For that I thank them

Thank goodness.

My area's first farmers' market started last Saturday. And it's about time. When you live in a part of the world that is under a deep freeze for five months of the year, locally farmed produce simply can't appear fast enough. When the weather starts warming in April and May I start dreaming of fresh local ingredients. It seems like an interminable wait for the markets to get going in mid- to late June, but once they do, oh man. My kitchen fills up with things like spring onions and kohlrabi and green garlic and organic eggs from chickens who live a free-range existence at a heritage farm in the Cuyahoga Valley, only a few miles from my house.

I love the markets not only because it just makes sense to buy foods that don't have to traverse great distances to get to your table, but also because of the variety of produce available. You will have a hard time finding, say, garlic scapes at the grocery store. Just ask Husband, who recently traipsed around several states scouring supermarkets for spring onions on what turned out to be a fruitless search. With each store he visited came another text message: "None here. Just scallions." He even sent along this photo, snapped with his cell phone at the Manhattan Fruit Exchange in Chelsea Market, along with the query, "Green bulb onions? Same thing as spring onions?"

Those green bulb onions look great, to be sure, but spring onions they are not. However, five minutes into this year's first farmers' market visit I spied a card table laden with bunches of spring onions. "You are my hero!" I exclaimed to the startled grower, more than just a little melodramatically. I bought a large bunch for $2 and happily skipped along to the next table, where there was a man selling homemade date-nut rolls. Perfect.

I had planned on sharing this recipe last month but couldn't, thanks to the aforementioned paucity of spring onions in my life. I tucked the recipe away, certain it would have to wait until next year, when I could maybe grow my own. But the farmers of Northeast Ohio had different plans for me and my spring onion soup recipe. And for that I thank them: this is a tasty and simple soup, reliant on little but the flavor of the fresh onions for its delicious bite. As you eat it, you will begin to dream of what you will find at the market next week, and what you might be able to do with it.

So, spring onions: check. Now I await the gorgeous spicy crop from my local garlic farm.

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SPRING ONION SOUP WITH BRIOCHE CROUTONS

Of course you can make croutons from any bread you like. I happen to have a loaf of brioche in the freezer and find that their crispy buttery crunch adds a pleasing textural dimension to this flavorful soup. Whatever bread you do use, just cut a few slices into one-inch cubes, toss with a tablespoon of olive oil and a pinch of kosher salt and black pepper, then toast in a 325-degree oven for 5-7 minutes.

One more note: this recipe doubles very easily, should you purchase more than one bunch of spring onions at the farmers' market.

2 T. olive oil, plus more for drizzling

1 bunch spring onions, trimmed and sliced thinly (about 1 c. sliced)

1 c. chicken stock

1/2 c. water

1/2 t. kosher salt

1/2 t. dried thyme

Brioche croutons, to garnish

Place 2 T. of olive oil in a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-low heat. Add the spring onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions soften a begin to take on a slight golden color, about 15 minutes.

Add the chicken stock, water, salt and thyme and stir to combine. Simmer the soup for 15 minutes, uncovered, stirring occasionally. Using an immersion blender, process the soup until smooth. (You can use a regular blender for this step, if you don't have an immersion blender.)

Serve with a few brioche croutons and a drizzle of olive oil.

Serves 2 as a first course.

Also to do with the lentils

There are days, like today, when the sun is shining and the sky is an unbelievable shade of blue but the wind is blowing and the air is cold. Spring is trying its very hardest to make itself known, but winter is all, it's not your time yet, Spring, take your tulips and your maple buds and get out of here. Baseball is happening, and mulch is being spread on reawakening flower beds, but I had to wear my winter jacket today and as I write this my turtleneck is pulled up over my nose and that fleece blanket over there looks really good.

Know what else looks good?

Lentils. Cooked into a quick soup with cumin, coriander, spinach and a generous amount of bright lemon zest. Topped with a spoonful of Greek yogurt flecked with fresh cilantro. Accompanied by a thick slice of homemade wheat bread. Eaten as the sun sets over what is hopefully one of the last cold days of the season.

OK, Husband just covered my legs with the fleece blanket. I feel much better already.

It has to do with the blanket, yes, but it also has to do with the lentils.

