After a weekend of championship eating, I needed a light meal on Sunday night. I stuffed myself silly on Saturday at the bridal shower/bachelorette party, including a major over indulgence in a chocolate cake. There was a large amount of cake left over at the end of the night and I happily volunteered to take some home—way to take one for the team there. That cake was so good, as I think of it now I can feel that there’s a longing look in my eye…now all I have left is my fond memories of our time together. It was truly great. And it necessitated a Sunday night detox.
What’s best for a light evening meal? Soup, of course. Not a cream soup…something vegetable based. Fire-roasted Tomato and Fennel Soup should do the trick. This soup has its roots in a recipe from Fine Cooking magazine (November 2006; a great publication, if you have the time or inclination to check it out). I’ve made it a few times; eliminating, adding and changing ingredients—to the point where I feel comfortable calling it my own, so long as I acknowledge that the seed for the idea was provided by Fine Cooking.
I’ve been away from writing for a few days…wrapping up in preparation for leaving my job of nearly seven years. So, I made this on Sunday night but haven’t had a chance to write until now (Friday morning). And I didn’t actually take any notes as to what I did this time (yet another one of those instances where I just throw a bunch of stuff together and the dish tastes a little different every time I make it). So I’m just covering my ass so that if I misquote an ingredient, I’ve already got a defense in place…
To start, dice a large sweet yellow onion, one large fennel bulb (core removed, of course) and three or four large carrots. Heat these in a large soup pot with a spray of olive oil, over medium-high heat. You don’t really want them to brown, so don’t crank up the heat too high. Instead, we’re going for a gentle softening of the aromatics. When the onion, fennel and carrot are well softened, add 4-5 minced (or pressed) garlic cloves, 1 T of anise (or fennel) seeds and about 1 t of dried thyme. Cook about 1 minute longer, making sure not to burn the garlic, and then add a healthy splash of dry sherry (seems like I use this in everything, right? I do.) Add 2 cans of undrained fire-roasted tomatoes (Muir Glen is the only company that makes these, as far as I’ve seen), and about 1 cup of chicken broth (no idea on how much I really used here—do what seems right for the degree of looseness you want in your soup). Add a splash of orange juice (this was in the original recipe and it’s a fine idea, since orange and fennel marry so well together). Increase the heat and allow the mixture to come to a slow boil. Let it cook at least 15 minutes, but feel free to let it go longer if you have the time (adding additional broth as needed to keep the mixture from becoming to stew-like). Add about 1 cup of torn fresh basil leaves and a splash of milk (Fine Cooking called for cream, and a fairly good dose of it—I don’t think so).
Now, the fun part. I bought an immersion blender a couple of months ago (to whittle away at the build-up of Williams Sonoma gift cards that I had—somehow, someone got the idea that I like cooking…). The primary reason that I bought it was for making soups, and not wanting to be forced to ladle hot soup into a blender and play the-not having the soup explode out of the top of the blender when I turn in on-game. I had a bad experience with that exact issue. Last fall, Jim was working really insane hours on a project (the minimum weekly requirement was 65 hours, which they increased to 70 at the end). There was an Oktoberfest celebration that we had wanted to attend on a Saturday, but he had to work. He was so beaten down by the project by that point (these crazy hours had been going for months straight), so I felt like he needed a pick-me-up. So I made Oktoberfest at home. I spent the week leading up to that Saturday researching German cooking and planning out a full-scale German meal (which I thought he’d appreciate, having lived in Germany for four years as a young man). One of the dishes that I made was a roasted pork-tenderloin with a beer sauce. It was the beer sauce that got me in trouble. It involved making a soupy mixture of onions, beer and other flavorings and then pureeing the mixture in a blender (while it’s still hot). I transferred a portion of the sauce to the blender, held the top in place with a towel and turned it on. I was immediately covered in hot beer sauce. My kitchen was covered in hot beer sauce. This was an unbelievable disaster—what a mess. In particular, since I was working on a very tight schedule (I wanted to greet him when he came home from work with appetizers and some silly German music I got from iTunes…with dinner in good shape and ready for final preparations so we could just relax). The experience of being soaked in hot beer and onion and having to hunt down random pools of beer sauce all over my kitchen convinced me that the immersion blender was the way to go from then on. $80, well spent.
So, returning to the point at hand…if you don’t have an immersion blender you can ladle small portions of the soup into a blender (don’t fill it even half way) and carefully puree it (start at the slowest speed and work your way up—trust me.) Otherwise, just lower your immersion blender into the pot and give it a good blending. We like this soup sort of rustic and chunky, so I don’t generally puree it too much. But if you like your tomato soup as smooth as silk, by all means—blend to your heart’s content. Return the soup to a slow boil, let it simmer away for a few more minutes and then you’re ready to eat. It's pictured below, garnished with a bit of goat cheese (the side salad made the picture this time). Easy, light and quick. Perfect for a Sunday night.
