The second part of this post is all about the minestrone soup I made after this Sunday’s farmers’ market.

First though, I want to tell you about last weekend and the “Journées européennes du patrimoine” (or, European Heritage Days). I had already re-scheduled (note RE-scheduled) an eye appointment for Saturday afternoon, and Sébastien was set to play two tennis games Sunday. Though we’d been talking about it for about a month (“Oh, yeah, can’t wait to see that!” and “I’m sure there’ll be a long line, but we could try anyway.”), neither of us had realized the heritage days were this particular weekend when making all our other plans. I wasn’t about to re-schedule my appointment yet again, and, well, when there’s a tennis game, there’s a tennis game. So, we sadly didn’t think we’d end up taking much advantage of the long-awaited festivities.

As luck would have it though, Saturday was our day, as the eye doctor (over near Rebublique in the 11^th) proved to be a fabulous way to start the weekend (believe that!). Not only did the doctor say my view had gotten better (I know, right?), we stumbled upon La maison des métallos (more or less, the “house of the metal workers”). Now a cultural center in the heart of a diverse Parisian neighborhood, this was once a factory where wind instruments were made (and apparently sought after by American jazz artists in the 1930s). Then, the building was bought by the “Union Fraternelle des Métallurgistes” – with an entire history that we learned all about on our tour (thanks to the heritage days!). Now I’m looking forward to attending some of the center’s community-oriented performances, debates….

Sunday, we (after how many years in Paris?) went to the Musée Chaillot (directly across from the Eiffel Tower and dedicated to “architecture et patrimoine”). We chose it thinking it wouldn’t take too long and was doable between tennis matches. Wrong! We spent about an hour and need to go back. We didn’t see everything, but what we did was pretty neat.

This was the conversation upon arrival at the ticket desk (yes, even when museums are free for the day, you still have to get a ticket):

Ticket agent: Would you like to see the Gaultier exhibit?

Us: Um, uh. Oui?

Ticket agent: Okay, I’d recommend going directly there since it closes at 5pm.

Us: Merci!

Up the elevator we go, into a sort of dream world. We enter a room covered (completely covered) with blue and white striped fabric. It’s pulled tight over the walls and furniture – making you feel simultaneously dizzy and quite curious. Imagine pulling a giant pair of striped tights over your living room – you can distinguish the objects (like tea cups), but they’re under a haze. We continued to a small series of rooms after that – taking note of the amazing view over Paris out the windows. (The exhibit’s on until October).

Back down the elevator, we saw the rooms dedicated to different architectural casts (life-size) from around France (like church facades and statues). Then, we headed to the architecture floor. Quarter to six came too fast and we had to skedaddle.

Heritage Minestrone

Didn’t I say I’d write about soup? Well, here it is: after a busy weekend and an equally busy week coming up, I made minestrone – to last several days.

It’s easy. My only recommendation is cooking and keeping the noodles separate – otherwise they get soggy after a day. I prefer them al dente all the time.

Also, soak the dried beans in water overnight (that’s what my mom’s always done with pinto beans back home). It keeps them more digestible (we’ll leave it there). It also means less cooking time, and thus more nutrition.

Shopping List

1 onion

2 potatoes (diced small)

2 carrots

3 stalks celery

A handful or two green beans

1 can crushed peeled tomatoes and their juice

1 cup dried red or white beans (soaked overnight and cooked – about an hour)

1 cup small elbow pasta (cooked)

Olive oil

Rosemary

Thyme

Salt

Pepper

Parmesan cheese (finely grated)

Fresh basil

Recipe:

1. Chop all ingredients into small squares or pieces.

2. Sautée the onion, then add the potatoes, carrots, celery and finally the green beans.

3. Cover with water, add some rosemary, thyme and salt.

4. Let simmer until all the veggies are cooked.

5. Add the tomatoes and their juice (Maybe you could add this right away, but I had to run out to get it – stove-top burner turned off of course!)

6. Add the cooked beans.

7. When ready to serve, dish a small amount of pasta into bowls, cover with the soup, grated Parmesan, pepper and fresh basil.

The best is making this soup on Sunday and enjoying it all week. The flavors just get better and better.