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LENTIL, LEMON AND YOGURT SOUP

Adapted from Modern Classics Book 1, by Donna Hay

3 T. olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

1 shallot, chopped

2 t. cumin

1 1/2 t. coriander

1 1/2 c. lentils

3 c. vegetable stock

4 c. water

1 T. finely-grated lemon zest, or more, should you wish

6 oz. fresh spinach, roughly chopped

Sea salt, to taste

Freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste

1/2 c. Greek yogurt

2 T. fresh cilantro, chopped

Place the olive oil, onion, shallot, cumin and coriander in a large pot and cook over medium heat, stirring often, until the onions are well-browned, about 10 minutes.

Add the lentils, stock, water and lemon zest and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 20 minutes or until the lentils are soft. At this point, if you would like a thicker soup, puree half of the soup with an immersion or regular blender. Return the pureed soup to the pot, then add the spinach and cook a few minutes more. (You can omit the pureeing if you wish.)

Season with salt and pepper to taste, then ladle into mugs or bowls. Mix together the yogurt and cilantro; spoon the yogurt over the soup, crawl under your fleece blanket and enjoy.

P.S. Here is something yummy to do with the leftover Greek yogurt you just bought.

Serves 4.

If that's not love

This one time, several years ago, before I was married, before I was even engaged, when I lived on the second floor of a lovely 1878 Italianate home that had gorgeous curvy woodwork and a single delicate pink tulip that would bloom every spring through a gray gravel walkway, I made potato-leek soup. I served it to Husband (then Boyfriend). He has talked about it ever since.

When I mentioned to him today that I was going to make potato-leek soup for dinner he said, totally predictably, "Ooh I love that." He is a good and supportive man because honestly, when I made this soup years ago I thought it was gummy, a little like leek-scented library paste. But he still liked it. I realized my error right away: pureeing the potatoes with an immersion blender. Normally, my immersion blender is my bestie. I should craft some sort of holster so I can have it on my hip, at the ready, whenever there is pureeing to be done. But pureeing potatoes with an immersion blender? Bad idea. Unless you are trying to hang wallpaper and are in need of adhesive.

Remember what I said up there about Husband being a good and supportive man? He came to my (and, really, his own) gummy-potato rescue when he bought me a food mill and a ricer the following Christmas, during which time he happened to be unemployed. Yes, Husband shelled out some of his diminishing cash to outfit me with several alternate methods for pureeing food. If that's not love, I do not know what is.

This soup is a lovely shade of spring green, creamy with fluffy riced potatoes and a little sharp with leeks. It is rich, and verdant, and filling. What it is not: gummy. You live, you learn, you get a ricer, you marry the man who bought you the ricer, your potato soup improves drastically.

++++++

POTATO-LEEK SOUP

3 lbs. baking potatoes (about 4 large potatoes), peeled and cut into large chunks

1/4 c. + 2 T. olive oil

2 lbs. leeks, tops removed, halved and sliced

1/4 of a medium onion, chopped

3 ribs celery (with leafy tops), chopped

1 large carrot, chopped

1 1/2 t. kosher salt

1 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

1 bay leaf

2 t. dried thyme

32 oz. chicken stock

2 c. water

1 c. heavy cream

Place the potatoes and a pinch of salt in a large pot of cold water. Place over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Cook the potatoes until they yield easily to a fork. Drain, then run through a ricer directly into the dry cooking pot. (If you don't have a ricer, return the drained potatoes to the cooking pot and mash with a potato masher.) Set aside.

While the potatoes are cooking, place the olive oil, leeks, onion, celery, carrot, salt, pepper, bay leaf and thyme in a large pot. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until the vegetables are soft and translucent, about 15 minutes. Add the chicken stock and water. Bring the mixture to a boil then reduce the heat to low and cook, partially covered, for about 15 minutes. Fish out the bay leaf. Puree the soup using an immersion blender. (You can also do this in batches in a regular blender, but the immersion blender is so much easier; really, go out and buy yourself one. You can get them at Target.)

