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.

Cata-Spätzle-strophe!!!

Okay, so it's been months since I posted anything, mostly because I've been going crazy with studying for the English exams and practicing some of the British pronunciations of butter.   Er, I mean 'buttah.'  British don't pronounce R at the end of words, unless there is a word following that begings with a vowel, such as "far away."  At least, people who speak the Queen's English don't.  The Queen's English is spoken by less than 3 percent of the population in England, so I'm sure it'll be quite useful for all the future teas I'll attend at Buckingham Palace.  The Queen throws them once a year and invites 6000 people.  A very intimate affair, I'm sure.  I mean shoah.

Oh my.  I think the American half of me is getting ready for a second revolution.

This blog has mostly been about cooking, aside from last time's romantic manifesto.  I've thought of commenting on more serious topics--the German media provides plenty of interesting affairs.  However, before moving on to matters that require a bit more arduous thinking, I thought I'd share my last Swabian cooking adventure, for those of you interested in making Spätzle, or Swabian noodles, from scratch.

Now, this is actually a simple thing to do.  All you need is:

300g flour (1 1/4 cups)
3-4 eggs
salt
water

The following photos show the succession of my Cata-spätzle-strophe.  Since recently receiving a nice new potato/spätzle press from a certain person, I thought perhaps this might be a hint to try my hand with more traditional recipes.  For reasons of identity/privacy, I won't name names.

1. First Step: Pour the flour (can also be whole wheat flour, I used it to keep things healthy) in the bowl, like so:

So far, so good.  I'm using simple directions for the cooking impaired.

2. Add the eggs and the salt.

3. Mix them together--it's okay if you don't mix the eggs beforehand.  You'll end up with something like this:  

4. You can then add a little bit of water.  A verrrrrrry little bit.  Otherwise, you'll end up with this:

5. You want bubbles in the dough!  However, there is one slight problem.  It's been way too long since I've made real Spätzle, otherwise, this never would have happened: 

Getting ready to pour the dough through the press, the unsuspecting Mädle (Maid-leh) doesn't realize.....

She added too much water.  

Spätzle Explosion. Ach nein!

Now, this was not entirely my fault, as the cookbook did not specify how much water to add.  What you want is a very thick dough, which you might even have to cut off the bottom of the press with a knife.  

The Spätzle came out looking halfway decent, until I drained the water.  Then they looked exactly the same as when they had gone into the press.  A big wet Spätzle blob!!!!

Luckily, I had a real Swabian who knew how to fix things.  

Unnamed person: "Was ist das???"

Me: Ummm, Spätzle??

Unamed person (raising eyebrow):  Oh, yum!  Let's cook them.  

Me: Um, I did already?

Unnamed person (holding back laughter):  I think we have to cook them again.  

6. Add: Instant Swabian, plus lots of extra flour, plus a couple of "sodeles" "so-de-leh," Swabians like to add "leh" to the end of words. 

7. Cook the Spätzle in boiling water.  You can also throw some dough onto a cutting board and cut it into the water.  This is called schaben (shah-ben).  You will end up with something like this (except, ahem, somewhat drier): 

This is, by the way, the Spätzle with the cheese already melted into the dough (Another result of my cooking disaster).  I've had success with the cheese sauce for American macaroni and cheese and the store-bought Spätzle of course, but as we all know by now, anything but schaben is for amateurs! 

Spätzle can also be eaten as a side dish, or with fried bread crumbs and butter. 

Hymns to the Night

More heavenly
Than those flashing stars
In those far places we
Imagine endless eyes
Which the Night
Has opened in us.

--The poet  and philosopher Novalis

Since I've started this blog I've been meaning to clarify something.  The blog is not really meant to be about mushrooms.  Exclusively.  However there's a good reason why I've named it "The Tender Truffle."

When one tries to explain the purpose of writing, what other reason can we give than that we are trying to put down on paper our inner thoughts and feelings in order to better understand them.  We are trying to discover the undiscovered self--that which Emily Dickinson called "the undiscovered continent."  For Dickinson, the inner self was a private space which one could discover by private reflection and creative exploration.

Even 250 years after Emily Dickinson began writing the idea of "finding oneself" is more present in our culture than ever.  By clarifying our thoughts and feelings, we are fulfilling a basic need to find our true selves--the self which is at peace with our natural instincts and the one which enables us to create the world in which we wish  live in.

