Soups to Heal Your Soul

Campbell's Soup, Progresso, Healthy Choice: those were the staple brands in our house when I was growing up, served with saltine crackers or grilled cheese, and a can of ginger ale with a straw.  That was my mother's prescription for any ailment when we were sick and home from school; a sure shot of nourishment to cure strep throat, stomach flu, chicken pox, and whatever else we picked up in the petri dish of public education.  Illness was never treated as a catastrophe, but a rite of passage necessary for strengthening the immune system.  Even while I was away in Germany, I kept a couple cans and bottles of chicken noodle soup and ginger ale on hand, and my method for curing illness still consists of spending a good part of it resting in bed, sleeping, or curled up on the couch, soda in hand, catching up on some of my favorite shows, (In Germany: zoo reality shows (Penguin & Co.) or missed episodes of the soaps Alles Was Zählt (Everything That Matters).  When you are physically, sick, getting healthy again can feel like it is everything that matters, and being able to dump some soup in a pot or heat it in the microwave requires a minimum amount of effort, which is also important when you're feeling weak and incapable.

When I'm not sick however, my palette longs for something well, a little more palatable, and this is where soups to heal your soul come in.  There are days that when you might feel a little down, and a bowl of your own gourmet soup is just the thing to lift your spirits.  Good soup is not hard to make.  It's only slightly more complicated than opening a can and sticking a bowl in the microwave, and the cooking process is a lot more soothing than the instant gratification you get from turning the can opener.  Yes, it's fast food for food snobs.  Mostly.  The trick is to keep it simple.  There is basically one recipe that will work for any kind of soup:

1. Cover your vegetable of choice with water or broth, cook until the vegetable is soft, and then puree, adding more broth or water until you reach the desired consistency.  Add seasonings like salt and pepper, and enjoy.

That's it.  This is the foundation of any good soup.  I don't like my soup to be too thin, so I rarely add more liquid after the initial cooking.  Now, adding a few seasonings is going to take you in the realm of the divine, like this delicious carrot and fennel recipe I tried out last week: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Carrot-Fennel-Soup-350600.  I'm rather proud of this work of art, pictured here in its Monet glory, having more than slightly spattered the sides of the bowl:

Now, I altered the recipe of course, by adding more garlic cloves, 1/2 a teaspoon of ground coriander, fresh thyme, 1/4 cups of ground walnuts, and a tablespoon of heavy cream to make it more filling.  The garnish on top is a dollop of greek yogurt and a sprig of thyme.  A soup like this can be vegetarian or vegan, and will keep you filled all the way into the later afternoon or early evening.  I even learned last week that soups, when done right, keep you fuller longer and help you lose weight.  This is a great documentary done by the BBC, satisfyingly lacking in doctors plugging the latest fad diets: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJiF2WxNuqY.

There are a number of combinations you can try, such as a little bit of coconut milk with butternut squash or pumpkin soup.  I was particularly intrigued by the Barefoot Contessa's idea to add carrots to tomato soup, but they really do bring out the flavor of the tomatoes:  http://www.barefootcontessa.com/recipes.aspx?RecipeID=110&S=0.

I find cooking to be very meditative, because, when you're not rushing through it, it's easy to get lost in the process of it.  All of the other things going on inside your head get drowned out, and you're left living in the moment of savory aromas and and quiet stillness.  Which, when you have worries on your mind, no matter what they are, is very healing indeed.

My Secret Garden

“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”-- Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

There's something very forgiving about a garden.  It can lie alone, untended for years, and when you return to it, it doesn't have any memory of abandonment.  It's a place where time suspends itself, holds its breath, and then, exhales at the first touch of of a trowel.  As you can see, cupid is looking rather forlorn.

Forgiveness is  the virtue of any garden, and if you tend it well, you'll soon be enjoying the fruits of your labor.  Although, it hasn't exactly been untended per say.  Last year Dad threw a bunch of perennials and bulbs in there and over the summer, he spent a few afternoons pulling weeds.  And every year, he trims back the buddleia bushes.  However, the lemon balm still manages to take over, along with the lamb's ears, and it occurred to me this year, now that I'm home, that in order to have a real flower garden, one must well, garden.

So that's why a few Sundays ago found me outside, wearing an old pair of firemen's boots (they stand-in nicely as a redneck version of hipster Kate Middelton wellingtons) and armed with a rake and a wheelbarrow.  Fire 34 to the rescue.

It began with ripping up dear fencing that would only have to be put back later.  Dad spent an obscene amount of time pounding in the posts in the fall, but he'd tied netting to a few of them as if the deer were a band of highway robbers and the only way to get into the garden was to yank them out of the rocky soil and roll it out of the way with the posts.  The best part was pounding the  posts back in with a sledge hammer.

It was fun pretending to be an Irish Celtic warrior goddess named Brynn, and despite two years of "weight lifting" my shoulders were screaming after hammering only a few of them. Only one has had the audacity to fall out of line.  Naturally, by sledge hammer I mean sword.  I used my sword as a hammer.  Dirt also makes useful war paint when going to battle with fence posts.

Let's just say the lone post must have been loosened by a hopeful deer.   They've joined ranks with the bear/raccoons (perhaps that's a new hybrid breed, raccoon bears?), who chewed through the wiring and plastic like it was a box of tic tacs.  He was most likely egged on by the neighborhood foxes, who have young cubs to feed.

Now, I have about 200 plants waiting to go into the ground.  This is a result of cabin fever and a constant -11 F on the thermometer up until about 4 weeks ago on our mountain.  There are zinninas, marigolds, cosmoes, tomatoes, peppers, snapdragons, and watermelons.  Oh, and let's not forget the basil, thyme, oregano, chamomile, cilantro, and parsely.

The best advice I can give about starting seedlings:  keep them out of direct sunlight for the first week, and use a small fan to keep the air circulating so you don't get mold.  If you don't have a large garden, sorry, although perhaps it's a good thing, because I went through the seed section like a kid on a sugar rampage.  However, you don't need a whole meadow to experience what a little flower tending can bring you: a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.  The smallest rose can bring you the greatest joy.