What’s best for a light evening meal? Soup, of course. Not a cream soup…something vegetable based. Fire-roasted Tomato and Fennel Soup should do the trick. This soup has its roots in a recipe from Fine Cooking magazine (November 2006; a great publication, if you have the time or inclination to check it out). I’ve made it a few times; eliminating, adding and changing ingredients—to the point where I feel comfortable calling it my own, so long as I acknowledge that the seed for the idea was provided by Fine Cooking.
I’ve been away from writing for a few days…wrapping up in preparation for leaving my job of nearly seven years. So, I made this on Sunday night but haven’t had a chance to write until now (Friday morning). And I didn’t actually take any notes as to what I did this time (yet another one of those instances where I just throw a bunch of stuff together and the dish tastes a little different every time I make it). So I’m just covering my ass so that if I misquote an ingredient, I’ve already got a defense in place…
To start, dice a large sweet yellow onion, one large fennel bulb (core removed, of course) and three or four large carrots. Heat these in a large soup pot with a spray of olive oil, over medium-high heat. You don’t really want them to brown, so don’t crank up the heat too high. Instead, we’re going for a gentle softening of the aromatics. When the onion, fennel and carrot are well softened, add 4-5 minced (or pressed) garlic cloves, 1 T of anise (or fennel) seeds and about 1 t of dried thyme. Cook about 1 minute longer, making sure not to burn the garlic, and then add a healthy splash of dry sherry (seems like I use this in everything, right? I do.) Add 2 cans of undrained fire-roasted tomatoes (Muir Glen is the only company that makes these, as far as I’ve seen), and about 1 cup of chicken broth (no idea on how much I really used here—do what seems right for the degree of looseness you want in your soup). Add a splash of orange juice (this was in the original recipe and it’s a fine idea, since orange and fennel marry so well together). Increase the heat and allow the mixture to come to a slow boil. Let it cook at least 15 minutes, but feel free to let it go longer if you have the time (adding additional broth as needed to keep the mixture from becoming to stew-like). Add about 1 cup of torn fresh basil leaves and a splash of milk (Fine Cooking called for cream, and a fairly good dose of it—I don’t think so).
Now, the fun part. I bought an immersion blender a couple of months ago (to whittle away at the build-up of Williams Sonoma gift cards that I had—somehow, someone got the idea that I like cooking…). The primary reason that I bought it was for making soups, and not wanting to be forced to ladle hot soup into a blender and play the-not having the soup explode out of the top of the blender when I turn in on-game. I had a bad experience with that exact issue. Last fall, Jim was working really insane hours on a project (the minimum weekly requirement was 65 hours, which they increased to 70 at the end). There was an Oktoberfest celebration that we had wanted to attend on a Saturday, but he had to work. He was so beaten down by the project by that point (these crazy hours had been going for months straight), so I felt like he needed a pick-me-up. So I made Oktoberfest at home. I spent the week leading up to that Saturday researching German cooking and planning out a full-scale German meal (which I thought he’d appreciate, having lived in Germany for four years as a young man). One of the dishes that I made was a roasted pork-tenderloin with a beer sauce. It was the beer sauce that got me in trouble. It involved making a soupy mixture of onions, beer and other flavorings and then pureeing the mixture in a blender (while it’s still hot). I transferred a portion of the sauce to the blender, held the top in place with a towel and turned it on. I was immediately covered in hot beer sauce. My kitchen was covered in hot beer sauce. This was an unbelievable disaster—what a mess. In particular, since I was working on a very tight schedule (I wanted to greet him when he came home from work with appetizers and some silly German music I got from iTunes…with dinner in good shape and ready for final preparations so we could just relax). The experience of being soaked in hot beer and onion and having to hunt down random pools of beer sauce all over my kitchen convinced me that the immersion blender was the way to go from then on. $80, well spent.So, returning to the point at hand…if you don’t have an immersion blender you can ladle small portions of the soup into a blender (don’t fill it even half way) and carefully puree it (start at the slowest speed and work your way up—trust me.) Otherwise, just lower your immersion blender into the pot and give it a good blending. We like this soup sort of rustic and chunky, so I don’t generally puree it too much. But if you like your tomato soup as smooth as silk, by all means—blend to your heart’s content. Return the soup to a slow boil, let it simmer away for a few more minutes and then you’re ready to eat. It's pictured below, garnished with a bit of goat cheese (the side salad made the picture this time). Easy, light and quick. Perfect for a Sunday night.
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