Celery Root & Wild Rice Chowder

For the past two or three years I have been teaching a series of classes called “Inspired Cooking by the Book.”  The idea of the series is to teach recipes culled from the cookbooks that tend to get the most use in my cookbook library: those that have been written by chefs or seasoned cooks and that are either organized by the season…or by ingredient.  

 

As regular readers know, I really do cook and eat seasonally.  No matter what the season, I shop for food in a produce-centric way, choosing what looks good at the moment (whether at the farmers’ market or grocery store) and then supplementing with meat, fish, eggs, cheese, grains/pastas/legumes, etc.  When I’m faced with the inevitable “what are we going to have for dinner?” question—and I come up blank—these kinds of cookbooks provide the perfect inspiration for cooking with what I already have in my fridge and pantry.

 

Sometimes I don’t change the original recipes at all for these classes.  And in some cases the original recipe is really nothing more than a spring board.  The title…or picture…or list of ingredients…appealed to me, but the actual recipe wasn’t what I wanted or expected, so I just create my own recipe using the things that inspired me about the original recipe.  In either case, the resulting recipes make for interesting classes of seasonal foods that provide some insight into the daily home cooking habits of a professional chef.  The classes have been immensely popular and I am currently in the middle of round 2 of the series.

 

In the winter installment of the series this second time around I included a recipe from Deborah Madison’s Local Flavors for Celery Root & Wild Rice Chowder.  I was attracted to the combination of celery root and wild rice (a fantastic, earthy, pairing).  And I was intrigued by the fact that she called this a “chowder.”  The origin of the term chowder is open to debate (generally thought to have something to do with the name of a cooking vessel), but with few exceptions, it refers to hearty seafood and/or fish soups.  The fact that these soups almost always include chunks of potato…and cream or milk (in which case they are generally thickened with a roux)…has led to a few variations that don’t contain seafood.  Corn chowder and potato chowder come to mind.

This soup does indeed include chunks of potato and heavy cream.  And it has the rustic feel that I associate with a chowder.  If I hadn’t known the name, but had been served a steaming bowl of this soup—with wild rice and little chunks of celery root and potatoes suspended in a rich, creamy base—I think I would have dubbed it a chowder, too.

I changed the chowder very little from Madison’s original (it definitely still qualifies as a chowder!).  I increased the quantity of broth, potatoes and wild rice a bit…and elected to stir the rice in (rather than placing a mound in the center of each bowl).  It is delicious…and it keeps well (reheating beautifully without becoming overly thick and stodgy).  And as one would expect from a chowder, I have found it to be especially satisfying during our recent spate of cold and unusually stormy weather.  

Celery Root & Wild Rice Chowder

4 oz. (2/3 c.) wild rice

1 qt. chicken stock

Salt & Pepper to taste

3 T. butter, divided

1 stalk celery, cut in 1/8th-inch dice (about 1/3 c.)

2 large leeks, white & pale green parts only, cut in 1/4-inch dice and thoroughly rinsed (2 cups)

1 large or 2 medium cloves garlic, minced

2 or 3 well-branched sprigs of thyme

2 or 3 parsley stems

1 large celery root (1 to 1 1/4 lb.), peeled and cut in 1/4-inch dice (3 to 3 2/3 cups)

1 Yukon potato (about 8 oz.), peeled and cut in 1/4-inch dice

1/2 c. heavy cream

1 T. freshly squeezed lemon juice, if needed

Finely sliced flat leaf parsley

Olive oil for garnish

If time, soak the rice (see note):  In a medium bowl, pour boiling water over the wild rice. Allow the rice to soak for one hour, then drain.  Place the rice (drained or raw) and the stock in a large saucepan and bring to a simmer. Simmer until the rice is just tender—about 30 to 40 minutes. Strain, reserving the stock and the rice separately.  Measure the stock and add water to make 4 cups.

