Cauliflower and Fennel Soup

As the bowl was placed in front of me I was both curious and cautious. The room was full of happy relaxed diners, laughter rang through the air, logs burning in the old wrought hearth warmed the space as I responded to questions of what was on the menu. I didn’t know the answer. To the bemusement of all my friends I’d allowed our hosts to decide and allowed myself to relax and enjoy my 30th birthday.

Set in rainforested hills in the eastern ranges the gorgeous old homestead and outer buildings emerged through the ancient tree ferned garden below the canopy of giant snow gums. Many of us, young parents, away for a weekend sans children had been looking forward to our little mini break to celebrate my birthday not the least of whom me. I’d considered a number of options for my celebration but settled on the homestead tucked away in the forest with windows that framed the lush landscape, comfy beds and lovely hosts who offered to cook dinner for us all. Uncharacteristically for me and after several calls from our hosts I’d relinquished the menu to their experience and skilled hands asking just for a meal to warm everyone up. You see I’m a July baby and knew our night away in the hills would be chilled by the soft filter of rolling mists through the densely forested landscape.

As a busy young mum of a toddler the days leading up to the event were, as always, busy. It wasn’t, however, as busy as it would have been had we self-catered thankfully, which left me time to cook…of course. Grateful for everyone’s efforts in making the effort and journey to our little mid-winter escape I decided to make small gifts of thanks to leave for them on their pillows for a midnight snack. We arrived first, settled in and took a walk to reacquaint ourselves with the setting. Popping in and out of everyone’s rooms I left little bags of my homemade white chocolate truffles in their rooms and settled in to await everyone’s arrival.

Amongst the old turn of the century buildings was an old church that acted as common area and lounge. Together we all relaxed after arriving and settled in enjoying some nibbles and bubbles.

As the fog rolled in and the sun set we all walked over to the main house no one more excited than me to be cooked for. I love winter food and surprisingly was looking forward to the surprise of a menu in which I’d had no input…most unlike me. Still rubbing my hands together to try and warm them a bowl of soup, steam curling up off the surface was a welcome offering. Inhaling the aroma rising up I couldn’t quite place the ingredients. Mostly a creamy coloured concoction it smelt delicious and appeared thick and hearty. Bringing a full spoon to my lips it was a strange feeling not knowing what I was about to eat. It seemed perhaps everyone felt the same as a hush settled over the room and we all took our first taste. Murmurs of approval replaced the hush as everyone started discussing the first course also trying to place the delicious flavours until one friend, a country girl, suggested perhaps cauliflower. Not an ingredient widely embraced 20, ahem, plus years ago. Some weren’t sure, others confirmed yes it was indeed cauli and indeed our chef confirmed Cauliflower and Parmesan soup.

Like many dining experiences it opened my eyes to new flavours. It taught me about embracing and making the most of what the season offers and to be creative with those ingredients.

I’ve made a soup similar to that one many times. It always makes me smile in the way sensory memories do. But more recently, in my lifelong journey with ingredients and flavour, I’ve become enamoured with fennel. It’s super versatile, cheap and uniquely flavourful. There’s loads of ways to cook and enjoy fennel but one I’m particularly loving is in soup. Bringing this new love together with winter cauliflower and the lessons learned that night in the verdant misty hills of eastern Victoria I can now warm cold hands, on Cauliflower and Fennel Soup.

Ingredients:

1 Tb olive oil

1 small onion roughly chopped

300gm/1 small fennel or half a large one trimmed of green stalks and base and roughly chopped

500gm roughly chopped cauliflower into pieces the size of cherry tomatoes or big strawberries

I garlic clove chopped

1 tsp nutmeg freshly grated if possible

30 gm butter

1 litre chicken or vegetable stock.

