Soup's On!

Yes, that really is the best caption I can come up with at the moment. All the inspiration went into Friday night's mammoth-sized pot of minestrone, along with most of the contents of my and Master's refrigerators and pantries.

Is there any better way to fortify one's self and intimates against a snow-lashed late February night? In keeping with the Campbell's creed that soup is a) good food and b) should eat like a meal, I made sure that mine was overstuffed with tasty things. To think that it all started with the pancetta, pan-rendered to crackling, golden-brown bits, and oozing unctuous, seasoned fat which made quick work of a knoll of onions and garlic. After that, I confess that it all got delightfully out of hand. Kale, fennel, carrots, potato, petite peas, Parmigiano-Reggiano rind, cannellini beans, roly-poly ditalini, tomatoes, celery leaves, chicken stock, marjoram, parsley, oregano, sea salt, an armload of fresh basil. In the ensuing abandon, a zucchini marked for the soup pot actually managed to escape unscathed, concealed amid the clutter of cutting boards, cans and plastic bowls. He lives to face another saute.

As a bonus, there was plenty of minestrone left to share with friends on Sunday. And what's the point of making a big pot of soup if not to share with all comers?

There is no hard photographic evidence of its fleeting existence, but I should spare a few words for the third attempted apple crisp. Or is it the fourth? Master does love his apple crisp. To prove it, and not being one to do things by half, he mail-ordered an entire case of Sylvia's soul-kitchen certified Apple Crisp Mix. Which I now feel obligated to deplete. Last time around, we had both failed to notice that the directions call for a can of apple pie filling. With the relatively brief baking time of 25 minutes, the results of using fresh apples instead were ... underwhelming. I frown upon overly sweet and preservative-laden canned fruit. So this crisp started as a one-pound bag of Granny Smiths, cooked down (during a particularly impetuous Saturday morning moment) to a compote, with sugar, cinnamon, orange peel and juice. Tasty and substantial enough to be served as applesauce, it was even better with Sylvie's butter-bolstered topping. I still miss those rolled oats, though.