Melt 2 T. of the butter in a large saucepan set over medium heat, sweat the celery and leeks until beginning to soften—about 5 minutes.  While the celery and leeks cook, tie the herb stems securely together with a piece of cotton kitchen twine (see note).  When the leeks and celery are ready, add the remaining tablespoon of butter.  When the butter has melted, add the celery root and herb bundle along with a good pinch of salt.  Cook until the celery root is beginning to soften on the surface and all the vegetables are sizzling gently—about 5 minutes. 

Add the reserved stock and potatoes.  Bring to a boil.  Reduce the heat to a simmer and season to taste with salt.  Simmer gently until all of the vegetables are tender—about 20 minutes.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer a cup of the vegetables to the cup of a blender or immersion blender.  Add enough of the cooking liquid to cover the vegetables and purée until smooth.  Scrape the purée back into the soup pot.  Add the heavy cream.  If the soup is too thin, purée some more of the vegetables.  If it is too thick, add some water or stock or milk.   Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper.  If the soup is well-seasoned but still tastes bland, add a squeeze of lemon to lift the flavors.

Add the rice, bring to a simmer and serve garnished with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of parsley.

Makes a generous 1 1/2 quarts soup—serves 4 to 6.

(Adapted from Local Flavors by Deborah Madison)

Notes:

• Soaking the rice will cut down on the cooking time only slightly. The main reason to do it is that it helps the rice absorb water more evenly as it cooks.
• If you don’t have any kitchen twine, you can of course just throw the herb sprigs/stems into the soup. Just remember to count them so you will know how many to fish out of the soup before you serve it.
• Because this is chowder—and I associate bacon with clam, potato and corn chowders—I think bacon would be a delicious addition. Cut 2 slices (about 2 oz.) of bacon into 1/2-inch squares. In the soup pot, render until just beginning to crisp. Add enough butter to make 2 T. Add the celery and leek and proceed with the recipe.
• Deborah Madison suggests drizzling a bit of truffle oil over the soup. If you happen to have some on hand, it would be delicious in place of the olive oil. I think a nut oil—particularly walnut or hazelnut oil—would also be good.

Printable Version

Winter Vegetable & Apple Crostata

Several years ago a food writer and cookbook author told me that it would be a good idea if I learned to work at least one season ahead.  This way my menus…class offerings….anything I might be writing….would be ready when the appropriate season arrived.  Alas, I have never fully mastered the ability to do this.  Today’s post is a good example.  Yesterday was the first full day  of Spring—and it was a glorious first day of Spring where I live….sunny, warm......everything on the verge—and here I am, posting a recipe for a late winter vegetable crostata.

It is true that I could wait until next winter to share this recipe (in which case I could think of myself as a super-planner: “I’m three seasons ahead!”), but as it happens I have a good reason to want to post it now.   If you follow along with me on a regular basis, you might remember a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago about the importance of having a handful of basic recipes that you know so well and make so often that you can make them—and improvise with them—on a whim or as the occasion demands.  Like the almond and chocolate braid in that post, the winter vegetable crostata that I’m sharing today fits perfectly into this category, thus making a nice follow up post. 

If you know how to make short crust pastry (and really, everyone can learn to make a respectable short crust pastry...it just takes a little knowledge and a little practice) the makings of a delicious dinner are almost always within reach.  Often, you will be able to use ingredients that you already have on hand.  Among other things, short crust pastry (a.k.a.pâte brisée or pie dough) can be turned into empanadas or turnovers, a quiche, a formal tart….or a rustic crostata/free form tart.

The night I made my winter vegetable crostata, I had a lot of odds and ends in my refrigerator….  Half of a celery root….  A chunk of butternut squash….   (The reality of life in a two person household is that rarely do you use all of either of these two for one meal…unless you’re making a puréed soup….).    I also had a couple of cups of thinly sliced and washed leeks (left from some over-zealous purchasing for a private event) and a lone golden delicious apple (my favorite baking apple, but not one I’m likely to snack on).  

I had other leftovers too, but these four seemed like they belonged together.  I suppose there are a lot of things I could have made with these items, but as I pondered them, it suddenly seemed obvious that with the addition of half of a package of goat cheese (also a leftover) I had the makings of a delicious crostata. 

