SOUP pt. 2

I think about cooking

SOUP pt. 2

As I was writing last week’s post – SOUP pt.1, I realized I have an extensive collection of thoughts on the subject, and hence pt. 2.

From the anticipation of the Summer’s first Gazpacho, made all the better by the local bounty of our weekly OXCM Farmers Market, to the annual late winter excursion to sunny Cozumel for a bowl of the best Birria Ramen on Earth, soup is the comfort food the world has in common.

The above-mentioned Ramen comes with crispy, folded, gooey cheese-filled homemade flour tortillas dripping with bright red spiced beef fat and topped with chopped white onion and cilantro. Little Tupperwares of Salsa Matcha and dark, charred habanero salsa, each with their very own tiny spoon, were already on the table. The near-clear rustic brown broth was flooded with the flavors of dried chiles, garlic, and Mexican oregano and dotted with tender chickpeas amongst the traditional al dente noodles and shredded beef. All this was washed down with a refreshing lemongrass lemonade. It is available only on weekend mornings, and it sells out early. Word-of-Mouth brought my Dad and me to this outdoor café with a wood-fired plancha, run by a friendly family, all too happy to share our excitement as we placed our orders in Spanglish and then watched, with nervous smiles as we went for the salsas, too.

New England and Manhattan for sure, but Rhode Island Clam Chowder, who knew? Randomly in Los Angeles, CA, working on a consulting project for a startup meal delivery service for dogs, I was meeting my old friend, Chad, aka. Squidboy, but better known as Daybaker here on Substack. He chose Connie & Ted’s for dinner. We ate great raw West Coast Oysters, a clever Little Gem salad that smartly mocked a Traditional Wedge, and some warm, buttered Parker house rolls. He told me I had to try this chowder made with clear broth, and I haven’t shut up about it since. It was a bowl of chowder ingredients but no cream. No tomato. Just a rich broth that tasted of the sea. Top 5 Soups of all time.

A family favorite that’s been altered and adjusted over the years is Sausage, Potato, and Kale Stew. Originating from the Portuguese Caldo Verde, the soup that has emerged from our kitchens has become somewhat of a Pot of “This and/or That”. The recipe is a rough draft to be interpreted by the cook. Smoked Sausage, Turkey Sausage, and loose Hot Italian Sausage have all been utilized. Red Bliss, Sweet Potatoes, Yukon Golds, and even Butternut Squash can fill the starchy role. Spinach, any kind of Kale, or leafy green can be added to round out the hearty soup. The ease and hardiness of this recipe make it a quick fix and a slow simmer for lazy Sundays. (RECIPE WILL BE INCLUDED BELOW FOR PAID SUBSCRIBERS)

And finally, Phở bò at Pho 75, located in the Italian Market neighborhood of Philadelphia. Vietnamese Noodle Soup with fresh rice noodles, herbs, and sliced well-done brisket or raw beef ribeye, all brought together in an aromatic bone broth spiced with cinnamon sticks, coriander seeds, star anise, and cardamom pods. The added step of charring unpeeled sweet onion halves and sliced ginger root over an open flame brings a hue and depth to the long, slow-cooked stock.

The first time I tried Pho, I was transformed. Mostly because of how the soup made me feel during and after consuming it. But also in the ritual involved in preparing for it. My order was always the same. First came the cà phê sữa đá, or Vietnamese Iced Coffee, the inspiration for the LuLu’s Iced Coffee I would later serve at all my restaurants. Next came the plate of Mung Bean sprouts, lime wedges, jalapeño slices, and a few stems of fresh Thai Basil. The Lazy Susan on every table held bottles of Hoisin sauce, Sriracha sauce, Soy sauce, a shaker of ground black pepper, and a small plastic-lidded container with red chili oil.

When the server brought the steaming bowl, I was ready with my wooden chopsticks and plastic soup spoon. After tossing in the appropriate number of jalapeno slices and giving the lime a serious squeeze, the basil leaves are torn from the stem and littered atop the soup, along with thinly sliced white onion and scallion from the kitchen. A small squirt of spicy sriracha next to a couple of glugs of sweet Hoisin filled out the small flat ramekin used for dipping the sliced beef without tarnishing the broth. I stirred the noodles as the basil wilted and tackled the sliced brisket first. Dipping tender pieces into the ramekin of sauces before consuming. Followed by the noodles and finally slurping the broth until the bowl was empty.

It is the process that completed the experience for me - Every time.