Add the riced potatoes to the pureed soup and stir to combine. Taste, and adjust for seasoning, adding more salt if necessary (potatoes take a lot of salt). Add the heavy cream and stir through. Cook for about 5 more minutes, then serve. Garnish with a sprig of parsley or a few crisp croutons or even some crème fraîche, if you wish.

Makes about 12 servings.

Those in-between days

I did not mean to be absent for so long. I had a grand and well-intentioned plan to share an interestingly-titled dish, "naked ravioli," with you earlier this week. But as gorgeous as it looked in the cookbook and as unique its moniker, the final result -- while alarmingly delicious -- amounted to little more than a bowl of ravioli filling.

A tasty bowl of ravioli filling, to be sure, but not the kind of recipe that is easily shared. It just didn't work and I couldn't, in good faith, pass it along to you.

So a few days passed, post-less, until Saturday arrived. I woke up this morning to driving rain on the roof, which -- though it makes for muddy, muddy dog paws -- is a nice change of pace from the past few frigid, snowy months. I peered out the bedroom window at the water gushing over the gutters and spied a squirrel clinging desperately to one of the smaller branches on the huge old oak in the front yard. It seemed like a good day to stay inside and make soup.

So I sought out an old friend, Mollie Katzen, whose The Enchanted Broccoli Forest was the first cookbook that I purchased on my own as a real-life, cooking adult. It is a gorgeous book and if you're not familiar with it, I strongly encourage a trip over to Amazon. I love the hand-written and -illustrated pages; they make every vegetarian recipe in the book look like The Most Delicious Recipe You've Ever Seen. The narrative at the beginning of the book is peppered with useful categories of advice, titled with such quirky phrases as "questions and answers pertaining to technicalities of baking bread" and "a pep talk for wilted saladmakers." So informative, so charming.

Galician garbanzo soup is illustrated with the cutest little precise illustrations of chickpeas. There is also a drawing of a little cube, around which stretch the words, "actual size of diced whatever." Since I've been eating a ton of chickpeas lately -- every dish I make seems loaded with the little beauties -- this soup seemed like a perfect lunch for this rainy Saturday. And it was. Husband and I lapped up the hearty soup and even my Dad, who rang the doorbell at about 3:00 for a short visit, uttered the following statement before he even said hello: "Saffron. I smell saffron." Mother later clarified: "No, he's smelling cumin." She certainly knows more about him than he does.

Dad could have been smelling either, because this colorful soup contains both. An interesting mix of spices elevates what could otherwise be an ordinary bean and vegetable affair into something very tasty and unique. Perfect for those in-between days that aren't cold but aren't hot. Perfect when the rain pelts against the windows.

I bet that squirrel wishes he had a bowl.

++++++

GALICIAN GARBANZO SOUP

Adapted from The Enchanted Broccoli Forest, by Mollie Katzen

This soup would be great with chicken or turkey stock substituted for the water. However, given the vegetarian spirit of Broccoli Forest, I decided to leave well enough alone.

3 15-oz. cans of chickpeas

4 1/2 c. water

2 T. olive oil, plus more for drizzling

2 heaping c. chopped onion

6 garlic cloves, minced and divided

1 potato, diced (about 1 1/2 c.)

2 medium carrots, diced

2 stalk celery with leafy tops, diced

1 1/2 t. kosher salt

1 bay leaf

1 t. dry mustard

2 t. ground cumin

1/4 t. saffron

2 t. dried basil

1/4 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

1/8 t. cayenne

1/2 c. peas (fresh or frozen)

3 T. red wine vinegar

1 medium-size tomato, peeled, seeded and minced

Drain and thoroughly rinse the chickpeas. Place about 2/3 of them in a food processor with 2 c. of the water. Puree and set aside.

Heat the oil in a large pot or Dutch oven. Add the onion, half the garlic, potato, carrot, celery and salt and cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently.

Add the chickpea puree, the remaining water, chickpeas plus all the seasonings. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat, cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Stir in the remaining garlic, peas, vinegar and tomato. Simmer about 5 minutes more and serve with a drizzle of olive oil and a big hunk of bread.

Yields 6 servings.

