making a stock

There are many recipes for soups in this blog. I have said, and I stand by it, that I use prepared chicken stock for my soups. And I'm proud of them.

Occasionally, though, I make a vegetable stock. There are three or four that I can think of. I'll save the one I'm using now, for last.

When you shuck peas, and you have that pile of empty pods sitting there, which is a mountain, and that little tiny bowlful of sweet peas, have you ever wished that you could do something with the pods? No? Oh.

Well, I have. And I've learned that there are some dishes where people do in fact eat some of the pods. I've been told that in England, one of the ways that people eat those wonderful first peas is to boil them, in the pod, and then to pour melted butter over them. Then they just run the whole pod through their teeth, taking peas and some pod skin with them. Now THAT sounds like something I would like to do. When I make risibisi (I know, I know. I promised. When the peas are here, I will), I cook the pods into the dish, when it's an informal dinner, like the two of us together. It's messy. No messier than dissecting an artichoke at the table, but messy. But perhaps the best thing to do is to make pea stock. And it's easy. You take a mound of pea pods, cover them with water. Bring this to the boil, and cook slowly for fifteen minutes at the most. Then drain it right away. You'll get a very pale, almost evanescently "pea-like" stock, that you can use for soup, for risotto, for any kind of grain that soaks up the liquid, and even, if you feel brave about it, for use in a vegetable based cocktail. It ain't half bad. Later in the year, when corn and peas are both in season, I'll combine some corn cobs with the pea pods, and make a variation. Or, I'll just boil up some corn cobs to make cornstock. My favorite variation on that is the corn cobs, and a stalk, with the stem, of basil. Basil, when it's boiled, develops a smoky flavor, and if you like the smokiness that chipotles bring to things, without the heat, you'll love that one.

But that's not what I did this week. This week, I made asparagus stock, because we were having asparagus soup.

I've written about how much I love asparagus. One of the things about asparagus, however, is that if they are cooked too much beyond their "al dente" point, you lose their lovely, delicate flavor and you get an awful texture. So I want to get as much flavor out of them as I can. This is how I do it.

When you look at an asparagus stalk, there is always a section, at the bottom, that you KNOW is going to be too tough to eat. It's woody, it's tough, it's nasty. Cut that off, and put it into a soup pot. Then, peel the asparagus, as if you were making just some simple steamed ones, and add that to the pot as well. Now, fill the pot with water, (if you're using three pounds of asparagus, two good quarts is what you want),and again, bring it to a low boil or a simmer, for fifteen minutes. Drain this.

It's really important that you don't cook these stocks for too long. The nice delicate flavor of the vegetables turns real nasty, real fast.

So, now you have a vegan substitute for chicken stock, which you'll use in making this soup.

You need a standard "soffrito" of equal amounts of celery, carrots , and onions. Maybe half a cup of each. Cook them in vegetable oil (olive oil is too pronounced a flavor here), for about three minutes.

Now, add a peeled, chopped potato (about six ounces). You will want this to give the soup some body. You can leave it out, and add cream or milk at the end, but honestly, if you want the vegetable flavor of a soup to stand out, stay away from dairy products. You'll cook the potato and other vegetables for about five minutes more, adding a sprinkling of salt to it all. Now add the stock, and cook all of this, for about fifteen minutes. While that's cooking, slice up your asparagus into pieces about an inch long. Some people prefer to keep the tips separate, and use them for garnish, but I disagree. And remember, we're using three pounds of the stuff here.

You add these after the cooking for about fifteen minutes, and cook the asparagus for another ten. You keep the cooking time short, because one of the things you want to retain is the lovely green color. The asparagus will be nice and tender, and you take the pot off of the heat, and let it cool, uncovered, until it's safe to puree. (If you cover the pot, you will lose that color).

You'll be amazed how smoothly this all purees. And how beautiful and springlike the color is. It's a green that really almost seems to be the Platonic form of green.

How do you dress this up? Well, you don't, at least in my eyes. There is almost nothing as good as the clean, clear flavor of this first soup of the spring. If you must, you can, of course add anything you want. Recently, I read an article where someone served them with saffron croutons. She took cubes of bread, and fried them in oil to which she had added a nice pinch of saffron. That actually sounds pretty good: the lovely golden orange of saffron against the green soup is really appealing. So do that, if you have the saffron (and if you don't, ask someone to give you some for a birthday present. It's a cheap birthday present, and you will LOVE having it in your kitchen).

You can have this soup hot, or cold. Asparagus stick around for several weeks, during a period of time when nights change from cold to hot, so you can eat your soup depending on how the weather is. I like mine right at room temperature, perhaps with some ricotta on toast along side of it.

Soup making is easy. Spring is here, let's see you do this. And you'll find that you don't miss the chicken stock, or the meat.