A glance over the magazine covers in the the supermarket reveals a preoccupation with the theory that by concentrating on our exterior, we can somehow find happiness through the actions required to create a human being that looks like a supermodel.  The headlines read like a to quick fix list for the innerly discontented: "Red Alert! How to Maintain Your Haircolor!," "9 Foods that Make you Even Sexier," and "Your Best Body Ever" are just some of the few attention stealers aimed at making us believe that after a few minutes of flipping through a magazine that we've discovered the secret to sculpting the new modern Venus.

What's remarkable however, about what happens after we put so much effort in such actions, is the suprising amout of inaction they lead to.  Somehow we end up dissatisfied enough to keep buying the next issue in the hopes of some life-changing secret finally being revealed.  The truth is however, that we usually end up right back we where started, because we've been prevented from really looking within by being made to think that we need to look "without."

This has exactly the opposite effect that it should one our search to discover our true "inner landscape."  It's a bit like slapping acrylic paint on an old table.  Sooner or later the paint begins to crack, and we discover that what we really have is the same old table.

If we try and think about a more natural way of getting in touch with our inner nature, let's imagine we cover the table with something the wood can soak up naturally, such as flax seed oil.  This allows the wood to breathe and to be more in tune with the things happening around it--such as moisture in the air.  Suddenly an old table becomes a beautiful piece of furniture, because we've nutured it with something that allows it to show its inner beauty.

Not surprisingly, nurturing yourself from within is the kind of action that really leads to long-term beauty.  Suddenly, we are aware of the landscapes which exist within us--the people we once were, and many different sides of ourselves which otherwise may have remain buried forever.

The name "The Tender Truffle" came about because of the German philosopher Novalis, who believed that identity was fragmented, and that through self-reflection, our lost selves could find their way back to each other to make a person whole again.  By loving a person, we are loving not just one, but also many people.  For Novlais, love was a way to come into contact with our own divine power and that of the other person.  This is why he writes that a thousand eyes have been opened in him by his beloved Night, which can see more infinitely than the stars in heaven.

Novalis was obviously a very tender person, although he lived in a time that was not always so tender.  Sadly, he lost his intended bride to tuberculosis when she was just 15.  However, he never stopped exploring both inwardly and outwardly--aside form philosophy he also studied many other subjects, including physics and chemistry.

Therefore, this blog is about more than just mushrooms.  Mushrooms are just the impetous for self-exploration and realisation.  Not every blog will be this philosophical, but it's important to begin, if someowhat belated, with clarifyling some basic assumptions before one gets carried away with a premise.

Did you know that truffles grow underneath the dirt, and that using a pet pig is a very good way to find them?  Pigs are very intelligent it turns out, and have very good noses for sniffing out truffles.

Did you also know that a tree continues to grow afer you cut it?

The whole point of self-exploration is that afterwards our lives and those of who we care about are richer, wholer--more free, than if we had allowed ourselves to be constrained by a few pieces of paper.  I much prefer paper in tree-form anyway.  I think a tree has much more to say about the world than a magazine.

...Explore thyself!
Therein thyself shalt find
The "Undiscovered Continent" —
No Settler had the Mind.

No, anything but the buttons!

Na ja, for those of you who don’t know what’s been going on here in Stuttgart, I’ve been too busy to write, because someone’s been trying to break into my apartment.  For this reason truffles have not seemed very important in the last two weeks, but I’m pretty calm at the moment after we’ve had our lock replaced and Si has given himself Schäferhund (German Shepard) Status.  His plan is to bite anyone who tries anything funny.  Either that or annex Germany to Texas and live out his cowboy fantasies.  Germans seem to have a lot of them, I’m finding out.  

However this doesn’t mean we’ve been fungus-less.  Mushrooms have become a regular part of our diet, and I’ve discovered a number of useful things about them.  The first thing you should know is that you can cook button mushrooms in a non-stick pan without any oil.  I swear.  All you have to do is wash them and cut off the tips of the stems before throwing them on the pan on medium heat.  Don’t dry them beforehand.  The result is a nice smokey mushroom with much more flavor than if you’d doused them in half a bottle of oil.  Mushrooms are notorious for having the appetite of a vampire going through human rehab when it comes to oil, so they’re a lot healthier this way to.  My only problem is that Jamie Oliver said he was going to come get me if I used button mushrooms for his mushroom risotto.  However, I think he’s giving them a bum rap.  Even buttons have potential!  Besides, my budget just doesn't allow for "dried porcini mushrooms."  Buttons are just fine, Jamie!

Now, as to the risotto.  I’d advise attempting this with risotto rice, or some kind of quick-cooking rice.  Not with the wild brown rice I used--or else you’ll have a repeat of the scenario Si and I experience not long ago: 

Si: “How long does the rice take to cook?  It smells good.” 