The crostata itself is one of these basic/workhorse recipes…creating one is easy, as long as you learn a few basic guidelines.  The filling shouldn’t be liquid (as for a quiche custard) since it might leak and create a mess in the oven.  (Save liquid fillings for a more stable, traditional tart shell.)   Also, since the crust cannot be pre-baked, always put something in the tart first that will act as a bit of a barrier—protecting the crust from becoming soggy before it has the opportunity to cook through.  Cheese works well for this….or a layer of caramelized onions…or even just a thin smear of Dijon. 

To fill a crostata, simply layer in a pleasing combination of cooked ingredients (raw ingredients can release a lot of water as they cook—producing a watery filling and possibly a sodden crust—despite the presence of a “barrier”)…always remembering that less is more.  You might have noticed that I said I had “other leftovers” that I chose not to use when I prepared my crostata.   Only include components that complement one another and are needed to produce a well-rounded, harmonious whole.  Add flavor exclamation points with garlic, herbs, spices, olives/capers/anchovies, nuts, dried fruits, cheeses, etc.,…incorporating them when you cook the individual components, or layering them in as you build the tart.

You can cook the filling ingredients for your crostata however you like, but for the most part I prefer methods that don’t introduce more liquid.  Roasting, sautéing, grilling/broiling, sweating or étuvéeing* produce the best results.  Étuvéeing is particularly useful since it produces cooked ingredients that are still moist, and yet are not so wet that they will release more water when they are baked again in the tart.  As I pointed out above, you don’t want a wet filling…but neither do you want a filling that is so dry as to be unpalatable.

For my winter vegetable tart, I étuvéed the celery root with the leeks 

and sautéed the squash and apple together (finishing them in the oven).  

When I began, I thought I would wilt the leek by itself and then dice and roast the celery root, butternut squash and apple together.  But as I thought about it, I decided that I preferred the softer, sweeter flavor of celery root that has been étuvéed (roasted celery root can be bitter).  Étuvéeing the celery root with the leeks also served to increase the volume of the portion of the tart that, while not wet, was inherently moist.   

In the end, the apple—which was the ingredient that had me a bit stumped when I first considered the ingredients (I almost left it out)—was what really lit up the flavors of the tart.  It added a contrasting tangy sweetness that I loved.  In fact, we loved this tart so much, I will definitely be making it again.  And since spring is just getting started….and the weather is still a bit unstable…I might even make it again this year. 

Winter Vegetable & Apple Crostata

1 recipe Pâte Brisée (see below)
2 large leeks, white and pale green parts only, halved lengthwise, thinly sliced crosswise and thoroughly rinsed
1/2 of a celery root (1/2 lb.), peeled and cut into 1/4-inch batonnettes
2 T. butter

18 oz. butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cut into 1/2- to 3/4-inch dice (to get 2 1/2 cups)

1 Golden Delicious apple (about 7 oz.), peeled cored and cut into 1/2- to 3/4-inch dice

1 T. olive oil

1/2 T. butter

Salt & freshly ground black pepper

1 recipe Pâte Brisée (see below)

1 T. Dijon mustard

1 1/2 to 2 T. toasted pine nuts

2 oz. Goat Cheese

Roll out the crust: Let it warm up for a moment or two at room temperature. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside. Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface into a circle that is about 1/8-inch thick and is about 13 inches across. Trim any ragged edges. Brush off the excess flour. Transfer the dough to a parchment lined baking sheet. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Melt 2 T. butter in a medium-sized sauté pan that has a tightly fitting lid. Add the leeks and celery root along with a pinch of salt. Toss to coat in the fat. When everything begins to sizzle gently, reduce the heat to low and cover. Cook until the leeks and celery root are tender—about 20 to 30 minutes. If there is any liquid remaining in the pan when the vegetables are tender, uncover and continue to cook until the liquid has evaporated. Taste and correct the seasoning. Set aside to cool.

While the leeks and celery root cook, heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a sauté pan set over moderately high to high heat. Add the squash and apple and sauté until tinged with golden brown.

