Ain't no cookie decorator - and turnip soup

A big bowl of turnip soup can cure a a myriad of woes — or at least help soothe a bruised ego.

I knew cake and cookie decorating wasn't my thing when I told C, founder of SpiceLines, that I wanted to participate in her first ever sugar cookie decorating contest.  I wasn't prepared, however, for just how humbling the experience would be. I tried to channel Martha and kept friends' helpful hints and creative suggestions in the back of my mind when I approached this project. (Kitty thought I should dress the camels in party clothes, Rhett suggested using butter icing for more control, Lisa voted for Indian-inspired garb, and Jane pointed out that Martha's staff would actually do the work). I made cookie dough and royal icing, broke out vials of food coloring, and made a big 'ole mess. Such a mess that I couldn't share it with anyone.

So SpiceLines isn't getting photos of my camel cookies — my messily marbled, polka-dotted, and sort-of-geared-up-in-a-circus-outfit camel cookies. I broke the news to C this Friday afternoon, and she was incredibly gracious, confiding that she can't decorate cakes and cookies either. That made me feel better, but I needed a culinary win to really turn my day around. The win came in the form of turnip soup.

This soup is a simple puree — it's a meal when paired with salad and bread. You can use another root vegetable in place of the turnips. Use vegetable stock in place of water for a more flavorful soup.

I think this soup tastes better the day after it's made.


Cream of Turnip Soup
Serves  6

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 medium leeks, white parts only, thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, minced
4 large turnips, about 2 pounds, peeled and chopped
2 small yukon gold potatoes, about 1 pound, peeled and chopped
3 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
6-7 cups water or vegetable stock
kosher salt
freshly ground pepper
about 1/3 cup half-and-half or heavy cream
minced chives for garnish

Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed soup pot. Add the leeks and garlic and cook over medium-low heat for about 5 minutes, until softened. Add the turnips, potatoes, thyme leaves and water, a pinch of kosher salt, and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 30 minutes, until the vegetables are tender.

Puree (I used an immersion blender), adjust seasoning, and add half-and-half or cream if desired. Garnish with minced chives.

Fever, chills and lentil soup

I knew I was in trouble Sunday night. I had every blanket in the house heaped on me, I'd jacked the thermostat up to 75 degrees, I was wearing flannel pajamas, and still I was shivering, freezing cold despite my best efforts. I've recovered after two days at home with multiple mugs of TheraFlu, lots of sleep, and a little light reading.


What to do the night before returning to work? Make a big pot-o-lentil soup, of course.


This is the soup I wish I'd had in the freezer, ready to be reheated and enjoyed when I caught this nasty cold + fever + chills thing. Hearty and flavorful, I find this earthy soup very comforting. It smacks of all that is right with rustic peasant fare.  A few basic ingredients combine to create a dish that warms the body and soul on a cold afternoon. The best part — it tastes even better the next day, when the ingredients have a chance to meld.


As always, use only high quality ingredients; old veggies make for a lackluster soup. I used both homemade vegetable stock and water in this batch, but chicken stock works well. A sprinkle of freshly chopped parsley and a good crusty bread are the only garnishes required. Don't forget to drizzle a few teaspoons of red wine vinegar in at the end to brighten the flavor.

Lentil Soup
Makes 6 servings

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, finely diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 carrots, finely diced
2 celery stalks, finely diced
1 1/2 cups French green lentils, picked over and rinsed
1 28 oz. can whole peeled plum tomatoes, drained and diced
2 quarts vegetable broth, chicken stock, or water
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
a few teaspoons red wine vinegar
Kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Heat the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over a medium-low flame. Add the onion and garlic and cook slowly, until softened but not browned, about 5-6 minutes. Add a pinch of Kosher salt, stir, and add carrots and celery. Cook another 3-4 minutes. Add the green lentils, diced tomatoes and broth, stock or water. Cook until the lentils are cooked through, about 25-30 minutes.

