Oh, New York. I've heard stories about your summers. About the fire hydrants, the steaming asphalt, the drugged, dogged people floating through your streets like zombies. Your heat inspires sonnets, novels, love songs, bedtime stories. Yes, I've heard tell, and have often dreamt of the sweet sweat pouring off of your loving denizens, uniting them in a salty ocean embrace. A summer of plenty, of romance. A summer to end all summers.
But now. The summer is almost upon us. And it's hot. And we don't have an air conditioner. And it's only May.
Help.
I really don't like summer, actually. I hate sweating. I could care less about skirts and sundresses. I burn badly and it never manages to turn into a tan. My hair goes silly, and somehow my makeup runs even if I don't have any on. And while there's something admittedly enticing about hot, hot heat, I don't need it.
So, perhaps in defiance of our next (impending, unavoidable) season, I made soup. Mushroom soup. HOT mushroom soup. Soup that required me to stand over a hot stove, stirring, stirring, stirring. Ha! In your FACE, summer!
Mushroom soup is good. My mother used to make it, that terrific stuff from a can, with milk and a bit of sherry to finish. While I've gussied this version up a bit, it took me back to my childhood dinners while, over a bowl of the steamy stuff and a slice of buttered wheat toast, we'd talk about our days. These memories are some of my favorites, and almost totally distracted me from the fact that I had to keep shedding clothes in order to survive in the increasingly tropical, balmy kitchen, so that by the time the soup was ready, I was wearing practically nothing at all with my hair a mess and my face bright red, but oh my, I'd do it all again for this soup, I really would.
My Mushroom Soup
The key here is to caramelize the mushrooms, garlic, onion and parsnip mixture very well. You don't want it burned, but it should be dark, dark brown and practically sticky. It gives the soup a rich, musky flavor, complex and earthy. The cheese rind is optional, but believe me, if you use it you'll appreciate that sharp, salty bite. You also don't have to puree the mixture, but I like the textural magic that happens when you do. Almost makes the soup creamy, which is pretty wonderful, considering you've added no cream at all. You could even substitute vegetable stock for the chicken, and you've got a deeply satisfying vegetarian dish. Or you could use beef stock. Or crisp up some pancetta and sprinkle on top. Quite versatile for a one-pot meal.
Butter and olive oil
1 onion, sliced very thin
6 cloves of garlic, chopped
1/2 parsnip, peeled and coarsely chopped
4 cups mushrooms, coarsely chopped or sliced
1-2 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
1 tablespoon flour
1 quart chicken stock, either homemade or low sodium store-brought
Rind of parmesan-type cheese, if you've got it
1/2 cup - 1 cup red wine (make sure it's good enough to drink!)
1 tbsp. sour cream, optional
1 tsp. mint, chiffonade, optional
Drizzle of truffle oil, optional
Add a tablespoon of olive oil and a tablespoon of butter to a medium stock-pot. Over medium heat, saute onion and garlic for five minutes, stirring constantly. Add a splash of water, salt to taste, and the parsnip, and saute mixture for about 10 minutes, or until onion is translucent. Add mushrooms and thyme, and saute for 20 - 30 minutes until deeply brown, like this:
Add a bit more salt until it tastes like deep, dark mushrooms. Here's the optional bit: If you'd like, transfer mixture to a food processor and process until smooth (or just leave as-is), and transfer back to the pot. Add a bit more butter to the pan, sprinkle in the flour, and stir vigorously (you're making a roux). It's ok to make the roux along with the vegetable mixture...just make sure to keep stirring. Add stock and cheese rind if using, and bring to a boil, whisking or stirring constantly to avoid lumps. Let the soup boil for a minute or two, then add the wine and any salt (or pepper, but I don't generally use it) until it tastes perfect. Boil for two or three more minutes. To serve, ladle into a bowl and top with a dollop of sour cream, a bit of mint and some truffle oil.
**Truffle oil's been under attack lately. Lay off. I love the stuff. If you hate it, or if it's too cheap for you, or if you don't have any, I assure you, the soup's damn good as is. **
Oh, and look what happened to the cheese:
This is, what we call in the industry, a bonus. 'Cause you can eat that stuff. And oh my LORD.
**********
I'm also including, because they're delicious and addictive:
Chimichurri Chickpeas
Told you I use the stuff in everything. This dish has four ingredients. It's kind of perfect. An awesome snack, great to top salads or, you know, to stir into ice cream (just kidding...mostly). Despite the cooking, these little lovelies scream "summer" to me and will, I think, become a staple at any barbecue I attend. Chimichurri is served in Argentina alongside parrillada, a gorgeous, almost blinding array of meats, and these chickpeas will feel right at home with a burger, steak or sausage right off the grill, that beacon of summer and holy of holies.
1 tsp. olive oil
2 cups canned chickpeas, rinsed twice in fresh water and laid out on paper towels to dry
1 tbsp. chimichurri
Add olive oil to a hot pan. Pour in chickpeas, add a pinch of salt and toss constantly until chickpeas are slightly brown in spots. Essentially, you're toasting them...so you don't want them to burn, but a few dark spots are a very good thing. Remove from heat, stir in chimichurri (add more if you'd like), toss to coat, and serve.
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