 Transfer to a 375° oven and roast, tossing occasionally, until tender—about 20 to 30 minutes. About five minutes before the squash and apples are done, add a half tablespoon of butter to the pan. Taste and correct the seasoning. Set aside to cool. 

Build the tart: Smear a tablespoon of Dijon over the prepared crust, leaving a 1 1/2- to 2-inch border. Spread the leek mixture over the Dijon,

followed by the squash and apples.

Scatter the pine nuts and crumbled goat cheese over all.

Pull up the edges of the crust and gently flip them over the filling to form a wide, rustic edge. Pleat the dough as necessary, pressing lightly into place.

Transfer the baking sheet with the tart to a preheated 375° oven, placing the pan on the lowest rack or on a pre-heated stone set on the middle rack. Bake until the cheese is tinged with brown and the crust is crisp and golden brown—about 40 to 45 minutes. Drizzle the tart with olive oil if desired and let rest for 5 minutes (or cool until just tepid) before serving. 

Tart serves 4 as an entrée, or 6 to 8 as an appetizer with a small salad. 

Variations:

• Add a clove of garlic, minced, to the leeks as they cook. 
• Add a tablespoon of picked thyme or minced sage to the leek mixture. 
• Omit the apples and scatter a handful of golden raisins (plumped in hot water and drained) over the tart before adding the pine nuts and goat cheese. 
• Substitute a pear for the apple. 

Pâte Brisée (Short Crust Pastry):
1 1/3 c. all-purpose flour (150g)

1/2 t. salt

8 T. cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces (114g)

3 to 4 T. ice water

Combine the flour and the salt in a medium-sized bowl. Rub the butter into the flour until the butter is in small pea-sized pieces. Drizzle 3 T. ice water over the flour/butter mixture. Using your hands, fluff the mixture until it begins to clump, adding more water if necessary. Turn the dough out onto a counter and form into a mound. Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps. Continue until all of the dough is flat. Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do. Form the finished dough into a thick disk. Chill for at least 30 minutes.

Printable Version

*The present participle of the French word étuvée is not, I think, technically a word. There really isn't a good English translation for this French technique. If one is “étuvéeing” something, in French one would “cuire à l'étuvée”…or “cook in the manner of étuvée”…which is cumbersome in English. I described the method in a previous post, but basically, it means to cook something over low heat, in a bit of fat, and covered tightly so that it cooks very gently in its own juices. 

 

A Traditional Menu for St. Patrick’s Day

This week I taught one of my favorite classes…a traditional Irish menu for St. Patrick’s Day.  American’s seem to love St. Patrick’s Day….and they celebrate with gusto. The tradition of marking the day with a platter of corned beef and cabbage is firmly entrenched.  But my understanding is that in the land of St. Patrick himself, this is not the dish upon which most will feast.  Irish tables are more likely to feature a hearty beef or lamb stew.  Cabbage might appear, but will probably show up folded into a dish of fluffy and buttery mashed potatoes.  So rather than follow the traditions of my own country, I have hopped back over the Atlantic for my St. Patrick’s day spread….one that features soda bread, colcannon potatoes, a delicious Guinness beef stew and a double-crusted lemon curd tart.

The stew that I make for our St. Patrick’s Day meal is a simple—and to be honest, classically French—beef stew featuring Guinness and root vegetables.  A few years ago I wrote a post detailing the basic processes of braising and stewing.  If you have never made a stew before, this post would be a great primer—all of the rules that apply to the red wine-based stew that I posted then would apply to this Guinness stew.   It is the Guinness—not the technique—that plants this stew firmly in Ireland. 

It is worth noting that even though this stew is Irish because of the ingredients, it would not be correct to call my Guinness stew “Irish Stew”.  A traditional Irish stew is a baked casserole of layered onions, potatoes and lamb.  Occasionally a few carrots are added.  It is a rustic and delicious dish…and if I don’t make Guinness stew, this is the stew that I make.  My favorite example of it can be found in the March 2004 issue of Martha Stewart Living.  Because I can’t help myself, I do make a couple of changes to her recipe.  First, I brown the lamb and soften the onions (in the same pan in which the lamb has been browned) prior to layering everything into the casserole.  Then, I add two or three large carrots—peeled and cut into thirds—placing them on top among the whole potatoes after the stew has been in the oven for an hour or so.    

