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.

Au Lait Cru: Part One

Inspiration is a funny thing. When it strikes, I often feel the need to sustain it, to hold on to it so tightly it never leaves my grasp again. This of course has the adverse effect of promptly abandoning me, leaving with a great whoosh of deflated energy. So I vow to relax, let it all flow over me, the next time I feel that gentle intake of breath that lets me know I'm on to something. I often long for that which I don't have, but I always believe that it's near-inevitable arrival is just a few moments away. Marriage, a career that is utterly fulfilling, financial stability, children, travel , a house, publishing a book that becomes a wild success... And sometimes I get so wrapped up in longing I forget that it actually is up to me to somehow gently guide my inspiration with real live action and just do it already. Hm. Maybe I've seen too many Nike ads recently.

camembert
camembert

So when inspiration arrives, fresh off the plane from Paris, in the form of not one but TWO wheels of raw milk Camembert, I think of how best to document this glorious experience. I post a photo on the Facebook. I snap a dozen more iPhone pics with the intention of writing a blog post all about cheese and the demented US regulations that keep such lovely (and totally harmless) products out of our everyday grasp.

But then I eat. And I forget to take notes, instead closing my eyes and breathing in the ripe aromas. I nibble, letting the cheese melt on my tongue. I sip some Vouvray. I smile widely at my boyfriend. And I let inspiration just be, Nike be damned.

*Eternal gratitude to Mike and Angela for acting as illicit cheese couriers.

Traveling in Place

We dream of traveling to far off countries filled with things exotic and unusual. We long for experiences unlike that which we have encountered before. Even something as simple as market day in an unknown land is rich with newness and unique sensations. When we are prevented satiating this hunger for the unknown, we can often feel confined and lonely—as if somehow the trappings of our everyday existence stifle us and make us feel less like ourselves. If our true self only emerges when we are exploring, how are we ever to feel at home?

This is when we must turn the act of exploring to something more local. Familiar though this territory may be, we can put ourselves in the boots of those traveling here - see what they are seeing for the first time. While it may not be so fresh to us as we are now, trapped in our mundane masterpiece of monotony, it can be wholly new to us—the renewed adventurer.

For me personally, the Point Reyes shoreline is well-known and beloved. But on a typically foggy day, with wines in tow from both local Sonoma County and distant New Zealand (a memory of previous adventures), Hog Island Oyster Company is fresh and new when taken in as a distinctive experience. Never again will we have these particular succulent divinities known as oysters paired with these particular cheeses that near mystic experiences. Never again will these wines from these vintages be open together with this simple yet delectable feast.

And we are, right now, wholly joined in laughter and contradictory ponderings. We can share this inimitable moment and yet still be lost in our own dreams and longings.

When the worlds of responsibility, economics, obligations, and frustration collide to keep us tethered against our will, we must survive by exploring that which might be less unusual to our personal identities—yet can also be exceptional in its imaginative freshness. And we can do it together or alone, as we somehow always are, no matter the company we keep or where we are in the world.