Soups On

When the first dark, drippy day of fall arrives and other people slip on their rain jackets and mourn the end of summer, I can be found peaking out my window with a smile spreading across my face for that day that announces the season for sweaters and scarfs, curbside puddles, falling leaves and weekends spent turning the dog-eared pages of my well-loved books.

And, best of all, it's also the season for soup.

From October through March (or sometimes April or May - this is Portland after all) soup is my constant mealtime companion and midday belly warmer. Though I love the rain, the chill that accompanies it creeps into my bones such that I can often be found writing at my computer in faux fur-lined slippers and a down jacket with a blanket draped across my lap. It's a ridiculous get up but that cocoon keeps me warm until it's time to eat soup.

I'm not very creative when it comes to winter soups, preferring instead to tweak my go-to tomato soup recipe just so, and just often enough that I don't get bored with it. Ever. And yes, despite the fact that I've already explained that I abhor tomatoes, I find no fault with the taste and texture of tomatoes when I eat them crushed, from a can.

That's where my recipe always starts, with a can of crushed tomatoes and a splash of chicken broth. In the "old" days, back when I was a penny-pinching studio dweller, I added little nuggets of herbed sausage and a handful of spinach to the soup. It was sort of like a meatball soup, but not quite. And though my husband loved this version (minus the spinach) I sought something more refined.

Over time, I've added bits of salty proscuitto to the pot, then topped my bowl with peppery arugula and a drizzle of aged balsamic vinegar. I've sprinkled it liberally with feta cheese (with poor results) and aged Parmesan (the perfect garnish), and often mixed in frozen shrimp or fresh fish to create a makeshift cioppino.

The version I'm certain will appear many times this year is my riff on Donna Hay's tomato basil-bread soup. All the recipe required was that I simmer the soup base for a time, then turn off the heat and add big chunks of soft, spongy bread and a handful of basil leaves. I know, soggy bread might not sound appetizing but the heft those little bread bits give the soup changes the experience of eating it entirely. Go ahead, give it a try. 

Italian Tomato and Basil Bread Soup
The original recipe called for stewing very ripe tomatoes down into a chunky sauce. Since good, local tomatoes are hard to find in Portland during the late fall and winter, I streamlined the recipe by using a can of crushed tomatoes instead. Crushed tomatoes usually come in 28-ounce cans; this recipe makes a bit too much soup for me to slurp up in one meal so I often reserve the leftover soup for "second rounds", adding more broth and fresh bread if I want to bulk it up the next day. 

1 teaspoon olive oil
1 clove garlic, smashed but left whole
1 can crushed tomatoes (unsalted if you can find them)
1/4 cup low-sodium chicken broth 
1 1-inch thick slice artisan bread, crust removed and torn into chunks
1 handful basil leaves, torn into tiny pieces
Salt and fresh cracked black pepper, to taste

Warm the olive oil in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add the garlic clove and saute for a minute. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and the low sodium chicken broth, and stir the soup base together. 

Place a lid on the pot and simmer for approximately 10 minutes or until the soup is warmed through. 

Remove the garlic clove and simmer to taste with salt and pepper. Turn the heat off and add the bread and basil to the pot. Allow the soup to stand for 5 minutes, covered, then ladle into bowls and serve unadorned or garnished as desired.

-Adapted from Modern Classics by Donna Hay