October brought dark and stormy skies today, which is another way of saying it’s a good time for soup. We made this fiery version out of a heap of roasted vegetables recently, and while the corresponding recipe is posted at the bottom of this post, the truth is that making it is much more about a method than it is about a list of ingredients: roast a bunch of chopped vegetables in oil, simmer them in hot water, pureé, add milk, add seasonings, adjust.
The other truth is that, basically, this is how we cook most days.
See, let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that there are two main ways to approach recipes. (I have to say “for the sake of argument” in case any of those of you who are reading here today are the pesky, exacting sort [of which both Tim and I tend to be] and so, when you hear the words, “there are two main ways to approach recipes,” you can’t help it but your mind immediately begins making a case for why there are, in fact, actually at least six different ways to approach it, not two, and once you’ve realized that, you find it’s hard to hang in there through the rest of the paragraphs, having already deemed this post you’re reading to be written by an unworthy source. Listen, you just put those thoughts on hold a minute and rest easy because, right now, we are just talking about this for the sake of argument. Forehead unfurrowed, we continue.)
So let’s say one person gets a recipe, maybe like the one written in this post for an it’s-a-kick-in-your-pants soup, and she looks at her fridge and sees how her ingredients don’t match up with what’s needed and so, she either (a) saves the idea for another day when she’s able to buy everything listed or (b) abandons it altogether.
At the same time, another person gets the same recipe, understands the rough outline of what’s going on, and instead of following it to the letter, she instead pulls out all the carrots and onions, mushrooms, potatoes and zucchini lurking in her crisping drawers, and, experimenting, applies the same strategy to them.
One person caters to the recipe; the other, gets the recipe catering to her.
What’s the difference? Why is one person line-by-lining it and the other, just seeing instructions as a guide? For me, the biggest difference has been time—that incomparably valuable resource that is usually required to learn to do anything, be it speaking a language, riding a bike or handling basic HTML. Do you relate? Has it been that way for you? For me, cooking has been, and continues to be, all about practice, about trying over and over and over again in new ways and the same ways until, one day, you’re making roasted broccoli the way you drive a car, and you’re barely thinking about the way you’re waiting for the smell of crispy florets to tell you when they’re done. The progression from looking at a potato, thinking, how does this become French fries?, to pulling together a meal on the spot is not overnight, at least not for most of us, but usually, it comes.
In our life, Tim and I usually look in the fridge and opt for what’s easy, zucchini to roast and a salad to toss; leftover soup and garlic-rubbed toast; beets (roasted in the CSA apocalypse 2012) to top with goat cheese and toasted hazelnuts. There are times, of course, when we set to making something finer, something bigger, especially when we’ll be dining with guests, and some meals require more preparation, like soaking quinoa or slow-cooking pot roast or preparing a quiche.
But most nights, in our life, we’re throwing quick meals together—not from great skill but from practice, which is the kind of thing I wished I’d heard more often when I was just beginning and, to be honest, which I wish heard from food bloggers and home cooks and great chefs more often. Like a runner or a football player or a businessman, when it’s go time, we’re all mostly drawing on the years we’ve been trying—the failed frittatas and the terrible pie crusts and the cakes that turned gray.
When they happened, the failures were tragedies, but years later, they’re gifts.
Spicy Roasted Vegetable Soup
Makes between three and four quarts
Like the above post said, this soup is a method. I’ve outlined, in approximations, what I did for mine, but the idea is so simple and basic that it’s easily adapted to you. I should also note that, as written, with two whole jalapeños, this soup is hot (!!), so if you prefer your food on the mild side, do yourself a favor and leave them out or, at the very least, remove the seeds (do it with gloves! another life lesson!) before using. What’s wonderful about this recipe is that it’s crazy adaptable.
1 eggplant, cut into discs that are then quartered
2 yellow squash, sliced
2 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
1 green pepper, chopped
1 tomato, cut in half
1/2 onion, peeled and chopped
2 jalapeño peppers, chopped
Water or chicken broth
Milk, to taste (I started with one cup and kept adding until it had sufficiently cut the heat I wanted)
Salt and pepper
Cinnamon, to taste
Grated Pecorino, as garnish
Preheat oven to 425.
Combine all the vegetables in a bowl and massage with coconut oil, salt and pepper. divide among two baking sheets and roast for 30 minutes, stirring once or twice, until the vegetables are tender and beautifully golden.
Remove from oven and place all the vegetables in a big stock pot on the stove, adding enough water (or chicken broth) to come to almost the top of the vegetables. Simmer for about 20 minutes.
Puree the entire mixture (I started with an immersion blender but ended up wanting a smoother texture and used the food processor). Return to stock pot, off heat, and add milk. Season with salt and pepper and cinnamon to taste.