I have already posted the recipes for Brown Soda Bread and Colcannon potatoes.  I will only add here that I am always….   always    ….struck by how delicious these two foods can be.  People who think they don’t like whole grains will enjoy this bread—slathered with a generous quantity of sweet (unsalted) butter.  The same goes for the potatoes and those who think they hate cabbage.  The glory of Irish cooking is its simplicity and its connection to the land—which produces soft, low-protein wheat, oats, rich dairy products and abundant cool weather crops (among other things).  These things are on full display in these two dishes.  If you have never tasted either of these foods, you should definitely give one…or both…of them a try. 

I finish my Irish menu with a double crusted lemon curd tart.  This recipe is from a column that ran in Bon Appetit in March of 1992.  The author of the article (Gerri Gilliland) was raised in Ireland but was living and working in the United States as a chef.  Her article was written to introduce Americans to a more traditionally Irish St. Patrick’s Day feast.  Because I was curious to see how much I had altered her tart recipe over the years, I pulled my copy of that issue this week.  I was gratified to discover that our menus are almost identical.  In fact, the origin of my Guinness stew is probably her recipe.  I have altered both the stew and the tart over the years, but not so much as to make them unrecognizable from the originals.  I am pleased to give her credit.

As Gilliland points out in her article, this menu is perfectly suited to a weeknight party.  (Serendipitously, in the year her article was published, St. Patrick’s Day fell on a Tuesday…just as it will this year.)  For the tart, the lemon curd should be made the day before (so it will be thoroughly chilled)—and the dough can be made—and even rolled out—the day before.  It is then a simple matter to fill the crust and bake the tart after work.  The stew can also be made ahead—in fact, it is better this way since this allows the flavors to develop more fully.  Simply make the stew on Sunday or Monday, cool it down and then before reheating, scrape any solidified fat off of the top.  Bring it to a simmer over very low heat—or in a low oven—while you are making the Colcannon.  If you would like to greet your guests with an appetizer, Gilliland suggests that nothing is more Irish than a platter of thinly sliced smoked salmon to accompany your brown soda bread.  Barring that, a nice platter of Irish cheddar or Dubliner cheese would be good too.

Whether you prepare all—or even just one—of these dishes, I hope that you and your family and friends will take the opportunity afforded by this holiday to gather at a table and experience the traditional tastes of the delicious foods of Ireland.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Guinness Beef Stew

2 1/2 to 3 lbs. boneless beef chuck (trimmed of excess sinew and fat), cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces

Salt and pepper

Flour for dredging

3 to 4 T. olive or vegetable oil

2 medium yellow onions, diced

6 to 8 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced

4 or 5 sprigs thyme

1 sprig rosemary

1 12-ounce bottle Guinness stout

3 to 4 cups stock (beef, lamb or chicken) or water

2 lbs. root vegetables (carrots, parsnips, celeriac, turnips and/or rutabagas) peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks

Getting ready to make a double batch...

Season the meat generously with salt and pepper.  If time allows, season the meat up to 24 hours ahead.  Wrap and refrigerate.  Dredge in flour and shake off the excess. 

In a wide deep sauté pan or Dutch oven, heat some of the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the meat and brown on all sides.  Don't crowd the meat in the pan.  If necessary, brown in batches, removing each batch to a plate while you do the next.  

It will take 10 to 20 minutes per batch to brown the meat.  Regulate the heat as necessary to maintain an active sizzle—it shouldn’t spatter and smoke.