In a large heavy based pot, such as a cast iron one if you have one, heat the olive oil over low heat. Add the fennel and onion and cook gently for five minutes. When softened and starting to turn opaque add the cauli, garlic, nutmeg and butter and again cook gently five minutes stirring a few times to keep things moving and prevent anything from browning. Increase heat to medium, pour in the stock and bring to the boil. Once boiling reduce heat back down to low and simmer for 30-40 minutes until the vegetables are able to be mashed by a fork. Turn heat off and allow it too cool slightly for 10-15 minutes. Transfer to a blender or food processor and briefly whizz until smooth (as pictured)**. Season with salt and pepper return to wiped out pot and gently warm to serve.

** you can also use a stick blender for this step if that’s what you have.

You might also like to stir in something a little cream to make it even richer, sour cream is particularly good.

Chickpea and Vegetable Pudding

I’m out of sorts today, or if I’m really honest this week. Not the cheeriest way to begin a newsletter but here we are. Allow me a moments self-indulgence and let me explain.

We, like half of the country, enjoyed a long weekend away. Camping with friends in a valley carved out by one of the loveliest rivers I’ve seen, we shared meals, we laughed, played games and relaxed. A perfect weekend really. After an early pack up on Monday we began the long drive home. Winding through beautiful green hills views down onto the sparkling waters of the gently burbling McAlister River all seemed well initially until….Until my old friend motion sickness came ‘a knocking.’ I should have known that it was an early sign of something else having not suffered from the horror of travel induced nausea for some time. I knew what the road was like so perhaps should have prepared suitably with a little medicinal help but over confidence overrode any good decision making. It was a long hour back to the highway and straight roads but a walk and light lunch from a lovely country café resulted in a settling stomach and stood me in good stead to make it home.

Tuesday dawned with a slight holiday hangover. A little hay fever snuffly from a weekend in the bush but onwards I pushed. After faffing about and heading out however I found myself post a hairdressing appointment somewhat grumpy. A miscommunication between the hairdresser and I resulted in a ‘do’ I’d not normally request my reaction surprising me. For a not particularly vane person I unexpectedly was very unsettled. Afterwards, driving to the shops on the phone to a friend, I became aware of a disturbance in my vision. A beacon to what was coming I turned around and headed home knowing I had minutes to get there before I’d be stuck on the side of the road awaiting a return to normal vision…a migraine was approaching. I should have known something was amiss on that unsettling drive home from camping.

Trouble was I had lots of adulting to do, I really hate adulting and will procrastinate until backed into a corner. Government online accounts and apps to sort out with assistance from call centres. Many hours on the phone, one operator frustratingly unhelpful after a long time on the phone, one blessedly kind and knowledgeable. Head still pounding, passwords, lists, logins, annoying haircuts…it was a day.

I awoke Wednesday determined to get on with the week proper and shake Tuesday off. Setting off for an early morning walk in the crisp autumn air I thought I was back, but alas a migraine hangover prevailed. Much like a garden variety hangover post fun night out only without the fun I could almost hear my metaphorical brakes screeching to a halt. I hauled myself to the shops and completed the week’s shopping, intended for Tuesday’s list and returned home feeling a bit rubbish. Try though I did to write and create with grand plans to wax lyrical of a lovely easter in the mountains and share something delicious with you, all I could think of was a need for comfort. A need to shed the responsibilities of adulting, to shake off that hangover and to just be. I pushed my laptop aside, went to the fridge gathered a handful of ingredients, my chopping board and knife. Crisp air outside after two days of cleansing rain and a topsy turvy few days and the only answer was soup. A simple one, gentle for an unsettled stomach, warm and comforting.

Onwards and upwards.