Overplayed January promises

You will not find me making any New Year's resolutions. Not because I am not resolute; on the contrary, I am quite stubborn when I make up my mind about something. Just ask Husband. I refuse to suffer Howard Stern, no matter how funny Husband claims Artie Lange is. Even if on the off chance I overhear something that actually makes me laugh, I adamantly refuse to admit it's funny, and will not listen.

But when it comes to New Year's resolutions, well, my resolve takes a hike. Actually, I should restate that: my resolve is as strong as ever, it's just that my resolution is not to make any resolutions. No. I just can't stand all those overplayed January promises. I will not wait until a certain date on a calendar to do something that I think will make my life better; I am not interested in shouting my dreams for a better, thinner, richer, more thoughtful life from the rooftops on one day, only to revert to my worse, fatter, poorer, harried ways in a matter of weeks. I never make New Year's resolutions. I just do things I think I need to do, when I need to do them.

Hence, you're not going to find a whole bunch of "light" and "diet" recipes in this space. Hell no. I opened the year with the most caloric, dense, sugar-laden confection I know. Take that, Martha Stewart! But I have decided that now is a good time to plumb the depths of my overflowing recipe binder and share some dishes that are either brand new favorites or that make only infrequent appearances in my culinary repertoire. After two months jam-packed with old-standby favorites from my youth, it's about time for a recipe clipped from some random publication that, on the merits of its deliciousness, ought to show up more often in my cooking but that, for whatever reason, languishes between the plastic sleeves of my binder never to see the light of day or the heat of my stove. This is your time, under-utilized yet totally tasty recipe!

Into this spotlight steps a spiced tomato and chickpea soup. This zesty and spicy number gets its body from hearty pureed chickpeas and its soul from a dreamy paste of fragrant spices and garlic. It is perfect as a first course or a lunch, and it fits seamlessly as part of an Indian dinner menu. Much zippier than a traditional tomato soup, this recipe has a flavor profile much more complex than expected, especially as it sits so unassuming in the bowl. As I neared the bottom of my bowl tonight, I did away with the spoon and just sipped and savored.

By all means, I wish you well with your own resolutions, if you have chosen to make them. But as for me, well, I'm just going to eat a lot of soup.

++++++

SPICED CHICKPEA AND TOMATO SOUP

The recipe originally calls for 1/2 c. roasted red peppers, which I omitted due to the fact that I was out of them and Husband doesn't like them, anyway. But of course, feel free to add them to the soup along with the tomatoes if you are so inclined. You can also garnish with a bit of sour cream if you like.

Additionally, the original recipe calls for one can of chickpeas, all of which are blended into a smooth soup. I prefer to add a second can of chickpeas post-puree, as the whole chickpeas add a nice texture and heartier feel to the soup.

4 garlic cloves, minced

1/2 t. red pepper flakes

1 t. ground coriander

1 t. ground cumin

3/4 t. kosher salt

1/4 t. caraway seeds

1/4 c. olive oil

2 15-oz. cans of chickpeas, drained and rinsed, divided

1 1/2 c. crushed canned tomatoes, with juice

3 1/2 c. homemade or low-sodium store-bought chicken or turkey stock

Parsley sprigs, for garnish

Using a mortar and pestle (or with the back of a spoon), crush the garlic, red pepper flakes, coriander, cumin, salt and caraway seeds to form a paste.

Heat the olive oil in a medium pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the garlic mixture and cook, stirring frequently, until just softened, about 3 minutes. Stir in half of the chickpeas, tomatoes and stock and reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer, stirring often, for 15 minutes.

Puree using a stick blender (or in batches in a traditional blender). If using a traditional blender, return the soup to the pot and place over medium heat. Add the second half of the chickpeas and cook for 8-10 minutes, just to warm the whole chickpeas. Serve with a sprig of parsley.

Serves 4.

My ulterior motive

I enjoy serving a soup course at Thanksgiving dinner. I have my reasons. Soup is warming, hearty and full of seasonal ingredients. It is a pleasing and flavorful way to begin the magnificent celebratory meal that is Thanksgiving. Blah, blah, blah. My ulterior motive for making soup on Thanksgiving is to showcase my lovely pumpkin-shaped tureen and its matching pumpkin-shaped bowls. It's not like these beautiful dishes get a lot of action at other times of the year; I generally don't eat my cereal out of a pumpkin-shaped bowl. Anyone who knows me knows that I love my dishes, and Thanksgiving is these particular dishes' time to shine.