Season to taste with salt, pepper, and a few teaspoons of red wine vinegar. Garnish with freshly chopped parsley.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger Soup



It's cold outside. Really cold.

Temperatures took a dive into the teens Tuesday night, so my evening walk with the dog was very brief (i.e. down the street and back).  The weather also affected the dinner menu. A cold salad? No way. I rummaged through the fridge and opted to make Carrot-Apple-Ginger soup.

This soup, or a variation thereof, was a standby when I attended culinary school back in the early 1990s. It was a new flavor combination for me, having grown up on cans of Campbell's chicken noodle and tomato soup, with the occasional tin of cream of mushroom thrown in on special occasions. I was amazed that simply simmering a few ingredients together could result in something so rich and flavorful.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger soup lends itself to a myriad of interpretations. Use pear in place of apple, a winter squash instead of carrot — just don't leave out the ginger. It provides the underlying oomph that makes this simple soup something special.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger Soup

2 teaspoons vegetable oil

2 teaspoons butter

1 onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 celery stalk, chopped

1 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled and chopped

2 apples, peeled and chopped

3-inch piece of ginger, peeled and minced

5-6 cups chicken stock, vegetable stock, or water

Kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

Heat the oil and butter in a large stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, celery, and a pinch of salt, cooking until the vegetables are soft but not brown, about 5 minutes. Add the carrots, apples and ginger, cook for a minute or two, then add the stock or water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook until the carrots are soft (about 25 minutes) then puree with a blender (immersion or standing) adding more liquid as needed. Season to taste and serve.

Not enough time. And butternut squash soup.

I shouldn't complain about being busy. I'm much better busy. It's sitting around with lots of time on my hands that gets me into trouble. Current time sucks include:

- Work. Enough said.

- Reading. I'm working on Colum McCann's wonderful novel Let the Great World Spin and debating whether or not to download Keith Richards' autobiography Life to my new Kindle. Not a typical Lynn book, but I'm fascinated, because really, that man should be dead by now.

- Line-by-Line, the amazing New York Times series by artist James McMullan (part of the online Opinionator Blog) that teaches readers how to draw. I come home at night, curl up with my laptop, a piece of paper, and a 2B pencil. I haven't created anything worth sharing, but I'm having fun.

- Writing. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, affectionately known as NaNoWriMo.  The goal? To write 50,000 words in the month of November. This particular project isn't going so well.

All of this means I haven't been cooking dinner as often as usual. Or writing about it. Or taking photographs. Which makes me a lousy food blogger.

I did find time to make one of my favorite fall soups earlier in the week: curried butternut squash soup with caramelized pear. Most squashes are fairly delicate in flavor, but butternut holds up well to more assertive spices, like curry. Roasting the squash before adding it to the soup pot would be a great way to enhance the sweetness, but I simply chopped it up and cooked it in chicken stock (the whole time-saving thing). There's no cream in this pureed soup, but it's so smooth you won't miss it. Or feel guilty taking a second helping.

I often caramelize diced apple for this soup — it's a beautiful, tasty garnish — but I had pears in the fridge, so I used them instead. Make this with water or vegetable stock if you like — it will still be great. The soup is simple, good, and worth finding time to make. I promise.


Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Caramelized Pear
Serves 6 to 8

2-3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large white onion, diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 bay leaf
2 teaspoons Madras curry powder
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped into 1x1-inch pieces
6-7 cups chicken or vegetable stock
Kosher salt
white pepper

2 pears (or apples), peeled, cored and finely diced
1 tablespoon butter
pinch sugar

Melt 2-3 tablespoons of butter in a large, heavy stockpot. Add the onion, carrot, celery and garlic, sprinkle in a pinch of salt, and soften over medium heat, about 7-8 minutes. Add the bay leaf, curry powder, and turmeric, and cook for another minute, stirring constantly. Add the butternut squash and stock, bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook 25-30 minutes, until the squash is tender. Puree with an immersion blender or in a standing blender. If you use a traditional blender, be very careful. Hot soup is dangerous stuff. Taste and season with Kosher salt and white pepper.

