there is always soup.

I have been known to eat around the white & hairy bits on a nub of cheddar.  I dunk wilted greens in icy water after picking off brown spots, hoping for a spark of new life.  In the summertime, the raspberry devotee in me has become expert at fishing out that one, offending, collapsed and mushy berry which, if not stopped in its (rotting) tracks, will contaminate the rest of the tiny plastic box.  I suppose there's a good reason raspberries come in such small containers in the first place.

And there is always soup.

Cauliflower with its green leaves gone all bendy?  Carrots beginning to shrivel into themselves?  A red pepper with spots of soft black?  Sad droopy celery?

With a bit of stock, an onion or leek or (in desperate times) some scallions, and a twist of salt and pepper these sad characters can be, and have been, transformed into spicy, velvety, hearty soups.

In our house growing up, there was (and is) always soup to be had.  Mum's freezer is stocked with soups from bright carrot and cumin to celery with its curiously creamy consistency to vibrant broccoli-- all perfect accompaniments to a slice of brown bread with Irish butter.  Although Mum never explicitly instructed each of us in how to make a delicious bowl of soup, we learned from the best.

During lunchtime today, as I sat at my desk with a bowl of broccoli leek soup in front of me (from my own, less well-stocked freezer), I came across a recipe for chilaquiles from the New York Times embedded within an article about "aged" ingredients versus "spoiled" ones.  The recipe is a good way to use up old tortillas but besides that, the article extols the virtues of learning how to use ingredients that may be past their conventional prime.  And I got a thrill reading it!

I love wandering the aisles of Whole Foods or Trader Joe's, particularly on payday, and walking to the subway with a grocery bag full of exciting, tasty, wholesome ingredients for that recipe I've had my eye on for a fortnight.  But this year, Kevin and I decided to take the plunge and commit to a CSA subscription for the spring & summer.  Today is the last day, but we will be back to pick up another box next week when the fall season commences.  The CSA has been challenging, exciting, but frankly quite stressful for a person like me, who gets an insane level of satisfaction out of using every single last leek and zucchini before going out for more.

But the challenge of getting creative with those wilty Tuesday evening stragglers has not been the only benefit.  While feeding ourselves healthier, veggie-heavy meals, we have been supporting local farms and learning just how long zucchini season goes on.  Plus, one of the owners of the local beer and cheese shop where we collect our weekly box uttered an uncharacteristically familiar, "Oh, yeah, that's right," last week when we gave our names.

I'm getting off track here, but the point is that my cooking has become more resourceful and meaningful in the past few months.  I take such pleasure in standing over a pot of soup, or keeping a watchful eye on a chicken roasting in the oven, but knowing that the meal I make has equal parts taste (of course), nutrition, skills learned from my mother, and interactions with communities nearby have made time in the kitchen all the more valuable.

Now, what's for dinner tonight?



Broccoli and Leek Soup

1 lb broccoli florets (our CSA notes described them as 'young broccoli' and I was expecting broccolini but what we ended up with looked totally like regular broccoli to me)
1 large leek
3 scallions (or whatever other members of the onion family you might have lying around)
Olive oil
3 cups low-sodium chicken stock
Salt
White pepper

Wash the leek really well and trim so the really yucky bits are gone.  Slice in half lengthwise and check to make sure all the sandy soil is washed away.  Chop into 1/2-inch pieces.  Chop up the usable parts of the scallions, which have undoubtedly been sitting in your fridge for far too long.

In a large pot, heat olive oil over medium heat.  Add leek/scallion mixture and cook until the leeks start to get soft and fragrant.

Meanwhile, chop broccoli florets (loose bits AND stems) into small pieces.  When leek is almost totally soft, add broccoli and do your best to mix it all up.  Sautéeing the vegetables before adding stock is key in the patented Deirdre Method of soup creation.

When broccoli and leek is nicely mixed up and broccoli is turning more vibrantly green, add the stock.  I probably should have added a bit more, as mine didn't totally cover the veg and the resulting soup was quite thick.  So if you like thinner soup, add more liquid.

Cover and simmer until vegetables are soft, about 20-25 minutes.  Blend with an immersion blender (also crucial for soup making, just trust me on this one) to desired thickness.  I added a bit of milk in at the end to thin my soup out.  Season with salt and plenty of white pepper.

I had some stale bread on the counter which I tossed around in a pan with garlic and pecorino to make croutons, which, served on top of the soup, really elevated an otherwise "green" tasting bowl.  So much for my pre-holiday no-carb diet!

RuPaul & chickpea sa-lahd.