It is the season to be thankful, and thankfully there are lots of tasty soups with which to fill the fancy tureen on Thanksgiving day. Helen Corbitt's cream of mushroom soup is one favorite. Or a spicy-sweet pumpkin soup. Or potato-leek. Or roasted garlic. A-ha! This year I will fill the tureen with roasted garlic soup.

I would like to tell you where this recipe comes from, but I can't, really. It was in a magazine I was reading one day while getting a pedicure. I asked if they had a photocopier in the beauty shop so I could take the recipe home with me without stealing the magazine, and lo, the ladies were happy to oblige. So what I have is a copied page from some undisclosed magazine. Maybe "Real Simple," maybe "Cottage Living," who knows. But whoever you are, mystery woman's magazine, I would like to say thank you.

Because this soup is delicious. The luscious, creamy soup is spiked perfectly by a garnish of a few slices of chorizo. The sausage's flavor is the perfect complement to the earthy garlic. I use a chicken sausage that is spiced to resemble pork chorizo because I don't eat pork. (Feel free to substitute if you do.) And good luck not going back for seconds, this soup is so good. But you have to leave room for the turkey, you know.

Your lovely autumnal tureen, if you have one, is going to thank you. So is your family. And it must be said: if you do not have a fancy autumnal tureen, no worries. Roasted garlic soup is astounding even when served out of a paper cup.

++++++

ROASTED GARLIC SOUP

It might be a good idea to double this recipe if you're feeding a small army, as many of us do on Thanksgiving.

3 heads of garlic

4 t. olive oil, divided

8 oz. chorizo-spiced chicken sausage (or pork chorizo, if that's how you roll)

2 T. unsalted butter

1 medium onion

2 t. fresh thyme leaves

1 t. paprika

1/2 t. kosher salt

1/2 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

4 c. chicken stock (homemade or store-bought)

1/3 c. heavy cream

Roast the garlic. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Cut about 1 inch off the stem end of the heads of garlic, revealing the tops of the cloves inside. Place the garlic on a piece of aluminum foil and drizzle with 3 t. of the olive oil. Fold the foil over the garlic and seal the edges to form a package. Roast in the oven until the cloves are very tender, about 1 hour. Remove from the oven and let the garlic cool enough to be handled.

While the garlic is roasting, sauté the chorizo. Slice the sausages on the bias into pieces that are about 1/4-inch thick. Heat the remaining 1 t. olive oil in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the chorizo in a single layer and cook until crispy. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towel; set aside.

After the garlic is cool enough to handle, extract the roasted garlic from the papery skin by squeezing the cloves. Work over a small bowl; set aside the roasted garlic.

Melt the butter in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onion, thyme, paprika, salt and pepper and cook until the onion is translucent and soft, 8-10 minutes. Add the roasted garlic and chicken stock; stir. Bring the soup to a simmer, then cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and puree using an immersion blender or a regular-ol' blender. (If using a traditional blender, work in batches.)

Add the heavy cream. (If using a traditional blender, return the pureed soup to the pot before adding the cream.) Reheat until slightly thickened, about 5 minutes. Serve hot, topped with chorizo slices.

Serves 6, as a first course.

My athlete-spouse

I get my recipes from a reliable stable of sources. Of course there are those recipes which I learned from my parents, dishes that I have long since adapted to my own kitchen. There are also those recipes that I've created. Then there are recipes that come from the old standby magazines, as well as from a few more unique and treasured titles. Television shows can inspire, though with the overall decline of the Food Network quality food programs are in ever shorter supply. I find fantastic recipes on a host of amazing blogs -- the Internet is likely the single most interesting and reliable source for good food ideas that exists today.

I generally do not get my recipes from "Runner's World" magazine. Not that there's anything wrong with "Runner's World." It's just that I expect that publication to contain information about the most notorious hills in marathon courses around the world, or perhaps a plan to get from the couch to your first 5K, or a slightly frightening article -- for me, anyway, as I am married to a marathoner -- which asks the question, "Are marathons dangerous?"

