Soup Date: Lemony Lentil Explosion

I could potentially assail your eyes with Swiss Family adventures, but the uncompleted task of interrogating well over a thousand photos to test for their blogability is a little daunting, to be quite frank. Therefore, I think I'll assail your stomach with tales of really great soup instead.

When it comes to lentil lovers, I have to admit I was a late bloomer.  I can't remember a single time when I came downstairs for dinner and the sight of lentils on the table conjured the fluttering of butterflies in the realm of my intestines. After taking my leave from the family table of my childhood, I was free to avoid them at will and did so without so much as adieu-- which was proper seeing as I would reconnect with those tiny morsels of tastiness in one of life's dark, rainy alleyways not terribly long after our separation. A chance encounter with some lentil soup somewhere in Germany two years ago electrified my taste buds with surprising elation, and that's when I knew it was time for a second chance. Without further ado, I assessed this auspicious quest and requested the aid of this recipe, which-- with some tweaking-- has yet to let me down. Simply said, it is a flavor-punching, thickly oozing, esophagus-blanketing slop of heart-warming glory. Particularly perfect for uncomfortable weather.

What you need:

• olive oil
• at least half of a small red onion, diced
• ≈ 3 pungent garlic cloves, smashed
• 2 Tbsp tomato paste
• 2 tsp cumin
• ≈ 1/2 tsp salt
• ≈ 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• ≈ 1 tsp chili powder 
• ≈ 1/2 tsp ground cilantro 
• crushed red pepper
• 8 cups vegetable stock
• 2 cups red lentils (you could theoretically use other lentils, but I promise your soup won't look nearly as appetizing if you do)
• 2ish large carrots, diced
• 1 large red pepper 
• 3+ Tbsp lemon juice 
• chopped fresh cilantro
• olive oil for drizzling
• earthy/crusty/amazing bread and cheese

The original recipe only makes three bowls, so I doubled it here along with other alterations. This soup is good several days in a row and can also be frozen for future digestion.

Additional note: If you don't already own an immersion blender, purchase/steal/be gifted one. Now. THEY ARE SO COOL AND FUN.

Musik: This is the time of year when I start accompanying everything I do with the Vince Guaraldi Trio's wintry classic: A Charlie Brown Christmas. Lentil soup creation is no exception.

Once all the ingredients have been summoned, relax attentively into the zen of dicing/smashing until all your vegetable bits have shrunk and multiplied. Then heat a splash of olive oil over medium heat in a large, inviting pot, wherein you will soon treat your onion and garlic smash to a pleasant hot oil massage. After a couple minutes of enjoyment and no burning, plop in the tomato paste and precipitate the cumin, salt, black pepper, chili powder and ground cilantro. Stir thickening slop. You may need to add a bitty splotch more oil and temporarily remove the pot from heat to keep the spicy conglomeration from burning. Add the crushed red pepper if you have no fear in your mouth for a little excitement. Hail all carrot and red bell pepper chunkings!

Mix the new veggie friends into the thick, fragrant goo before adding the vegetable stock. Bring to a bubbly boil, then add lentils, reduce heat, and simmer down until the wee things are cooked and the carrots are tender. Roundabout 15 minutes, or longer if your lentils are stubborn.

By now your concoction should be looking like a soft, gloppy stew of gastronomical greatness. Add about half of the fresh cilantro if you've got it, then get ready for the fun part: insert immersion blender and puree until all chunks have been annihilated! If you're not cool enough to have an immersion blender, you could also use other sorts of blending machines and deal with the messier cleanup, or just leave it chunky if that's what you're into. Proceed with the all-purpose magical ingredient: lemon juice. No use taste testing until you add that to the mix, but do sample away once you have. Decide for yourself what alterations are required to best satisfy your buds (taste and dinner guests)-- I usually end up adding more lemon juice and chili powder, but that's me.

Once almost perfect, serve up the sloppysoupyum into bowls and seal the deal with a drizzle of olive oil (-- don't ignore this part!) and a decorative dusting of fresh cilantro. Pair with your amazing selection of bread and cheese (great for dipping!) and prepare your guts for greatness. Guten Appetit!

Soup Date: Gingcatom.

Imagine you recently made a lot of amazing borscht. What do you have left once every last scarlet drop has been licked from the bowl? A whooole lotta cabbage, that's what. Na, und? You've got a few options here. For example, you could a.) let it sit in the fridge until it turns into kimchi, b.) make those fiendish rabbits in the garden very happy (Don't do it, Jnana!), or c.) put on your best excited face and make more soup! This was a new recipe for me, the base for which I found on this website while seeking inspiration. I was looking for some flavor to go BAM in my mouth and YUM in my larynx. That flavor was gingcatom, or rather, ginger-cabbage/carrot-tomato soup.

Delivered with a face kick.

 What you need:

• 3 garlic cloves (more or less depending on personal preference, or that of your significant other), smashed 
• onion-- two medium or one small, chopped
• olive oil
• 1 tablespoon freshly grated ginger (at least!)
• 2 cups juicy diced/dicey juiced tomatoes
• cabbage-- about a quarter of a large head or half a small head, or whatever amount you've got, thinly sliced into bite-sized pieces
• ≈ 6 cups vegetable stock
• your favorite Red Hot Chili Pepper powder
• salt & freshly ground black pepper
• rice noodles
• fresh mint leaves, sliced

Musik: Something with a beat you can dice a lot of vegetables to. I would recommend anything presented by Putumayo with "Beat" or "Groove" in the title. Or RHCP.

Note: Much like Unbeetable Borscht, this soup also tastes better the longer it sits. Within reason.

Step one: Chop, dice, smash, happy dance.

Step two: You put that stock on to boil, yeah!

