Today I made a pot of soup. Last weekend, I had simmered a stock pot full of beef bones to make broth, and twice this week put some of it to different uses: Swiss steak one night, and a stew on another. There was a small amount left, maybe 2 quarts. And there our dinner began. I heated and strained what was left, dicing up the meat from the bones, Then I took the leftover venison pot roast from last night and diced that up, and added it and its cooking liquid to the pot. Peeled and sliced 3 potatoes and 2 carrots from the root cellar, added some frozen green beans from last summer and a quart of tomatoes. Found a little bit of corn in the fridge from another dinner this week and threw that in. Added some dried parsley and basil, a bit of salt and freshly ground pepper and put it to the "back of the stove" to let it simmer the rest of the day.
Soup is a metaphor for life in our home. It comes in infinite varieties, from the simple to the sublime. A bowl of soup is a comfort; a pot of soup is thrift. Some soups are started from scratch, and others are an amalgam of what is handy, fresh or leftover. Some soups are the result of days of cooking; others are thrown together in minutes. Soups, like days, can range from light and breezy to substantial, filling, hearty.
This is the time of year when soups are in their glory. It is the perfect food for winter: a pot of soup on the woodstove always ready for a quick snack or a big lunch. I admit there is not much soup making here in the summer, just an occasional rainy day ratatouille or late summer minestrone. But once the fall weather arrives, the stockpots come out. Split pea with ham for those woodcutting days. Potato cheese for the first snowfall. Chicken noodle for winter colds. We have lists of favorites and it makes the winter fly by as we devour lentil soup with carrots and sausage, beef barley, and hillbilly manybean soup. Soon the warm weather will seep through the winter winds, and our minds will turn back to the grill and salads. But for now, soup's on!
Soup is a metaphor for life in our home. It comes in infinite varieties, from the simple to the sublime. A bowl of soup is a comfort; a pot of soup is thrift. Some soups are started from scratch, and others are an amalgam of what is handy, fresh or leftover. Some soups are the result of days of cooking; others are thrown together in minutes. Soups, like days, can range from light and breezy to substantial, filling, hearty.
This is the time of year when soups are in their glory. It is the perfect food for winter: a pot of soup on the woodstove always ready for a quick snack or a big lunch. I admit there is not much soup making here in the summer, just an occasional rainy day ratatouille or late summer minestrone. But once the fall weather arrives, the stockpots come out. Split pea with ham for those woodcutting days. Potato cheese for the first snowfall. Chicken noodle for winter colds. We have lists of favorites and it makes the winter fly by as we devour lentil soup with carrots and sausage, beef barley, and hillbilly manybean soup. Soon the warm weather will seep through the winter winds, and our minds will turn back to the grill and salads. But for now, soup's on!