Heat 1 tablespoon of butter in a saute pan until foamy. Add the diced pear and sprinkle with a pinch of sugar, tossing to coat. The fruit will soften and caramelize in a couple of  minutes. Use this as a garnish.

Creamy bean soup

Scrumptious, smooth, creamy. Herb-scented, olive oil-enriched, crouton-garnished. I need to create quite an impression of the simple bean soup I made last weekend, because the pictures, well, the pictures aren't so great. And if you don't try this (brown soup with beige croutons) you'll regret it.

Spectacular fall weather inspired a bit of bean cookery over the weekend. I ventured into the pantry and broke out a bag of better-than-average heirloom beans — snowcap beans — from Rancho Gordo. Beans I ordered and got all worked up over in June, and with good reason. The heirloom varieties I've tried thus far have been amazingly good. Like all great ingredients, the Rancho Gordo beans haven't needed much help, just the addition a few aromatic vegetables and an herb or two.

Snowcap beans remind me of cranberry beans with their rich, velvety texture — perfect for soups. When I make this type of pureed bean soup I typically use a little pancetta, cooking the vegetables in rendered fat before adding the beans, herbs, and water or chicken stock, using the crisped meat as a garnish. Feel free to do that here if you'd like, but if you go to the trouble of procuring heirloom beans, try it first without the meat. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

You'll find many different opinions on the best ways to cook dried beans. Some people recommend adding dried seaweed or crushed espazote to the water to aid digestion; others insist that a pinch of baking soda does the trick. Many advise that you not add salt to the bean pot until they're done, lest you toughen the skins and prevent them from ever truly cooking through. I haven't found that any of these things are true, and I've tried them all. Seaweed and espazote are nice for flavor, but I'm not convinced that they help the, er, bean problem. Dried beans benefit from a soak prior to cooking —  this simply speeds up the process.

Velvety Bean Soup
Serve 6-8

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound dried snowcap or cranberry beans
1 large onion, diced
5 garlic cloves, minced
2 carrots, diced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 rosemary sprigs
10 sage leaves
water
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper


Cover the dried beans with cold water and soak, refrigerated, 8 hours. When it's time to cook the beans, drain and proceed with the recipe. If you're pressed for time, place the dried beans in a large pot and cover with water by about 2 inches. Bring to a boil, cover with a lid, then shut off the heat and allow the beans to soak for one hour. Drain, then proceed with the recipe below.

Warm the olive oil in a heavy-bottom stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft, about 5-7 minutes. Add the celery and carrots, stir, and cook another 5 minutes. Add the herbs and soaked beans, and cover with fresh water by about 2 inches. Simmer the beans until tender, adding more water if necessary. My batch of beans cooked in about 35 mintues, but please note that the cooking time varies, as some beans are older (and therefore more dried out) than others.

Remove the herb sprigs and puree with an immersion blender or standing blender. If using an upright, work in small batches with the lid loosely covering the top, and allow the soup to cool a little bit before pureeing. Hot splatters are painful as well as messy. Add more water to thin the soup if necessary and season with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Garnish with freshly made croutons (toast small cubes of the best white bread you can find in a little extra virgin olive oil on the stove top) and a drizzle of olive oil.

Slightly cooler temps = spicy three bean chili

All of my bitching about hot temperatures brought about a change in the weather. OK, that had nothing to do with it, but we've been hit with 2 days of much needed rain, the kind of weather that makes me want to curl up with a book and put a pot of soup on the stove. So what if it's a comfortable 74 degrees? Cooler weather calls for a celebration, and the promise of autumn brings thoughts of football, colorful leaves, and hearty foods. Fall is the best time for chili.