Step(s) three & beyond: Large pot. Medium heat. Honor the Hierarchy of Sauteing. Liek thees: Heat olive oil splotch. Add diced garlic smash, followed by onion chop. Do not burn diced garlic smash. Once onion chop is tender, gingerly add great ginger grate. (Notes: Make sure to grate the fresh ginger root-- you can find this at most any supermarket, so much better than powdered-- over a small bowl, so as to catch all of its glorious precipitatory juices. Don't let all its veiny hairs frustrate you. Additionally, try to avoid adding veiny hairs (or any hairs) to your soup. Reserve some of the ginger, or better, grate MORE! to add later, as well as the juices.) Roll carrot dice(d) for a few minutes. Add tomato, cabbage, stock. Now we're cookin'! Stir in a sprinkle of salt, a few grinds of pepper, and a teaspoon or so of chili powder hotness (more or less). Put a lid on it. Simmer down now.

While that does its thing, cook yerself some rice noodles. (I didn't use rice noodles, but I should have.) Once the vegetables in the Big Pot start tenderizing (oh, roundabout 15 minutes), add the ginger juices and the majority of the fresh mint. Taste test the broth and adjust the seasoning as desired. You could also adventure a bit and add other flavors, such as lemon juice, soy sauce, Nutella... but whatever you do, don't mess up the Yum.

Now you could either serve up the bowl(s) with noodles and then pour the soup atop them, or just throw it all together, whatever. Once in the bowl, sprinkle with more mint and chili.

Noms away!

Soup Date: Unbeetable Borscht

Beet. Carrot. Cabbage. Onion. When a friend first introduced me to this four-veggie bowl filler, I can't say I was overly keen on sticking my spoon in it. I have this thing against onions, y'see. Then my eyes caught a whiff of it and it smelled so pretty that I knew it couldn't be all that bad. It was in the first taste of its light-hearted heartiness that my heart discovered the divine. We cried, "Let there be borscht!" and the vegetables went forth and multiplied in proportions pleasing to our will and performed ambrosial ablutions, bathing themselves in the warm waters of the sunset with much rejoicing, and there was borscht, and we saw that it was good, and it was so good.

Original recipe happily discovered at seriouseats.com.

What you need:

• 2 medium onions (if you're on good terms with this pungent bulb; I used one small onion and was content), sliced vertically into natural crescents 
• 1 pound beets (at least), cut into matchsticks
• 2 large carrots, also matchsticked 
• ≈ 1 pound white cabbage (ie. about a quarter of a large adult head and maybe half of a smaller child head), thinly shredded
• olive oil
• 1 clove garlic, smashed/diced 
• ≈ 5 cups veggie stock
• 1+ tablespoon lemon juice 
• salt to taste
• coarsely ground black pepper
• sour cream and finely chopped fresh parsely, when desired

Note: This makes a hulluvalotta borscht.

Musik: I was about to blast a CD of Piazzolla's best tangos when I discovered something even better in Apartmentmate's collection: HOT. RUSSIAN. TANGO. More specifically: Efim Jourist Quartett: Russisches Roulette. Nothing could have been more perfect. On the off chance that you do not own this compact disc, anything accordiany, brassy, fiddley, and upbeet Eastern Europeany would suffice. Or tango. Seriously.

A confession: Overexcitement often misleads me to cook the first round of vegetables before later rounds are prepared for the party on the stovetop. The chasm of poorly timed cooking is as dark as the pot calling the kettle black, and as deep as Hades' sewer system. Don't fall in. Chop, slice, smash, matchstick all your ingredients before feeding them to the fire. If all goes well, they should look somewhat like this:

Not bad, eh? Quick notes:
1. Make sure all the veggies strips/sticks/crescents are as close to bite-sized as possible. This will make your life much easier later on.
2. If there is no evidence of animal sacrifice to be found on your hands and work surface by the time you finish cutting the beets, cut more beets.
3. If you're not into the zen of chopping, befriend a food processor.

Now for the other easy part. Put the veggie stock on to boil in a small pot on a lonely corner of the stove. Lightly mingle the garlic smash with a splash of olive oil in a large pot. (Go for the big one-- remember that mountain of cabbage you just chopped?) Give the garlic no more than one minute of solo time (its ego is odiferous enough as it is) before adding the onion. Listen to their sizzlin' (but sad, those onions are so emo) duet for another minute before the carrot and beet back-up dancers steal the show. Make sure to reserve at least a quarter of the beets (and their juice, if there is any) to add later for ultimate visual sanguination.

After about five minutes of this musical madness, or whenever the carrots begin to tenderly express their feelings, drown them all out with the hot stock and cabbage. Bring to a boil and then simmer the vegetables into submission, about 15-20 minutes. Add the remainder of the beets before they feel too left out and simmer for another few minutes. Once all the vegetables have simmered down, invigorate them again with the lemon juice, salt (not too much!), and a healthy grinding of black pepper. Feel free to play around with the proportions here until the taste meets your standards.

Hopefully your borscht will have taken on a nice purpley, ruddy complexion by this point. Don't fret if this is not the case, as the color will continue to deepen with time. This is one of those magical dishes that ages well, like George Clooney. I think he, er.. it, tastes even better the day after its genesis.

Unless you're playing the vegan card or just don't like sour cream (I don't... with the exception of borscht), plop a dollop into the middle of your borscht-filled bowl, sprinkle on a little parsley when inclined, and let the fun begin. Let there be goodness. Let there be borscht.

P.S. If you're not a beet person, this recipe probably isn't for you. However! You can still indulge in the delectable pleasure of saying it aloud. Do it. Borscht. Borschtborschtborscht.

P.P.S. In spite of multiple morbid references, I made it through that whole recipe without using the word "blood" in any form. Unbeetlievable!)