Ingredients:

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 carrot diced

1 french shallot diced

1 garlic clove crushed

¼ c chopped parsley

¼ tsp freshly grated nutmeg (ground is fine if that’s all you have)

400 gm can chickpeas drained

1 c tinned crushed tomatoes

2 c chicken stock

1 litre water

2 handfuls of finely shredded Tuscan kale

Method:

Place a heavy based medium to large pot over medium heat and warm olive oil. When ready tip in the carrot and shallot and turn heat down to low. Cook until the shallot is translucent and carrot softening, roughly five minutes. Add garlic and nutmeg and cook for a minute longer. Tip in chickpeas, tomatoes, stock and water, stir thoroughly and increase heat to medium to bring to a gentle boil. Once bubbling reduce back to low, add kale and simmer 45-60 minutes until slightly thickened and reduced while you potter about and finish all the adulting things so you can relax with a bowl of soup at the end. Season to taste with salt and pepper, enjoy!

Serve with a crunchy toasty, a drizzle of crunchy chilli oil or perhaps some grated parmesan cheese or a sprinkle of feta.

Curry Chicken NoodleSoup

Reluctantly, I throw off the covers yawning. My feet hit the ground the cold under foot curling my toes registering with my brain and alerting me to what awaits. Blearily I pull on clothes and shoes, grab ear pods and head out. As I open the door a cold wind blasts my face, making me pull my head down in to my jacket collar like a turtle retreating into my shell hiding from the cold. Nonetheless I step forward and keep going. Even the morning chorus of birds is subdued still reluctantly unfurling from their slumber with a burgeoning winter song calling the dawn. Light is peaking through the trees emerging from the horizon as I hit my stride, one foot in front of the other my brain and body awakening….

Suddenly I’m startled.. The alarm on my watch is buzzing, trilling it’s pleasant tune, most probably composed after hours of research into notes that both awaken and don’t startle, the fine balance between alerting the wearer to the hour without setting their heart racing like the abrupt clanging of the old fashioned alarm clock. Yes awaken. The cold bracing morning walk of my dreams was exactly that, a dream. I’ve dreamed, both literally and metaphorically of being a morning person most of my adult life. That rumbling you feel right now as you read this is the earth jittering as those who know me personally read this and are currently throwing their heads back in hysterical laughter reminiscing, of moments with morning me, speechless until a morning caffeine hit and time to ease into the day. I’m just not a morning person, dream though I may of early starts beginning with a brisk stride under my belt followed by zen me sipping my morning brew fondly gazing at the scene through my window as birds flutter about joining me in my morning reverie before I launch into the day proper. Days finishing with an almost smug satisfaction as I reflect on the long list of ticks held in my head representing the day’s achievements. Alas I am not she and at nearly 52 I fear I may never be.

On the weekend, as I scrolled through emails, I happily noticed one of my favourites had arrived titled ‘I Need a Carrot.” Intrigued, I opened it expectantly hoping for a carrot recipe, I’m quite partial to a carrot…but I digress. She, similarly, spoke of mornings and went on to speak of her carrots. Little promises she makes to herself during the week to entice herself to complete otherwise challenging tasks. Promises of reward if you will, to keep putting one front in front of the other. Her and I spoke once in DM’s of mornings. She prompted me to focus on the feeling afterwards rather than the steps between where I lay and that feeling. It’s great advice though searching through my addled and foggy morning brain for that nugget Lindsay had offered me to throw back the covers is often a fruitless hunt, clearly. Like her earlier advice I also love the idea of a carrot, an attempt to fool myself into a prize at the end of completions to tempt me forwards to the finish line. But unlike Lindsay I’m yet to find the discipline to take the steps to win myself offered prizes and therefore the achievement of those goals, like rising early and meeting the day with a brisk walk (read: dreaded exercise) and a whimsical gaze out the window sipping coffee like some dreamy tv commercial.

One thing I do imagine and daydream about when I finally take my walk after brekky and coffee is what I’ll eat for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s my carrot, a delicious dinner that awaits me at the end of the day and the time to bring that together. Weirdly to some, that end of day kitchen time is like a meditation to me. Time where I stop and retreat to my happy place to respond to the day by creating something tasty. On days like the cold winter ones we’re experiencing at the moment I get through the days on the wings of the promise I make to myself to create a bowl of something warming to end my day with. Something laced with warming spice served with plumes of steam rising from it’s surface to lick the cold tip of my nose with it’s aromas and warmth.