Remove the final batch to a platter and reduce the heat to medium or medium-low.  Add the onions to the pan—adding  more oil if necessary.  Sweat the onions until translucent and beginning to caramelize—about 10 minutes.  Add the garlic and continue to cook until fragrant.  Add the Stout to the pan and bring to a simmer, scraping up all of the caramelized bits from the bottom of the pan.  Reduce the Stout by half.  Return the meat to the pan along with any accumulated juices and the herbs.   Add enough hot water or stock to cover the meat.  Bring to a boil; reduce the heat, cover and simmer (heat should be very low), stirring occasionally, until the meat is almost tender—about 1 1/2 to 2 hours.  (The stew may also be transferred to a 325° oven to be cooked.)  

Add the root vegetables and continue to simmer, covered, until the meat and vegetables are tender (another hour or so).  Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper.  Remove the herb sprigs before serving.

Serves 6 to 8.

Note:  If you prefer a thicker stew, you may thicken it with a roux after it is done cooking.  To prepare the roux, melt 2 T. of butter in a small saucepan.  When foam subsides, whisk 2 or 3 T. of flour.  Cook stirring constantly for a minute or two—the roux will be bubbly and straw yellow. Remove from the heat.  You may use the roux immediately, or let it solidify and use it later.  To thicken the stew, place the stew over moderate heat.  Maintaining a gentle simmer, add the roux, bit by bit, until you have achieved the thickness you desire.  It is unlikely that you will need all of the roux.  In my opinion, the stew is more delicious if the sauce is only lightly thickened. 

Printable Version

Double Crust Lemon Curd Tart

 

Sweet Tart Dough:

1 c. (2 sticks) unsalted butter (227g)

3/4 c. sugar (150g)

2 egg yolks (40g)

2 t. vanilla

2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour (300g)

2/3 c. cake flour (92g)

Briefly cream the butter and sugar.  Beat in the egg yolks and the vanilla.  Add the flours and mix until just combined.  Divide the dough into three equal portions.  The dough may be used right away, or chilled and rolled out later (let it soften slightly before rolling it out).  Press each portion into a thick disk.  Wrap in plastic and chill until ready to use.  For the lemon curd tart you will only need 2 of the disks.  The other may be frozen for another use. 

Lemon Curd:

1 c. sugar

Zest of 3 lemons

2/3 c. strained lemon juice

3 eggs

4 oz. (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces

Combine the sugar, lemon zest and lemon juice in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat.  In a medium-sized bowl, whisk the eggs until homogenous.  When the lemon syrup boils, whisk it into the eggs in a thin stream.  Return this mixture to the saucepan and place over medium heat.  Stir constantly until the mixture is visibly thickened—this will only take about 3 minutes.  Remove from the heat and whisk in the butter, piece by piece.  When the butter is fully incorporated, turn the curd into a bowl and press a piece of plastic wrap to the surface.  Chill overnight.

Build and Bake the tart:

2 disks of tart dough

Cold lemon curd filling

1 egg white, beaten until frothy

Additional sugar for sprinkling (1 T. or so)

Sweetened whipped cream

Fresh raspberries (or other favorite berry)

Between 2 sheets of plastic wrap, roll one disk of dough into a round about 1/8-inch thick.  Peel off the top sheet of plastic and invert the round of dough into a buttered 9- to 9 1/2-inch removable-bottom tart pan.  Ease the dough into the pan being careful not to stretch it and pressing it against the sides of the tart pan.  Use your hands to gently press the dough against the upper rim of the tart pan so that the dough is trimmed flush with the pan.  Spoon the cold lemon curd into the tart shell.  Roll out the second round of dough.  Place it on top of the filling.  Press the edges together to seal.

Place the tart onto a cookie sheet and bake in a preheated 375° oven until the top and sides are golden brown—about 35 minutes.  Remove to a rack and let stand for 5 minutes.  Brush the top of the tart with the beaten egg white; sprinkle with the sugar.  Bake 10 minutes more.  Cool the tart on a wire rack.  When completely cool, slice and serve with whipped cream and fresh berries. 