I took a yoga class after work, delaying my return home by an hour, so I used canned beans for my veggie chili meal. I use dried beans whenever possible (better flavor, less sodium, significantly less expensive), but this was a last minute decision, and I wanted chili before midnight.

My vegetarian chili recipe isn't set it stone — sometimes I add smoky chipolte peppers, toss in a zucchini or two, add a bottle of ale — but this recipe is a pretty standard starting point. I love the heat and complexity provided by fire-roasted tomatoes and jalapeno peppers, but feel free to make adjustments. Cooling garnishes include sour cream and cheese, if you like that kind of thing. I settled for a sprinkling of scallions on top, a piece of cornbread on the side. Hunkered down with a bowl of spicy bean marvelousness, my legs tucked underneath me on the couch, and a book in hand (The 19th Wife, which is good, but I've reached the saturation point with this polygamy thing), I couldn't have planned a better night.


Spicy Three Bean Chili
Makes about 8 servings

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 celery stalk, diced
2 green bell peppers, diced
3 jalapeno peppers
2 teaspoons ground cumin (freshly ground if possible)
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 bay leaves
2  15-ounce cans fire-roasted tomatoes, including juice
1 28-ounce can whole peeled or diced tomatoes, including juice
1 15-ounce can kidney beans, drained
1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, drained
1 15-ounce can black beans, drained
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Possible garnishes:
scallions, chopped
sour cream
lime juice
cilantro, chopped
cheddar cheese, grated

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed stockpot. Add the onion and garlic and cook over medium low heat until soft. Add the green pepper, celery and jalapeno, and cook for another 3-4  minutes. Add the chili powder, freshly ground cumin and bay leaves. Add the tomatoes and beans, stirring well to combine. Sprinkle with a few pinches of kosher salt and bring to a simmer. If the chili is too thick, thin it with a little water. Cook for at least 30 minutes before serving — longer is better. Like most chilies, this one improves with time. For best results, make it a day in advance.

A chilled melon soup

I planned to bake cornbread and fry okra for dinner Thursday night. Paired with sliced ripe tomatoes and freshly cooked pink-eyed peas, they make a classic Southern meal, something I make for myself once every summer. It's a seasonal, feel good meal, one I look forward to. Another day of scorching temperatures made me rethink my course of action.

A cantaloupe hid in the corner of my refrigerator — an overly ripe, slightly dented specimen from a CSA box of old. This not-so-attractive fruit, peeled, chopped and combined with a handful of almonds, turned into dinner with the help of my Waring blender and a few drops of citrus juice. I think of this as a super-simplified take on grape and almond gazapacho. A cucumber might be a nice addition to the melon-almond soup recipe below (I didn't have one), and the heat of a jalapeno pepper would be an interesting twist. My cantaloupe was very sweet, but add a bit of simple syrup or agave nectar if your soup needs a little sugar.

Simple syrup is made by combining equal parts water and sugar in a saucepan over low heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Adding granulated sugar to the soup would result in a grainy texture.

The following recipe would serve 3-4 as an appetizer; in typical single gal fashion, I consumed 2 helpings, slipped Season 5, Disc 1 of Six Feet Under into the DVD player, and supplemented my delicious starter with popcorn. Everything — entertainment included — was wonderful, but I'm a little depressed. There is no Season 6.

Chilled Melon and Almond Soup
Serves 3-4

1/2 cup blanched, slivered almonds
1 ripe cantaloupe, peeled and roughly chopped
3/4 cup cold water
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons lime juice
pinch of kosher salt
mint leaves, finely chopped
extra virgin olive oil


Put the almond slivers in a heat-resistant bowl. Cover with boiling water and let sit for at least 30 minutes, allowing them to soften.

Put 1/4 of the peeled and chopped cantaloupe into a blender with cold water — enough to get the blades going without trouble — and puree. With the blender running, add the rest of the melon, a few pieces at a time, and puree until smooth. Add lemon and lime juice, and a pinch of kosher salt. Taste, and add a few teaspoons of simple syrup or agave nectar if necessary. If the soup is too thick, thin it with more cold water.