I’ve spoken before of my deep abide love of soup both here and here. Like then, it endures as does my love of spice. Soup should be an experience of it’s own, hands warmed by the bowl, spoon plunging into its broth, swirling on the hunt for individual favourite ‘pearls’ of ingredients floating through its wake, and in this case, slurpy noodles coated in all its flavours. As I type this, having made Curry Chicken and Noodle Soup to photograph for you, I’m a little distracted. It’s cold, the scene outside my window is bleak, black clouds shrouding the day in a dusk like filter, but there’s soup in a pot on the stove for dinner. I’ll keep typing, no soup for me until the work is done.

Serves 4

Ingredients:

700 gm chicken maryland or similar pieces with skin and bone still attached.

2 large garlic cloves finely chopped

1 litre chicken stock

20 gm finely grated ginger

1 lemongrass stalk bruised, white part only

1 red chilli sliced, seeds in or out. The spice choice is yours.

1 makrut lime leaf crinkled with a squeeze in your hand

1 brown onion peeled and sliced

3 cardamon pods bruised with the back of a knife to crack the pod

1 tsp ground turmeric

3 tsp curry powder, the run of the mill kind

1 large carrot peeled and sliced in thickish slices, say nearly 1cm thick

¾ cup of sliced green beans

2 cups of water

200-300 pkt fresh egg noodles

Fresh herbs to serve such as basil, parsley, mint and dare I say….coriander (just not in my bowl)

Coconut cream to serve.

Method:

Preheat oven to 220c, stay with me here I know this sounds odd. In a medium baking dish drizzle olive then place chicken pieces in the dish, drizzle more olive oil over the top and sprinkle flakes over the chicken. Place in the hot oven and bake 25 minutes or until the skin and edges are just starting to brown and blister but the meat is not completely cooked through.

While the chicken is starting in the oven. Prepare the onion and spices. In a large heavy pot, over medium heat, warm a good glug of olive. Reduce the heat to low and add the onion cooking gently for five minutes. Add the garlic, ginger, chilli and lemongrass and cook briefly until fragrant. Add the curry powder and cardamon pods and again cook for a minute to draw out the fragrance. Remove the chicken from the oven and add to the pot including any oil and drippings and the lime leaf. Stir to combine and coat the chicken in the spiced juices, pour over the stock and bring to the boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer 30-40 minutes or until the chicken comes away from the easily but not falling off.

Remove the chicken from the pot. Tip the vegies into the broth and increase heat slightly, cook ten minutes while preparing meat. With two forks gently pull the meat from the bones. Discard the skin but return the bones to the pot to eke out every last morsel of flavour while you finish the soup. Shred the meat before returning to the soup and if needed chop to bite size pieces of necessary. Return meat to pot and cook a further 5 minutes.

When you’re nearly ready to serve, cook noodles following instructions on the packet. Distribute noodles evenly amongst four bowls. Gently ladle soup over the noodles. Like you would add cream to pumpkin or tomato soup, swirl a spoonful of coconut milk over the soup and top with fresh fragrant herbs.

Parsnip and Cashew Soup

As I sit in front of my computer writing, gazing out my window intermittently, autumn rain and cold winds blow through drawing winter nearer. Rain doesn’t always find us here, indeed where I live it often splits around us, moving to the north and south of our little valley, something about the topography of the area perhaps. Not so the Mornington Peninsula, a beautiful stretch of land bordering the eastern side of Port Phillip Bay on which greater Melbourne is settled. Home to market gardens and vineyards her soil is rich and productive, rainfall plentiful and the coastal fringe framing the region home to generations of holiday makers. It’s also the home to creative and cook Amy Minichiello.