But looking up at me from page 46 of the December 2008 issue was a recipe for ribollita, a beany, greeny, thick and enriching Italian-inspired soup, and I couldn't say no. It's a coldish fall day here in Ohio and the brightly-hued leaves are swirling in devilish vortices in the street. Husband ran the New York City Marathon last Sunday. So today seems like a good time to whip up a pot of warming soup -- and cooking a recipe from the pages of "Runner's World" seems a fabulous excuse to brag about my athlete-spouse.

Husband finished his 26.2 miles through the five boroughs of New York City in about four hours and 55 minutes. Which is less than five hours. Which means he got his name in The New York Times. An exquisite accomplishment for a man running his first marathon. The most astounding part? He was not winded and his feet did not hurt. His legs were tired and sore, but, I repeat, his feet didn't hurt. My feet hurt after standing at 59th St. and 1st Ave. for two and a half hours waiting to see him come off the Queensboro Bridge at mile 16. But his feet were fine. Here's to Husband's totally impressive fitness level!

Anyway, the "Runner's World" soup. It is good. Let me tell you. It is starchy and velvety and filling, and so delicious that it has made marathoner Husband forget, for just the slightest amount of time, that he does not like beans. It gets its stick-to-the-ribs consistency from not one, not two, but three sources of starch: cannellini beans, red-skin potatoes and day-old crusty bread. It's no wonder that such a recipe would appear in the pages of a magazine that advocates carbo-loading before a big run. It's also healthy, as it's a great way to slip some nutritious kale into your diet. The ribollita is super easy to make, too: some chopping, some stirring, some waiting and then some eating.

So as Husband trains for his next marathon and dreams of other races to run, I will be cheering him on every step of the way. And I might have a bowl of ribollita in my hand.

++++++

RIBOLLITA

Adapted from "Runner's World" magazine

2 15.5-oz cans of cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

1/2 c. olive oil

1 T. garlic, minced

1 T. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

1 large white onion, diced

2 celery ribs, with leafy tops, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1/2 bunch kale (leaves only), roughly chopped

4 red-skin potatoes, peeled and diced

2 c. canned whole peeled tomatoes, broken up with a spoon

32 oz. chicken stock (homemade or store-bought)

3 slices day-old crusty bread, cubed

1 t. kosher salt

3/4 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

Olive oil, to garnish

Grated Pecorino cheese, to garnish

Place 1 cup of the cannellini beans into a medium bowl and mash, using the back of a fork, until smooth. Set aside.

Place 1/2 cup olive oil in a large stock pot or Dutch oven. Add the garlic, rosemary, onion, celery, carrot and kale and gently cook over medium-low heat for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the mashed and whole cannellini beans, chicken stock, potato and tomatoes. Partially cover and simmer for at least one hour, stirring occasionally.

Add the bread and stir through. Continue to simmer until the bread begins to dissolve into the soup. Taste, then add the salt and pepper as needed.

Serve drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with Pecorino.

Makes 4-6 generous servings.

Near as good

My mom is infamous for her ability to stir up trouble. Sometimes it's that devilish, fun kind of mischief: smoking cigars with the groomsmen at a wedding, or with the piano player late in the evening at her favorite bar. The kind of mischief that once made Dad-- when I asked him if he was aware of something outrageously silly that his wife did -- respond in a non-plussed, not-at-all-surprised manner: "Well, I didn't know what was going on, but I've been around your mother a little bit."

Sometimes when she stirs things up, it's because she means business. Like if you need to fight with the cable company, she is a good person to consult on strategies. Should you need to return something without a receipt, well, she is your woman.

So last Saturday, as we were sitting in Sister's kitchen eating delicious homemade chicken noodle soup, I mentioned that I'd like to make a batch of the soup, too, to enjoy at home. Mom's response, muttered just to get a rise out of me: "You could make some of this soup, but it wouldn't be near as good as your sister's." Hunched over her bowl, gripping her spoon, grinning with her mouth full, glancing sideways in a trouble-making fashion, she was gleefully waiting for me to protest. Sister stood smugly by the refrigerator, lording over her superior soup. I gently reminded the two clowns who in the family has the cooking blog.