Printable Version

(Recipes adapted from Bon Appetit, March 1992)

End-of-Winter Vegetable Soup with Farro

I have christened the soup we had for dinner last night "End-of-Winter Soup".  Sadly, the name reflects my wishes more than the reality of the weather.  Yes, it is March...and we should be beginning to warm up, but this has been such a strange winter that I don't hold out too much hope that winter is actually done.  Certainly soup was an appropriate dinner choice in the context of yesterday's weather:  It was the coldest it has been all year. Soup...or a braise...or something similarly warming...was definitely in order.  

It was actually the contents of my vegetable drawer that caused me to think of my soup as "end of winter".  I knew that I ought to be able to come up with something for dinner without making a trip to the store...but my vegetable crisper was filled with lots of odds and ends...no one thing leapt out.  Since it was almost entirely root vegetables, it really did look to me like the culinary remains of winter.  I had singletons of parsnip and celery root...a couple of kohlrabi (from a bunch purchased to test a recipe which only called for one...)...a big bag of carrots (I always have carrots)...and--on the counter—a scrawny sweet potato.  I also had some winter squash and cauliflower, but I decided I really wanted to use up the lonely sweet potato, parsnip and celery root.  Soup was the perfect solution. 

Several years ago I taught a few classes at my local Williams-Sonoma.  The classes were a bit different than those that I normally teach in that I was given a list of topics to choose from and then asked to teach recipes that had already been developed for Williams-Sonoma. (In all of my other classes I propose my own topics and choose my own recipes—often recipes I have developed myself.)  I have kept many of these Williams-Sonoma recipes in my repertoire...tweaking them as time has gone by.  The inspiration for yesterday's soup was one of those recipes:  a simple vegetable barley soup developed by Joanne Weir.  

As I looked at the original recipe so I could credit it for this post, I noticed that I have changed it so much over the years that it is not really recognizable any more.  Even if I made it with the same list of vegetables and herbs...and used pearled barley instead of farro...it wouldn't be.  But I wanted to mention it for a couple of reasons.  First, I always want to credit inspiration.  Inspiration is elusive...and it always means so much when I hear that I have inspired someone else. I want to try and do the same for others.  But secondly, and probably of more interest to readers, is that I think the changes will be instructive for anyone wanting to make a soup with the current contents of their pantry. 

The first thing I changed was to begin the soup by sweating some onion in some melted butter. As far as I am concerned, this is pretty much the only way to begin making soup.  Cooking onions (or leeks...or shallots....) in a generous quantity of fat (butter, rendered bacon fat, olive oil, etc.) until softened infuses the fat with the sweet flavor of the onions.  The fat then carries this flavor throughout the soup, giving it a depth of flavor not found in soups made by simply simmering the onions in the liquid.  The result is completely worth the extra fifteen minutes or so that it will take.  And if you are worried about the added calories, please don't be.  Without it, the soup won't be nearly as satisfying.  And even considering that I began my soup with five tablespoons of butter, it really isn't that much when you take into account the fact that you will be making at least two quarts of soup.  

The other main difference in the soups (obvious from the pictures) is the size of the vegetables.  I cut my vegetables much smaller.  I love getting lots of different kinds of vegetables in each bite, and this is made possible by the smaller cuts.  I also wanted to mirror the size of the cooked grain more closely.  Somehow large, fat chunks of vegetables didn't seem like a harmonious combination with the comparatively diminutive grains of farro (or barley, in the case of Weir's soup).  

From left to right: kohlrabi, celeriac, sweet potato, carrot and parsnip.

If you don't want to cut the vegetables quite so small (although...this is a great way to practice your knife skills!), then consider replacing the grain with something large...like some cooked white beans or a large noodle (orrechiette, for example).  If you make the soup with beans, add them with the Brussels sprouts.  If you use canned beans, rinse them before adding.  If you have cooked your own, add them along with their delicious cooking liquid.  Pasta should be cooked separately and added only to the soup that will be served.  If it is added to all of the soup and allowed to sit, it will continue to absorb liquid and become large, soft and mushy.  Simply place a small amount in each bowl and ladle the hot soup right over it.

As far as the actual contents of my soup went, I really did just use what I had:  celeriac, parsnip, carrot, sweet potato, kohlrabi, onion, Brussels sprouts and farro.   