I first met Amy in 2018 during an online course hosted by Sophie Hansen. Whilst the course focussed on sharing food stories on social media, it’s participants gathering from many fields. Amy and I lived relatively close (an hour and a half) and just clicked. Encouraged, during the course, to build relationships and collaborations Amy generously allowed me to photograph her at work in her beautiful cottage kitchen at the end of the peninsula. Her sweet boy toddling at our feet she cooked us a lunch of potato soup, bread and chocolate cake. A grateful reward at the end of our shoot on a day where wild Southern Ocean weather lashed her windows howling through the gnarly old tea trees who’s twisted branches are like a narrative of the coastal squalls they’ve witnessed. Abundant vignettes of fruit and vegetables adorned her bench, a collection of old wares and china sat proudly on the shelves and treasured books fondly perched up high, watch over all while she floated around her cosy kitchen oozing warmth and bringing life to the ideas that whirl in her creative mind.

We went on to work together a couple more times all the while building a body of work towards Amy’s dream of creating something grand with her ‘Recipes in the Mail’ project. Every time I visited Amy on the peninsula cooler weather, sometimes rain and always a canopy of clouds, prevailed. Never dampening spirits, it somehow always added to the cosy atmosphere that envelops you as you wander through the vegetable and herb garden towards a warm welcome at her front door. Greeted by rose perfumed air and sweet giggles from her little ‘assistants’ and sometimes a crackling fire, a visit to the tranquil oasis in which she weaves her magic is always a balm for the soul and always one for the appetite too.

Amy called on her social media community to send her their food memories from their families along with the recipes inspiring the reminiscences. She was flooded with beautiful letters all pouring their hearts out and of course much-loved delicious recipes. As she slowly ploughed through them, inhaling the love in the stories and recreating the recipes, an idea bloomed in her heart and gathered momentum. Surely if she loved reading and cooking from these recollections, others would too. Her community enjoyed her posts, entranced by her whimsical prose and images, pushing her forward. I was privileged to be invited to capture Amy in her happy place and the passion she holds for this wonderful time capsule of food memories she’s created.

So as the scene outside my window reminds me of those days creating, and I procrastiscroll, I stop and smile. It’s happening, her dream is coming to life with the publication of her book Recipes in the Mail finally announced in her morning post.

No one leaves her seaside cottage, hungry and no one leaves without feeling like they’ve been wrapped in a blanket of warmth and friendship. Her food is wholesome, comforting and earthy. Never fussy yet always layered with flavours. So as I reflect on all that this book will be, I’m inspired to create the same comfort and earthy nourishment for my own lunch, to both warm the soul and body. Silky smooth Parsnip and Cashew soup topped with a foil of sour cream and chives should do the trick. Perhaps if you need some wholesome comfort or warming today a hot bowl of soup in your hands and belly will do the trick for you too.

Ingredients:

500 gm parsnip peeled and trimmed, roughly chopped into large chunks

2 garlic cloves, one kept whole one peeled and crushed

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

25 gm butter

1 leek, white part only sliced

½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves

150 gm whole natural cashew nuts

1 litre chicken or vegetable stock

2 cups of water

Sour cream and chives to serve

Method:

 Preheat oven to 180c and line a medium roasting dish with baking paper.

Toss parsnip chunks and whole garlic clove in 1 tb of the olive oil, spread in a single layer in the roasting dish, sprinkle with a generous pinch of salt flakes and bake in the oven for 45 minutes until edges are caramelising, turning half way through.

 While the parsnip cooks melt butter and warm remaining tb of olive oil in a large heavy pot like a cast iron over a medium heat. Reduce to low and add the leek cooking gently for 5 minutes. Stir frequently to prevent the leek browning. Sprinkle in the nutmeg and thyme and add the crushed garlic clove briefly cooking off until fragrant. Increase heat to medium and tumble cashews into the pot stirring constantly, cooking them for a few minutes, again preventing anything from browning. Squeeze roasted garlic from its skin and add to the pot with roasted parsnip and stir to combine. Increase heat to med-high. Pour in stock and water again stirring and bring to the boil. Reduce to heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes or until everything is soft.

