Dreaming of Rain, and Soup.

Rain and snow, for most of you across the United States, is in ample supply. I've seen your Facebook posts and Instagram shots, highlighting ample precipitation levels. I've heard you lament your icy roads and flooded streams. I have been noting your documentation of freezing yet glorious weather patterns while I've been enjoying my iced latte in the sunshine, outdoors, all. winter.  long.  Enough. California is in the grip of a terrifying drought. If you haven't heard about it yet, you will. When the prices of lettuce and broccoli and almonds skyrocket later this year to beyond levels that we mere mortals can afford, you'll know more than you want to. But perhaps the barest of hopes is shimmering in the background. Thankfully, wonderfully, the first drops in weeks have begun to fall here. With flash floods and mudslides predicted, I can only offer a brief whisper of thanks and prayer to the stormy gods above. Keep going. Not too much, not too hard. But keep going.

This weather also brings the much-missed opportunity for all of the hearty and comforting winter dishes I've been unable to enjoy thus far. And so finally, I can present this recipe for the most deliciously warming and nourishing, incredibly affordable, and unbelievably elegant soup of modern reckoning.

It is a veritable rainbow of soup. Red tomatoes, orange carrots, yellow squash, deepest greens and those unbelievably fat, glossy, gorgeous purple beans. You can use other beans, ones you have on hand, and the soup won't really suffer. In fact, you can substitute so many ingredients for the ones I have listed; you can concoct a whole new entity with the template I am giving you here. But if you do it like this, just like I've given you below, then maybe the rain gods will listen to you too and bless us with enough precipitation to stave off calamity.

Winter Rainbow Soup

Ingredients

  • 1 2-lb Butternut Squash, peeled and cubed into 1-inch pieces
  • 2 bunches Dino Kale, chopped
  • 1 cup dried Rancho Gordo Christmas Lima Beans, soaked and cooked, liquid reserved
  • 4 Carrots, chopped
  • 6 stalks of Celery, chopped
  • 1 large Onion, chopped
  • 3 cloves Garlic, minced
  • 2 pints or one 16 oz can diced Tomatoes
  • 2 quarts Chicken Stock
  • 1 quart Water
  • 1 or 2 Parmesan Rinds
  • 2 tablespoons Olive Oil
  • To Serve: chopped Parsley, grated Parmegiano Reggiano Cheese, good crusty Bread, cooked Cheese Tortellini

Directions

In a large dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium high heat until it begins to shimmer. Add onion, carrots, and celery with 2 teaspoons of salt, and sauté until the vegetables are soft and just beginning to brown. Add the garlic, stir, and cook for one minute. Add the chicken stock and water and bring to a boil. Add butternut squash and cook for 5 minutes, or until almost tender. Add the kale, beans, bean liquid, tomatoes, and the liquid from the tomato jars and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium low and simmer gently until the greens are soft, around 15 minutes. Taste for seasoning and add additional salt and pepper if needed. Serve with some finely grated parmegianio reggiano, a sprinkling of parsley, and a few hunks of very crusty bread. You might even add a few cooked tortellini to the soup if desired.

Authentic Taco

My papa makes a mean taco. When I was little, I would scarf down as many as I could before the feeling of fullness could overpower my will to consume. Apparently my grandmother got the recipe from a Mexican gardener who worked at her Southern California house back in the 50's. Of course, I'm not so sure about the authenticity-- they do seem awfully Americanized. But it's no matter, as they actually are authentic to me. Authentically Johnston. The day before Taco Day, my dad will get his meat mix ready: 1/2 ground beef to 1/2 crumbled chorizo. The meat needs to be mixed the day before, in order to allow the flavors to mingle and marry. Again, not sure if this holds up in the land of real life and absolute necessities, but we follow the rule religiously.

When the day does arrive, it's time to set out bowls of chopped tomatoes, shredded lettuce, diced raw red onion, thick sour cream, and hot sauce. Oh, and a LARGE amount of shredded cheese. In the past, we'd get bags of pre-shredded "Mexican" cheese and chop up whatever tomatoes were available at the market. Now I reach for a good aged cheddar and combine with with melty jack, organic Straus sour cream, and in last night's case-- the first heirloom tomatoes from the market!

Papa is the only one I trust to do the frying. The oil can't be too high or low, or hot or cold, but in the Goldilocks zone of juuuust right. The meat, now nicely folded in its pliant corn tortilla envelope, begins to hiss and sizzle and I simply can't wait to get my hot little hands on one. Inevitably, I hover too close and am rewarded with a fat explosion of an oil pop that lands right on my arm.

Once they are out of the pan, the crispy shell is piping hot, and needs to be carefully opened to prevent cracking (and steam-burnt fingers.) The debate still rages as to the proper order of the fillings, with everyone only agreeing on the irrefutable fact that the cheese must be placed upon the meat first, in order to allow it to melt.

And then we eat.

Now that the old man is retired, I can only hope that Taco Day comes even more frequently. Authentic or not, they will always be wholly, and totally, ours.