Setting aside the fact that Sister's soup was phenomenally good and absolutely perfect for a fall evening, I was compelled to cook up a batch at home, just to prove my mischievous relatives wrong. But you know what? I will not stoop to their level. Sister's soup and my soup are equally tasty. We playfully compete with each other a lot of the time; however, the battle of homemade chicken noodle soup is a draw.

Well, I call it a draw. Mom hasn't tasted my version yet.

The recipe comes from Emeril Lagasse. Though I appreciate Emeril -- he seems to be a very nice man and a talented chef -- I have never been a huge fan of his shows. Regardless, this simple soup recipe is just perfect. It allows you to get away with using store-bought stock, thereby drastically reducing the cooking time, but still allows you to inject plenty of home-cooked flavor into the soup thanks to the hour-long poaching of chicken with various aromatics. (Of course you could use your own homemade stock, which would be superior, but store-bought stock will work wonderfully, too. But make sure you buy stock, not broth. Stock's depth of flavor is far superior to comparatively watery broth.) The result is a flavorful, complex but not at all salty, clear beautiful chicken noodle soup that you can make and enjoy on a week night -- when time is often limited and long-cooking soups aren't exactly practical.

Mom, I suppose it's your turn. How will your chicken noodle soup turn out? Probably not near as good as your daughters'.

++++++

SIBLING RIVALRY CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP
Adapted from Emeril Lagasse's recipe

Though I cook the stock with both white and dark meat chicken, I only shred the chicken breasts to add back into the soup. I don't care for dark meat, but I do appreciate the flavor that the bones bring to the party. By all means, if you like dark meat, shred it, too, and add it back into the soup. Otherwise...teeny bits of the poached thighs and legs make wonderful doggie snacks.

3 skinless, boneless chicken breasts

1 1/2 lb. chicken thighs

1 lb. chicken legs

1 quart chicken stock (homemade or store-bought)

2 quarts water

2 large onions, quartered

2 carrots, roughly chopped

2 celery stalks, roughly chopped

6-8 sprigs fresh thyme

10 fresh parsley stems

1 bay leaf

2 T. unsalted butter

3/4 c. onion, diced

1/2 c. carrots, diced

3/4 c. celery, diced (leafy tops included)

2 1/4 t. kosher salt

1 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

8 oz. whole-wheat angel hair pasta, broken into one- or two-inch pieces

1/4 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley, minced

Place the chicken in a large stockpot or Dutch oven and cover with the chicken stock/broth and water. Add the onion quarters, roughly chopped carrot and celery, thyme, parsley stems and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, then partially cover and reduce the heat to a simmer. Simmer for 1 hour, until the chicken is falling off the bone.

Using tongs, remove the chicken from the broth and set aside until cool enough to handle. Strain the broth through a fine wire-mesh sieve lined with cheesecloth, set over a large bowl or pot, to separate the stock from the vegetables. Reserve the stock; discard the vegetables.

When the chicken is cool enough to handle, shred the meat into bite-size pieces. Discard the bones, skin and fat. Set the shredded chicken aside.

Melt the butter over medium heat in the same stock pot that you used to boil the chicken. (It's especially yummy to capture some of the little browned bits that remain in the pot after you strain the broth.) Add the diced onion, carrot and celery and cook until the vegetables are softened, about 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in the shredded chicken. Add the reserved chicken stock and bring the soup to a boil over medium-high heat.

Season the soup with salt and pepper. Add the angel hair pasta and simmer until the pasta is cooked through, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the parsley. Serve hot.

Makes 8 servings.

So, cream of mushroom soup it will be, at least until the mercury climbs above 50

I know, I know.

Fall is the time for soup. Winter is the time for soup. Those months where the whipping winds and falling leaves and blustery snow make you retreat into your toasty kitchen, where you can hover over a big ol' pot of simmering something until your taste buds and tummy and soul are warmed to a degree inversely proportionate to the temperature outside.

But it's spring now. And I still want soup. I should be craving things like asparagus, and arugula, and delicate buttery lettuces. Maybe a spring onion or two. But here I am, desiring cream of mushroom soup -- a dish I find nearly synonymous with Thanksgiving. I think it has to do with all the chilly, rainy days we've been having here, which are helping the grass sprout an unbelievable green and the irises seemingly grow before my very eyes and the huge lilac outside my kitchen window explode with its fragrant lavender blossoms. But that same chill made me sleep in my robe last night, then turn on the furnace around 1:30 a.m. when the blanket and 100-pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever were not enough to keep my toes warm.