 Allow to cool to hand hot, not steaming. If you have a stick blender you can blend straight into the pot until smooth. I use a high-speed blender. Ladle the soup into your blender or food processor and blend until silky smooth. Return to wiped out pot warming up again and adjust seasoning to taste. I use white pepper but you do you, black will also be delicious. With the salting of the parsnip and stock I find the soup salty enough for me but you may like to add some salt flakes. I suggest you do this in small pinches at a time stirring between each addition.

Top with a spoonful of sour cream and a sprinkle of fresh chives and enjoy. With the addition of cashews this is a hearty meal and will serve 4-6 hungry tummies well.

Thai Spiced Pumpkin Soup

Many of my memories are wrapped in food. I can recall what I’ve eaten at many of the important moments, milestones and destinations in my life, the dish punctuating the recollections with flavour, colour and setting. I write about this a lot, indeed these memories and the feelings they evoke spark emotions that can comfort, warm and usually bring a smile. The transportive nature of taste and smell can move you like no other sensory spark.

The bracingly cold winter we’re experiencing has again brought many of these memories to the surface with a seemingly insatiable yearning for soup. Some of my earliest and fondest memories featuring food and coloured with a bowl of steaming nutritious soup. I’ve written about this here and here. Soup can act like a canvas for culinary creativity stretching you to use up the bits and bobs in the veg crisper and pantry and concoct something that emerges from the bowl that warms and nurtures mind, body and soul.

One of the first soups I made myself was a pumpkin soup. Sitting in the classroom of my home economics class aged 14, relatively new to the pumpkin eating party I was excited to try what felt inordinately exotic. Can you imagine a simple bowl of a much loved classic, listed on café menus the world over for its economic simplicity as exotic? Gosh our tastes grow don’t they. It was a favourite for many years and one I made frequently. But as time marched on and my tastes changed I found myself rejecting it as too plain.

Too plain until this idea came to me. It’s one inspired by many modern versions I’ve seen around recently. Attempts by others to zhoosh up the 1980’s favourite with a modern twist. Ones with various flourishes of other ingredients dancing in tandem to create a new combination or various spice additions transporting the dish through various cuisines, all of which lifting a very simple dish to another level. As is often the case in my kitchen I’ve tried to keep it simple, relying on the best quality ingredients available to shine and bring the show to the bowl keeping the list and jobs to a minimum.

Ingredients:

750 gm Pumpkin peeled and cut into large chunks

2 Tb olive oil

½ tsp salt flakes

1 tb grated ginger

2 French shallots peeled and sliced

1 lemongrass stalk, white part only bruised to open the husk but remaining in tact

3 lime leaves scrunched up

2 tb red curry paste

1 litre chicken stock

1 cup coconut milk

Preheat oven to 180c.

Method:

Combine pumpkin cubes, 1 tb of the oil and salt flakes and toss to coat. Spread in one layer on a baking tray and roast in the oven for 30 45 minutes or until almost cooked through. They’ll finish cooking and softening in the soup and we don’t want the edges to caramelise.

While the pumpkin is cooking, in a heavy based pot, warm the remaining tb of oil. Gently fry off the ginger and shallots over a low heat for five minutes or until soft and translucent but not caramelised. Add in the lemongrass and lime leaves, stirring and warming until they release their aroma. Increase heat to med-high, stir in the curry paste and again cook off for a few minutes more until aromatic and well combined with the shallots, ginger and herbs. Pour in stock and tip in roasted pumpkin cubes. Bring this mixture to the boil and reduce to a gentle simmer. Allow it to gently bubble away for thirty minutes to allow the flavours to meld and the pumpkin to finish cooking. The pumpkin will break up considerable during this period, which is fine as we’ll blending it in the next step. Turn off heat and allow to cool slightly until the nest step.

