 T. sour cream
1 T. chopped cilantro

“My mouth is watering just thinking about that . . . . How much time do we have left in this session, anyway? Because, I admit, I am feeling peckish. Actually, if it’s all the same, I’d like to stay on this couch a bit longer and keep working through this compulsion of mine. By the way, Doctor, you have excellent taste in furniture. This couch is very comfortable . . . not at all like those in the other shrinks’ offices that I frequent. And maybe, that is the reason for my desire to make soup. Well, not your couch, obviously, but perhaps my deep longing for a measure of comfort in this world. And soup does provide that blanket of warmth. I mean, some people take chicken soup for a cold or crave a cup of chili on a biting, raw day. So, maybe I’m not nuts; soup fortifies body and spirit. And to me, the best fortifier is:

Start by heating 2 T. oil in the stock pot and sauté:

3-4 carrots, cut into bite-sized pieces
2-3 ribs celery, cut bite-sized
1 small onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium potato, diced
6 stems fresh thyme, thrown in whole
1 bay leaf

Cook these until everything is tender, and until most of the thyme leaves have fallen off their stems. Once your veg is softened, fish out the stems and pour into the pot:

2 quarts ham stock, made by boiling a ham bone for 2-3 hours. Pull off any lovely, tender bits of meat left clinging to the bone, but reserve this for later
4 c. beef stock (I actually use the remaining broth from boiling corned beef, but canned works just the same)
1 beef or chicken bouillon cube (BUT taste first to insure that you actually need the extra saltiness)
2-3 cans great northern beans, drained and rinsed

Let this mixture heat until just under the boiling point. When everything is hot, using an immersion blender, blitz the soup until some of the beans and potato lend their creaminess to thicken the soup. I probably make about 12-15 “stabs” into the bottom of the pot. Don’t pulse it all or your will just make baby food. (You can do the same thing by removing 3-4 ladles of soup with veg into a standard blender, whizzing that up and pouring it back into the soup, but it’s not nearly as much fun as the stabbing bit.)

Now that you’ve done the blending, add the reserved ham meat, cut into bite-sized pieces. (If you added it before blending, you’d have messy strands of meat twisted in your blender blade and swimming sickly on the top of your soup . . . trust me, I’ve been there and it doesn’t ruin the soup so much as it ruins your mood during blender cleaning.)

Fish out the bay leaf and serve with brown bread and cheese.

“Can’t get more comforting or easy, right? That soup is like having a hot cup of tea or coffee . . . which reminds me of another soup I’ve only just made . . . in the middle of the night. Perhaps I am not well, when I’ve taken to making other liquids into soups, too. Do you think that is some kind of projecting on my part?

Cinnamon Hazelnut Affogato

Brew a pot of cinnamon-flavored coffee. And if you don’t have this, add about 2 tsp. cinnamon to plain coffee grounds and brew this through your coffee maker.

While the coffee perks away, toast a handful of hazelnuts in a dry pan. Once you smell them, remove from heat, let cool and chop into small pieces.

Once the coffee is finished, add a shot of cinnamon liquor, such as Goldschläger, to one cup of black coffee.

In small dessert bowls, scoop out a big dollop of the vanilla or cinnamon-vanilla ice cream. Pour the spiked coffee over the ice cream. Sprinkle the nuts over the top and watch the creaminess melt into that black pool, creating a gorgeous soup-like consistency. Serve with hazelnut biscotti and spoon greedily into your mouth.

“You know, the more I talk, the more I think maybe this problem is bigger than both of us. Perhaps I’m all wrong in trying to talk through the compulsion; maybe I ought to just try cooking through it, making something besides soup, of course. I think perhaps I’d better go. I’m so sorry to have wasted your time, Doctor.”

“Excuse me . . . hello? . . . Um, miss? . . . . Hey, lady!” I am startled by him, as he gently but firmly shakes my shoulder. I look up into his face, blinking . . . I don’t remember this doctor being quite so young when I sat down on this couch . . . .

“Ma’am,” he continues, “you can’t just come in here and take a nap. This is a furniture store. Unless you are thinking of making a purchase, you are not to sit on the sofas. My manager is giving you the eye, and he will likely come over here and remove you from the store personally. So, are you interested in taking a look at some fabric swatches or what?”

I fumble for words in my own mental fog, finally managing to ask him who he is, where I am and how long I’ve been here. I am told that I staggered into this store just as it opened, lay down on the first couch inside the door, and have been asleep for at least twenty minutes. The sales clerk, Dave he tells me, then explains that, while I was apparently dreaming, I was distracting the other fine shoppers with quite audible interjections . . . something about cucumbers, whizzing, beans, and some word he didn’t quite recognize, affa-something.

This is when the truth comes rushing back to me . . . late last night, in my kitchen alone, trying my hand at bouillabaisse for first time, I might, just might have had one-too-many shots of cinnamon schnapps, while trying in my sleepiness to get that silly French soup to look like the picture. And although I haven’t any recollection of it, I must have fumbled into my car this morning to make my first session and wound up here instead.

I quickly mutter my apologies and push myself outside into the rain. As I look around, I realize my psychiatrist’s office is one door down in this strip mall . . . and I’ve missed my appointment completely. Ah well, perhaps I’ll grab a bite of something warm and bracing on the way home . . . and that’s when I see the HAPPY GINZA sign flashing at the mall’s cornerstone position. And, all of a sudden, I am compelled like a moth to a flame toward the promise that beyond those doors they just might serve hot-and-sour soup . . . I wonder why?

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS

What is your favorite food?

What do you eat for comfort food?

Bread and cheese and tea.

Is there anything you eat that no one you know eats?

Lots of things. Monstera, persimmons, beet juice.

Is there anything you won’t eat?

There are things I don’t *like*, but I wasn’t raised under the sort of economic circumstances that permit one to develop pickiness. I try to avoid octopus, because they are awfully smart.

Is there a childhood food that you miss?

The apples from my grandfather’s apple tree, eaten still warm from the sun.

Is there a favorite food you can’t get where you currently live?

Ethiopian is a little scarce in my neighborhood, but I live in the Northeast, which is both diverse and well-stocked.

(When) Where was your most memorable meal?

An amazing omakase dinner at Lily in Toronto in 2005, where there was more fabulous food than I have ever seen in one place.