You should see what you could make with the contents of your pantry.  Maybe you have potatoes or winter squash on your counter instead of a sweet potato.  If you happened to have them, turnip or rutabaga (Swedish turnip) would be delicious instead of one of the other root vegetables.  I happen to think that the parsnip was a particularly important addition...too much would have been overpowering, but I would have missed its aromatic presence, so I'm glad I happened to have it.  The Brussels sprouts could be replaced by diced cabbage...or even finely chopped broccoli florets (as in Weir's original).  If you use broccoli florets, consider peeling and dicing the stems and adding them to the soup with the root vegetables.

The cored and thinly sliced Brussels sprouts could be replaced with diced 
cabbage or minced broccoli florets.

Finally, when composing your soup, I would recommend limiting your selection of root vegetables to five (or fewer) different kinds.  More than that and it seems like the flavors might be too muddied.  Finally, please don't use old, tired, wrinkled or otherwise decaying vegetables in your soup.  Since root vegetables are good keepers, if you cook with vegetables on a regular basis it would not be unusual to amass a small quantity of odds and ends appropriate for a soup like this one.  But if the vegetables in your larder look like they are beginning to compost, they would not be improved by adding them to your soup.  And worse the soup will suffer; you will have wasted your time and effort.  It is so much better to go with a lesser variety (or a smaller batch of soup).

Last night's soup...served with some cheese and whole grain bread...did make a very satisfying end to a bitterly cold day.  Happily, it also used up most of the stray items in my vegetable bin.  I do still have half of my celery root...and now I have one solitary kohlrabi...but, not to worry, I'm sure I'll come up with something.  The weather is set to warm up by the end of the week.  Maybe I'll make a batch of "end-of-winter" slaw....

End of Winter Vegetable Soup with Farro

5 T. unsalted butter

1 large or two small onions (about 10 oz.), cut in 1/4-inch dice (2 cups)

3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

1 T. minced fresh thyme

5 c. diced (1/4- to 1/3-inch) root vegetables (see note)

6 cups chicken stock (or more, if you prefer a soup with a greater proportion of broth)

1/2 c. pearled or semi-pearled farro, rinsed

4 to 5 oz. Brussels sprouts, trimmed, cored and thinly sliced (1 1/2 cups sliced)

2 T. coarsely chopped flat leaf parsley, optional

In a large soup pot over medium heat, melt butter.  Add the onion along with a pinch of salt and sweat until very soft (about 15 minutes).  Add the garlic and thyme and cook another minute or two, or until fragrant.  Add the root vegetables and cook until hot and beginning to sizzle in the butter. 

Add the stock and bring to a boil.   Taste and season with salt.  Add the farro, return to a simmer, cover and simmer gently until the vegetables are almost tender—15 minutes.  Add the sprouts, return to a simmer and cook until the farro is tender—another 10 minutes or so.  If you would like a soup with a greater proportion of broth, simply add broth (or water) to obtain a soup that pleases you—I prefer a soup that is filled with vegetables that are snug, but moving freely in the broth.  Taste and correct the seasoning.  Serve sprinkled with minced parsley if desired. 

Makes about 2  quarts of soup.

Notes &Variations: 

• As noted in my post, I simply used the root vegetables that I had on hand...1 large parsnip, 1 small (6 oz.) sweet potato, 1 medium kohlrabi, 1/2 a celeriac and 1 large carrot to round it out.  But you could also use potato, turnip, rutabaga (swede), or winter squash.  I would limit the variety of root vegetables to 3 to 5 different kinds. 
• If you like...and you have it on hand...a couple of leeks would be a delicious substitution for the onion.
• Cabbage would be a fine substitute for the Brussels sprouts.  Cut it small squares to mirror the other vegetable shapes.  Or, follow Joanne Weir's lead and use chopped (small) broccoli tips instead of cabbage.  If you use broccoli, peel and dice the stems and use them as part of your volume of "root vegetables"...adding them to the soup when you add the root vegetables.

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