If you’re using a stand blender like me (I use a vitamix) you’ll need to allow it to cool to the point where it’s not freely steaming, about 10-15 minutes. If using a stick blender in the pot in which you’ve cooked carry on straight away.

Blend the soup with the coconut milk and return to heat for 5-10 minutes.

Serve over noodles of your choice, with rice or on it’s own with some warm flaky roti bread. Top with an extra dollop of coconut cream and a sprinkle of thai style embellishments such as chopped peanuts, herbs, chilli slices and deep fried shallots.

You’ll notice I’ve used mint. I’m one of ‘those coriander’ people. I simply can’t eat it, smell it or frankly be in the same room as it. This is a dish however that would be lovely with the addition of lots of fresh fragrant herbs. I suspect coriander lovers would love it’s addition to a bowl of this soup. You might also like thai basil, sweet basil, Vietnamese mint and regular mint. The more the merrier, added while steaming to elevate the lovely aroma realeased in the heat.

Notes:

The soup also hosts sliced stir fried greens nicely.

You can make the soup heartier with the addition of some proteins. Boiled eggs like I’ve used in the photo works well. You may also like to use shredded chicken either from leftovers from a previous meal or poached while you’re making the soup. For vegetarians cubes of deep fried tofu is a delicious addition.

Greens and Bean Soup

My earliest memory of food is of me tucking into a bowl of soup. Chubby toddler right hand firmly gripping a spoon only just able to fit in my little mouth, left hand resting on the side of the bowl to warm those chilled little fingers. Little drops of oil floating wondrously on the surface of the broth like a monochrome kaleidoscope, barley bobbing around chased by my hungry spoon. It set me on a path of a passionate love for soup. Like a hug from the inside out soup has had my heart from the earliest days. It’s a chameleon dish. Every cuisine on earth has varieties of soup in it’s repertoire. It’s a vehicle for using up left overs, all the bits at the bottom of the fridge and food that nourishes and warms those we love. It’s a dish we can deliver to a friend who needs some love or one we can make to nurture the ailing.

When I emerged from the post surgery fug and regained the use of my right hand (yes I am right handed to boot) I was desperate to crack in to one of my new cook books. I’d remembered a soup full greens in Sophie’s book that I’d wanted to cook and started scouring the fridge and pantry for the ingredients. Sadly I was lacking a huge number of the ingredients but was still craving a bowl of greens floating in broth. Something a little lighter than some of the more hearty styles I often create but nourishing and satisfying none the less. This creation hit the spot and continued to do so in the days that followed. It’s super easy and would be a great one for after work or to batch cook for a busy week.

I’m still craving Sophie’s Spring Minestrone, must add the ingredients to this week shopping list.

Ingredients:

1 leek white part only finely chopped

½ tsp of freshly grated nutmeg ( it really does taste and smell better) or ¼ tsp of pre-ground.

2 garlic cloves finely chopped or crushed

50 grams prosciutto or pancetta finely chopped ( you could sub with bacon if that’s all you have)

4 sprigs of thyme leaves removed

1 swede peeled and diced

1 C broad beans podded

1 C frozen peas ( I prefer baby peas)

1 C green beans sliced into short pieces

1 can cannellini beans drained

1 ½ litres of chicken stock

Salt and white pepper

Method:

In a large heavy based pot warm a good glug of extra virgin olive oil over a low heat. Cook the leek and garlic slowly in the oil, avoiding browning the leek and garlic, until soft around five minutes. Increase heat to medium and add swede, thyme and nutmeg stirring frequently for a few minutes to warm the pieces of swede and release the aroma of the thyme and nutmeg. Finally add the remaining veg and stir to warm them add the stock and canned beans and bring to the boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 30-40 minutes or until the swede is soft. Season with salt and pepper to a taste. White pepper has a delicious warming tingle and suits this dish particularly well.