Me:  “Not long--you have to keep stirring it until it absorbs all of the broth.” 

Si: “Okay.  I’ll wait to cook the fish then.”

20 minutes later....

Si:  “I’m so hungry--I’m going to throw the fish in the oven now.” 

Me:  “Okay.  I’m sure the risotto is almost done with it’s fungus-filled marination.” 

45 minutes later:  

Si: (Has morphed into a grumpy bear by this point.) “I haaaaaaaave to eat something. I’m going to cook a Spiegelei (fried egg).   Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  

Me: (Slowly backing away from the stove).  “Okaaaaaaaaay.”  

15 Minutes Later....

Si:  (Munching on a Spiegelei auf Brot (fried egg on bread) with a worried expression on his face).  “Bin ich im Hundenhaus (Am I in the dog house?)”

Me:  Umm,  no.  People are allowed to get grumpy when they are hungry in this apartment.   

Si:  Das ist sehr beruhigend (That is very reassuring).  Entschuldigung.  
Me: Macht nichts.  

5 Minuates later.....

Me:  The rice is......crunchy.  

Si:  Yes, it is.  But that’s okay.  It still tastes good! (Crunch, crunch, crunch.)
Me: You're a very wise man, Si.  Crunch, crunch, crunch.  

Unlocking the Secret Mushroom Code

Wild mushroom risotto.  Venison Stroganoff.  Grilled mushrooms with butter over panini.  Is your mouth watering? I know mine is after watching Jamie Oliver frolic through the English wood picking mushrooms--the chicken broth for that sauce might as well be the drool that just dripped onto my pillow.  

This reminds me: Germans are crazy about mushrooms: Truffle, Pfifferlinge, Champingions, Pilze--anybody who has more than three names for mushrooms has to be a bit of a fungi fanatic.  How could I forget?  What's been keeping me from taking advantage of the perfect mushroom location--southern Germany (i.e. Swabia, as opposed to Bavaria--google a map if you don't know)--for so long?  It's the New Year and it's as good a time to learn something new as any.  Visions of prancing through the woods with a brown wicker basket and a red scarf in my hair start to run through my head.  What am I waiting for?  If I want to accomplish something, it's time to schaffen schaffen schaffen!  (The Swabian expression for "Work, work, work!")

First problem: January is not exactly mushroom season.  Well, is it?  I'm not entirely sure.  It might be the right time for harvesting some kind of the many, many, many, many different types of truffles which grow  in Germany.  However, I know enough to say it's probably not Pfifferlinge season, because the gourmets in Stuttgart won't start advertising the wonderful delights of this particular kind of fungus until sometime in the spring.  

To be honest my knowledge of fungi is rather limited.  I know some can be poisonous and that you're better off NOT eating wild mushrooms as opposed to romantically imagining yourself to be Oscar Wilde on a long ago Spaziergang through the enchanted wood.  You probably wouldn't feel too enthusiastic about being prematurely preserved after an ill-advised preemptive mushroom tasting.  

Here is what I do know:  

1) All Germans have secret mushroom "hoards," in the woods somewhere, the locations of which they guard like bridge trolls.   I know this because that's what we learned in German class with Herr W in high school, so it must be true.  You might just learn the secret location of these hoards if a German decides to trust you.  Which, by the time he does, you'll probably be pushing daisies anyway.  And, since I'm going to be trying to find out about mushrooms in Swabia, I know I'll definitely be pushing daisies.  

2) "Heh?  Mushroom Hoards?" is the response I get from Si, my boyfriend, when I ask him about the possible location of his.  "Germans don't have mushroom hoards.  Who says Germans have mushrooms hoards?  I don't know anyone who has a mushroom hoard.  Who told you that?  Besides, you can't eat most of the mushrooms from the woods.  They were all exposed to radiation thanks to the nuclear accident at Chernobyl and most of them are too radioactive to eat."  Obviously Si's not ready to open up about this very sensitive issue yet.  I'll give it time.  

3) Should you manage to find a non-radioactive toadstool, the local pharmacy offers a special service.  They'll identify the type of mushroom for you, just in case you might want to make sure you don't wipe out three generations of your family at once.  It might be a good idea.  

However, after Si's radioactive comment, I decide to scratch the wild mushroom gathering.  For now.   This still isn't going to stop me from finding out something that a real German knows about mushrooms, so I head out into the cold, rainy, cloudy and betrübter Swabian day (the weather in Swabia is usually pretty betrübt, or "troubled" in Swabia--must be the bad mood incurred from always having to be the best at everything).  Hopefully I'll come back with more than just mold!