P.S. This weekend, September 23-24, is the Fete de la gastronomie in France.

]]> http://thetomatoknife.com/2011/09/heritage-minestrone-recipe/feed/ 2 http://thetomatoknife.com/2011/03/no-stress-vegetable-soup-recipe/ http://thetomatoknife.com/2011/03/no-stress-vegetable-soup-recipe/#comments Mon, 21 Mar 2011 22:10:58 +0000 Joy Anna Becvarik http://thetomatoknife.com/?p=1721 I’ve been shunning exact measurements recently.

With all that’s going on in the world, I seem to find refuge in the simple flow of following ingredients into their recipe – I say “their recipe” because I’ve just been letting them take over. Maybe this is a bit off the wall, but I almost feel like a writer when I’m cooking, and my vegetables are my characters. Any novelist will tell you the characters they create eventually take over the story, lead it wherever they please. I feel like cooking is exactly the same. Yes, I usually rely on recipes (at least to start with) when I attempt baking – I imagine this particular arena filled with a basket of already-tried and tested proofs that are hard for me to compete with. Anything else, though, is fair game and the ingredients (from what just happens to be in the fridge, to what just happens to jump into the pot) dictate.

For me, cooking has two personalities: no stress or completely chaotic. Watch “Top Chef” (the current Monday night favorite chez nous) to witness an example of the latter. Come into our kitchen on a late (preferably sunny) Monday afternoon for the other side of the spectrum, when I let go of the first day of the workweek by creating my “zen zone.” Thanks to vegetable soup, cooking is like yoga – with wooden spoons. I just finished making a huge pot of my “soupe de grandmère” and feel like I’ve just done deep breathing and warrior pose. Unlike my marathon weekends when I  plunge into crazy, time-consuming and ambitious culinary adventures (and we don’t eat until 9 or 10 o’clock!), late weekday afternoons are often reserved for kitchen Bikram.

For my vegetable soup, I usually sauté some onions, garlics and leeks in olive oil. Then I add potatoes, carrot… even corn and white beans when I have them. I cover it all with water, add a couple bay leaves and some salt, and let boil until all the vegetables are cooked. A warm, comforting aroma spreads through the apartment (and the outside hallway and elevator) as it simmers. Like today, I often prepare it early, turn off the burner and reheat the soup when it’s dinner time. All in all, the preparation takes about 20 minutes (chopping veggies) and the cooking a minimum of 45 minutes – longer simmering simply brings out more flavor.

Want to know a kind of funny secret? I’d never, until this week, bought a fennel.

Since I’d never bought one, I’d never cooked with one either- until today. What an aroma fills the room as you slice into it! A sort of fresh, playful licorice. I made my two bulbs into four bowls of creamy fennel leek soup. We finished it off about half an hour ago, but I really wish we had more.

I was inspired by a “velouté” that I found in one of my French cookbooks.

Shopping List

2 fennel bulbs (chopped)

3 leeks (chopped, except for 1/2)

1/4 cup crème fraîche (or sour cream)

1/8 cup finely grated Parmesan (plus a little more)

1 teaspoon lemon juice

Olive oil

Freshly grated nutmeg

Gros sel de Camargue (coarse cooking salt)

2 bay leaves

Freshly ground pepper

Recipe (makes 4 bowls):

1. Prepare the soup: Sauté the fennel and leeks in a bit of olive oil, until translucent (like onions). Cover with water, add the bay leaves, sprinkle in some salt and grate in a dash of nutmeg. Cover and let simmer (medium heat) until the fennel is fully cooked.

2. Prepare the cream: In a small bowl, combine the crème fraîche with the lemon juice and let sit. (If using sour cream, do not add the lemon).

3. Prepare the leek topping: Slice the remaining 1/2 of a leek into small strips. Gently sauté them in a small amount of olive oil. Cook them very slightly, stirring regularly and removing them from the heat before they turn brown. Set aside.

4. Blend and combine: When the vegetables are cooked, blend them until “smooth” and then return this mixture to the pot. Add the cream and the Parmesan. Top with the leek strips, a bit of Parmesan, a grate of nutmeg and some pepper.

Serve with thick slices of fresh, grainy bread (perfect for dipping).