Chill for at least 1 hour before serving. Garnish with freshly chopped mint leaves and a drizzle of olive oil.

Cool as a cucumber

I'm escaping town. Tomorrow! It's time for a mini-vacation. Washington DC, my old haunt, is my destination — I hope I don't melt during the drive. A few books on CD are ready for the journey (I stopped by the library last night in a rare moment of foresight), but I've still got to do laundry, pack, and walk the dog. Thankfully, dinner is taken care of. A soup made with my CSA cucumbers sits in the fridge, chilling to a perfect 39 degrees Fahrenheit.

Trying to rid the refrigerator of perishables before my departure, I scanned its contents and realized cucumber soup was the answer to my problem. A half-empty buttermilk container sat of the top shelf, dill and mint were available in the yard, and both lemon cucumbers and a few of their oddly shaped, thin-skinned green relatives lingered in the vegetable bin. Lemon cucumbers are aptly named. Round and a very pale yellow, they seem vaguely exotic. Sliced open, the flesh is a pale, yellow-green hue. They taste just like an average cucumber.

If you have thick-skinned, waxy cucumbers from the grocery, you must peel and seed them before proceeding with the recipe. Peeling and seeding more delicate cucumbers, like Kirbys, is a matter of taste. I ignore super small seeds, but scoop out the rest with a spoon. Tonight I left the cucumber skins on — I like the green flecks they leave in the soup — but they add texture that some people don't care for.

This is a very simple soup, one that could be jazzed up with grated ginger, made with yogurt and a little cold water instead of buttermilk, garnished with walnuts and walnut oil for a taste of Persia. Experiment.

Cucumber Soup with Jalapeno, Mint and Dill
Serves 3-4

4 cups roughly cut cucumbers, about 6 Kirbys/pickling cucumbers, skins on but seeded
2 garlic cloves
5 scallions, whites and light green parts chopped
2 teaspoons fresh mint, finely chopped
2 teaspoons fresh dill, finely chopped
1 jalapeno pepper, minced (quantity depends on heat of pepper - taste and adjust accordingly)
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
kosher salt
white pepper
freshly squeezed lemon juice, if necessary

Peel and seed cucumbers if necessary and set aside. Crush garlic cloves on a cutting board and grind into a paste with a sprinkling of kosher salt — a mortar and pestle would work as well. Place the cucumbers, garlic paste, and remaining ingredients into a blender and process until smooth. Season with salt and white pepper to taste; add a few drops lemon juice if needed.

Chill the soup for at least one hour before serving. Garnish with additional freshly chopped herbs.

Summer squash begins

My weekend revolved around thunderstorms.

Much-needed rain rolled through Chapel Hill in waves, sometimes accompanied by flashes of lightning and booming thunder. Occasionally it rained when the sun was shining. The air was heavy with moisture, steam sometimes rose from the pavement, and I tried desperately to gauge whether the dog and I could make it through the neighborhood without getting drenched in an unexpected shower. Eyes cast skyward, I kept our jaunts short and tried to remember the umbrella.

More time indoors meant there was no escaping household chores (laundry! vacuuming!); I enjoyed a fabulous dinner at Poole's Diner with the always effervescent Caroline (more on that later); and there was plenty of opportunity to ponder the summer squash that arrived in last week's CSA box. I'm worried that lots of squash mid-May means an onslaught come July and August, but I put a positive spin on it, beginning with one of my favorites summer staples — a curried yellow squash soup. Prepare yourself for a plethora of squash recipes if my concerns are well-founded.

Bluebird Meadows (the farm that supplies my weekly box-o-produce) plants several varieties of summer squash — crookneck, lemon zephyr and pattypan all made it into the soup pot. Pattypan are the pretty flying saucer-shaped squash you're more likely to find at a farmers' market than a typical grocery. I think they're more flavorful than other varieties, and if you find baby pattypan, you can leave them whole and delight dinner guests. Is it wrong to describe them as cute? Lemon zephyrs are straight and narrow with green tipped ends; crooknecks earn their name honestly.