Eighteen months after finding myself in Brooklyn with a job at a reputable supportive housing non-profit, I am saying farewell to downtown Brooklyn and moving on.  It's time for a new network and new experiences and, I'm almost sad to say, a new part of town.  Instead of spending most of my time in Brooklyn, my new office is on the Upper West Side... and with school starting in just a few weeks, I will now be spending more time outside this borough than in it.  Until now I was one of the few people I have met since moving to New York that not only lived in Brooklyn, but worked here too.  Trading my glorious "commute" (read: a 15-20 minute walk, or 10 minute bike ride) for an hour on the subway will be an adjustment, but I'm getting excited at the prospect of uninterrupted time to read and listen to music.  Optimism, people.

Although there were ways in which my job made me unhappy and frustrated, I was very lucky to find employment when I did-- especially because, I hope, the negatives have only served to make me more patient and tolerant.  I loved getting to interact with people every day.  Both my coworkers and the tenants of the apartment building made each day into a story to tell.

Neomie was the rent administrator at the office and sat at the desk to my left.  She is of Indian descent but came to New York from Trinidad about ten years ago.  She is a gem of a person-- warm, motherly, hilarious, not to mention a fantastic cook.  I will miss our chats and neverending inside jokes, saving each other from the tenants' lengthy TMI-filled conversations with a quick (fake) phone conference, and her infinite wisdom.  I will miss her curry chicken, and the breakfast potatoes she makes on birthdays, and her chickpea salad (pronounced sa-lahd).  Fortunately I will be able to think of her by throwing garlic, cilantro, carrot, and chickpeas in a bowl with a squeeze of lime juice.  I hope to master her curry chicken recipe after she hands it off to me on my last day tomorrow.

As for her lilting Trinidadian accent and advice on womanly matters and men, I will have to rely on either memory or text messages.  But, in the meantime, at least I will have her chickpea salad recipe.

Neomie's Chickpea Sa-lahd

1 can of chickpeas, drained

1 garlic clove, crushed

1 carrot, shredded

1/4 onion, diced

A handful of chadon beni, or cilantro

Lime juice

Mix all ingredients together, preferably in the kitchen of your workplace.  Season with salt, pepper, and a squeeze of lime juice.  Serve alongside your favorite chicken recipe.  Then, after talking about the latest in office gossip, RuPaul's Drag Race (even if you've never seen it), and the men in your life, get back to work.

chocolate orange cake.

As I mentioned last time, I decided to bake a chocolate orange cake for my sister's 21st birthday.  While many people don't love fruit and chocolate together, I think that chocolate, especially of the dark variety, and crisp, citrusy orange is a match made in heaven.
The cake turned out quite dry, but the delicious ganache frosting made up for it (in my humble opinion).  I used a few substitutions, but for method stuck quite strictly to the recipe.

(1) melty chocolate (2) orange zest (3) batter

(4) stiff egg whites! victory! (5) in it goes (6) out it comes

(7, 8) the finished product (9) mumsy and the birthday girl

Chocolate orange cake,

adapted from the Avoca Café Cookbook

6 oz dark chocolate (70% cococa)

6 oz unsalted butter

8 oz sugar

6 eggs, separated into yolk and whites

Grated zest of 3 oranges

5 oz self-raising flour -- if you have it; I used all-purpose flour and added a bit of baking powder... almost forgot that step but yanked the cake out of the oven when I had realized my mistake

Orange slices, to decorate

For the icing:

4 fl oz double (or whipping) cream

8 oz dark chocolate (55% cocoa) --  I used Lindt Excellence Intense Orange Dark With Pieces of Orange and Almond Slivers and it worked really well, if you like almonds

1-2 tablespoons Cointreau -- I used Bailey's and it was deeeelicious

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.  Break up the chocolate and melt it in a double boiler (bowl set over a pot of gently simmering water-- but make sure not to get any H2O into the chocolate!).  When melted, set aside.  Beat the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy, then gradually beat in the egg yolks.  Stir in the melted chocolate and the orange zest and then fold in the flour (and a bit of baking powder if you're using all-purpose flour-- don't make the same mistake I did).  Whisk the egg whites with a pinch of salt until stiff and fold them into the cake mixture.  Spoon into a lined round 9 inch cake tin and bake for 40-45 minutes, until a skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean.  Remove from pan and leave to cool on a wire rack.

To make the icing, put all the ingredients into a double boiler and leave to melt.  Stir until smooth (unless there are pieces of almond in the chocolate, obviously) and then remove from the heat and set aside for about 20 minutes.  Spread evenly over the cake and decorate with slices of orange, and Joyeux Anniversaire! if your sister is an avowed Francophile.

Try not to eat it all in one sitting; the icing is rather rich. 

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