]]> http://thetomatoknife.com/2010/05/fennel-leek-soup-recipe/feed/ 2 http://thetomatoknife.com/2009/09/soupe-de-potimarron-recipe/ http://thetomatoknife.com/2009/09/soupe-de-potimarron-recipe/#comments Wed, 09 Sep 2009 15:45:22 +0000 Joy Anna Becvarik http://thetomatoknife.com/?p=573 My favorite season has arrived!

Autumn?  You’re thinking.  Almost. Potimarron season.

A potimarron is a medium-sized winter squash which looks kind of like a pumpkin and tastes like chestnuts.  Actually, thanks to this site, I just learned that potimarron is a combination of the French word for pumpkin (potiron) and chestnut (marron)- I love that kind of stuff!  Don’t get confused, though- it’s not an acorn or butternut squash (winter cousins).  In English, it’s most-commonly called Hokkaido squash.

We know it by a Japanese name, however in Japan they supposedly call it “Chinese squash.”  I’ve also seen it called red kuri (referring to the orange variety).  What’s in a name?  Like Romeo, wouldn’t a potimarron by any other name taste just as savory?

Needless of what we call it, these cheery babies have flooded the French farmer’s markets.  The most common skin color seems to be bright orange, though I’ve also cooked the deep green ones which are just as nice.  Inside, they’re both a dark yellowy-orange- a sign of beta carotene, an excellent immune builder.

A year ago I wasn’t buying potimarrons.  It’s not the kind of vegetable I would have thought to buy on my own- despite its looking so cute and friendly at the market.  I first discovered it thanks to my panier de légumes biologiques last January (incidentally, the same day Obama was sworn in).  Since I had one, I had to figure out what to do with it.  At first, my potimarron was a little intimidating- you have to cut through the tough outer skin to get to the meat inside.  Once I got through chopping and made it into a soup, I fell for this new-found squash instantly.  Now I make my soupe de potimarron whenever I’m in the mood for a warm (and easy) treat- perfect for the cool autumn days ahead.

A few notes: The first time I made this soup, I had about 15 carrots in the house- thanks again to my vegetable basket.  I threw one in (in an attempt to get rid of them little by little) and it stuck to this recipe.  I think it adds a nice, sweet flavor to the soup.

Also, the first few times I made this soup, I did it the hard way and spent about half an hour sawing through the skin and cutting the raw insides into small squares.  Only then would I proceeded to making my soup.  Recently, a friend told me I should try roasting the potimarron in the oven first, and then making the soup.  Today, this is exactly what I did- and it made it so much easier.  I’ll stick with this approach for the recipe below- but if you don’t have an oven (like many young people in Paris) you can do it the more difficult, time-consuming way and cook it directly in the soup pot with the carrots- it’s still worth it.

Makes 2 big bowls or 4 small starters.

Shopping List

1 potimarron

1 carrot (chopped into rounds)

1 red onion (diced)

3/4 – 1 cup milk

1/4 – 1/2 cup water

Olive oil

Salt

Pepper

Cinnamon

Tumeric (Curcuma in French)

1. Prepare the potimarron

- Cut it in half and spoon out the seeds.

- Cut it into 5 or 6 large pieces and place on a baking sheet.

- Sprinkle with olive oil, a little salt and pepper and bake at 375 degrees F (190 degrees C) for about 45 minutes to 1 hour, until soft and beginning to roast.

- Remove and let cool enough to handle.

2. Prepare the onions and carrots

- When the squash is nearly done, sauté the onions in olive oil (in a soup pot).

- Add the carrots after a few minutes.

- Add 3/4 cup milk and 1/4 cup water after another few minutes and let simmer.

3. Add the potimarron

- Scoop the squash out of its skin and add to the soup pot (when the carrots are beginning to get soft).

- Stir the chunky mixture to combine ingredients and let simmer a few minutes, adding more milk/water if needed.

- Add the salt, pepper and spices to taste.

4. Blend until smooth and creamy

I use Molly, the blender (no, not all the kitchen appliances have names, but she’s special).  You can also use a little hand-blender, like you find in most French kitchen.

Once all is blended the soup’s ready.  I like to sprinkle it with toasted pine nuts or seeds.