Despite the ants (who are dwindling in number but still present), I ventured into the kitchen, put my favorite soup pot on a burner, and began chopping.

A few tips for this soup: as always, use the freshest produce you can find; vegetable stock would be an ideal substitute for water, but chicken stock would be too heavy and take over, so please avoid; grind your spices in a spice grinder or coffee mill set aside only for spices; salt throughout the cooking process — I'm a big believer in pulling out layers of flavor, so season and taste as you go.

I'm off to enjoy soup and salad for supper while watching the much-hyped LOST finale — a series that started strong and has ended in a muddled mess, but I have to see it through to the end. I adore Terry O'Quinn.

Spiced Summer Squash Soup
Serves 4 - 6

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons fresh ginger, minced
about 1 1/2 pounds yellow summer squash (pattypan, lemon zephyr, crookneck)
1 1/2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds
5 cardamom pods, husked — use only the seeds
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
5 1/2 cups of water or vegetable stock
kosher salt to taste
1/2 cup cream
 a pinch of parsley and cilantro leaves, finely chopped, to garnish

Heat the butter over medium low flame. Add onion and garlic and cook until soft, about 4-5 minutes.

Grind the dried spices in a spice mill or coffee mill until fine.

Add minced ginger, chopped yellow summer squash, ground spices, turmeric and cayenne to the soup pot and stir. Cook for another 5-10 minutes over medium heat, covered. Add water or vegetable stock and simmer for roughly 20 minutes. Season to taste, puree in a blender (standing or immersion) and add cream. Garnish with parsley and/or cilantro to serve.

What to cook when the fridge contains only carrots

This post title is a slight exaggeration.

My kitchen is very well-stocked, but there are days I return from work to a hungry dog, a pile of junk mail, and not so much to choose from in the refrigerator. This is one of those days.

I'm going out of town Friday and I refuse to do a major shop this close to departure. I also pick up my first CSA box-o-goodness tomorrow evening, so it's time to make due with what's immediately available. And what's available is a bag of carrots.

I look to the larder for onion and garlic and note that the spice cabinet is full. The herbs out back look terrific this early in the season, and I decide to make use of the almost-too-old serrano peppers hiding the refrigerator's produce drawer. It's soup time.

Carrot soup has become a standby in my repertoire. It can be dressed up or down, served hot or cold, garnished according to the season (or what's lurking in your pantry). Don't knock it. Carrot soup is a beautiful thing.

Note: Sadly my camera is not a beautiful thing. It died mid-photo session. This means no photos of tonight's featured blog entree. If any of the "peeling carrots" shots I took initially took work out, they may end up illustrating this entry. Wish me luck! I need an easy fix.

Tonight's Carrot Soup

Serves 4-6

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 very large onion, chopped

2 serrano peppers, minced

3 garlic cloves, minced

about 1.5 pounds carrots, thinly sliced

3 tablespoons white rice

2 teaspoons paprika

2 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons ground coriander

salt and pepper (freshly ground)

approximately 6 cups of water, but use vegetable stock if you have it

Warm the olive oil in a soup pot over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, peppers, parsley and rice and cook until the onion is soft, about 6 minutes. Add the spices, salt and pepper, and cook another 6 minutes. Add the water and bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

While the soup is cooking, consider a garnish. Not just a pretty garnish, but something with substance. A red onion relish, a blob of creme fraiche, a chile butter, or chopped parsley and cilantro with a squeeze of lime juice.

When the soup is done, puree until smooth. I love my immersion blender, but it doesn't puree things to the velvety consistency of the upright. It also doesn't explode like the upright, leaving me to clean even more of the kitchen and dress burns. Something to consider.

Taste the soup for salt and serve with the garnish of your choice.