So, cream of mushroom soup it will be, at least until the mercury climbs above 50 for a few days in a row.

The cream of mushroom soup that I turn to is the one my mother has been turning to for decades. The recipe is from Helen Corbitt's Cookbook, a delightful little unassuming book that looks more like a well-loved hardback novel sitting on the shelf. No full-color luscious photography; no stacked up trendy food. Just classic recipes printed on yellowing pages that are splattered here, crinkled there from years of heavy use. It even has cute little mushrooms on the spine!

Mom purchased the book at the behest of our dear friend Luta, the consummate hostess. In fact, nestled in the cookbook on page 258, opposite Helen Corbitt's Fruit Cake, is a letter dated December 17, 1976, from Luta that details her modifications to the fruit cake recipe -- modifications Luta herself learned from her mother. The letter also makes reference to an event that is legendary in my family's history: the time we were visiting Jack and Luta in Texas and Sister, then about nine years old, wrote on a piece of paper in a very heavy hand, "All ladies are sick and ugly." Apparently Mom and Luta were talking, and Sister wanted attention because whatever they were discussing did not involve her. So she scrawled that ugly missive, pressing so hard with the pen that her statement became engraved in the wood of the table, for all eternity. Luta took it in stride; she knew just why Sister was behaving so hideously. Once again, a simple cookbook holds evidence of a colorful family history and a long-standing nostalgic joke within its pages.

But on with the mushrooms! This woodsy, earthy soup is more than enough to make you happy whatever season it is, whatever the weather might bring. It is rich and "meaty" -- though I am often at a loss why people describe mushrooms as "meaty," here they do provide a lovely robust mouth-feel. The soup is fortified with a shot of sherry, which is that je ne sais quoi that makes this soup truly remarkable. Aside from the time is takes to finely chop the mushrooms, you'd never guess you could make this soup in less than an hour. Barely more time than it takes to open and reheat a can of Campbell's. It really does taste like it's been simmering all day long, perfecting itself while you curl up under the afghan with a good book.

Hurry up. Indulge yourself with some good old-fashioned cream of mushroom soup before it gets too hot that all you want to eat are fresh tomatoes. Don't get me wrong: those Tomato Days are glorious. But there is a time and a place for mushrooms, too. And as the thunder rolls in tonight, the mushrooms' place is with me.

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CREAM OF MUSHROOM SOUP
Adapted from Helen Corbitt's Cookbook

Helen's recipe serves four, but I've doubled that recipe because, really, who wants just four servings? The divine Ms. Corbitt suggests that you strain this soup to remove the mushroom and onion bits, a step that I find too fussy for my taste. I went through the effort of finely chopping those mushrooms -- for goodness sake, I'm going to eat them.

8 T. butter

4 t. onion, finely chopped

1/2 lb. fresh button mushrooms, finely chopped

1/2 lb. cremini mushrooms, finely chopped

2 quarts (64 oz.) chicken stock

4 T. flour

2 t. kosher salt

2 c. half-and-half

4 T. dry sherry

Finely chop the onions and mushrooms; set aside.

Melt 4 T. of the butter in a large, deep skillet or dutch oven. Add the onion and saute until soft, about 2 minutes. Add the mushrooms and saute for about 4 minutes, until the mushrooms begin to release their moisture.

Add the chicken stock, cover and let simmer over low heat for 15 minutes.

Melt the remaining 4 T. of butter in another deep skillet or dutch oven. Add flour and salt, whisking thoroughly; cook for about 3 minutes to get rid of the raw flour taste.

Using a ladle, add the mushroom mixture to the flour mixture, whisking the first few ladle additions to dissolve the roux into the mushroom mixture. Add the half-and-half, stirring to incorporate. Add the sherry and cook for an additional 5 minutes or so. If you so choose, strain the soup through a wire mesh strainer. I do not so choose.

Serve hot!

Makes 8 servings.