tilted skillet

grilled sweet pepper and tomato soup with avocado pesto

I have a shopping addiction, and it involves my CSA. While some women pine for new bags and shoes (who am I kidding; I’ve been there, too), I generally sate the shopping bug with weekly add-ons from our CSA’s web store. The web store, a members-only online catalogue of artisanal foods, bulk produce, locally-roasted coffee, and other goodies (Monterey Bay sea salt with kelp? Yes, I needed that), is available for three days each week. Shopping these limited-time offerings is as exciting for me as it is for a normal person to score a great deal via Groupon or Gilt.

In recent weeks, summer’s bounty has made the offerings in the web store unbearably attractive. I have no self-control with pints of organic blueberries, hearth-baked breads, and, my newest addiction, grab bags of mixed sweet peppers. The sweet peppers, which range from the size of my pinkie to the size of my whole hand, come in a kaleidoscope of colors. Although I’ll crunch on one like an apple, I prefer them grilled or roasted. 

Despite my desire to eat them all whole, I convinced myself that I could spare one of the two bags of peppers I bought last week for a recipe in which their sweet flavor would really shine. I thought soup would be nice, but the reality of slaving over a hot stove in a hot house is always unappealing. Instead, I sent my favorite grill master out to the Weber with said peppers, an equal amount of dry-farmed CSA tomatoes, sliced sweet onions, and a handful of unpeeled garlic cloves wrapped in foil. Coated in olive oil and smoky spices, the grilled vegetables form the base of a soup that requires very little subsequent time on the stove.

Topped with sliced radishes and a cold and creamy avocado pesto, this soup – served hot – still fit the bill for a warm summer night’s meal. I lamented the disappearance of yet another bag of peppers, but the good news is that I only have to wait two more days to re-up my horde.

And nearly a dozen tortillas disappear

To say it’s been soup weather lately is an understatement. I know I referenced the weather in my last post but that’s because, in my seven-plus years living in the Bay Area, never have I experienced such consistently cold and inclement weather. In my opinion, there are many things that rain and sub-50°F temperatures make undesirable (although usually still unavoidable): getting out of bed, showering, and bicycling to catch the Caltrain to work are among them. Noticeably absent from this list: picking up CSA poultry and eggs from Soul Food Farm.

I feel so fortunate to have access to pastured eggs and chickens from this small-scale family farm in nearby Vacaville, CA. Once a month, I pack my messenger bag full of fresh chickens and multi-colored eggs before carefully cycling home, doing my best to avoid potholes so as not to prematurely scramble my eggs. This month, we had the option of purchasing stew hens, or laying hens that have reached the end of their useful on-farm lives. Since stew hens aren’t raised for their meat and are past the age at which most meat hens are culled, their meat is generally tougher and less flavorful, and takes well to moist preparations (think braises, stews and soups) or stock. A couple stew hens seemed like the perfect winter purchase, especially since I’d been dreaming up a mouthwatering soup that I knew would be best with homemade stock.

When I tell you that I made a tortilla soup, your immediate thought might be that it’s the type of tortilla soup with fried tortilla strips and big dollops of sour cream atop a brothy chicken-enhanced base. If so, you may be thinking you’ll be disappointed by my version – but hang on, because this tortilla soup received rave reviews, and elicited requests for second helpings, from my four taste-testers. In what I considered a brilliant (although probably not original) move, I dissolved ten toasted Rancho Gordo heirloom corn tortillas into the soup for body and no-cream creaminess. Since I’d devoted the entire stew hen to making stock, I added cooked black beans to bulk the soup up a bit. Hatch green chilies, bell peppers (still in season from Happy Quail Farms), canned tomatoes and a bottle of Mexican beer round out this immensely-satisfying one-bowl meal. Don’t skip the garnishes, as they provide freshness and textural contrast. I served this soup with a refreshing jicama salad, but you could skip a side dish. You may then get requests for third helpings, and I’m not sure what could make a home cook feel better about him/herself. You’re welcome.

Quick corn soup with roasted red pepper drizzle

I’m obsessed with corn. Not the 88% or so of it that’s turned into livestock feed, ethanol and high fructose corn syrup, but the (surprise!) edible variety, whether the cobs be yellow, white, small, enormous, wormy or some combination of the preceding. I eat it raw for breakfast, lunch or dinner; cut it into succotash, salads and sautés; and grill, steam and roast it. But for me, the essence of summer eating can be distilled down two words: corn soup.

I’ve been refining this recipe for a year or so now, since my Bauman College class served it for our graduation dinner. Save for the roasted red pepper drizzle, this soup’s primary flavor comes from the corn. That said, the success of the soup really depends on the quality of your corn. I’ll only use fresh corn from a farmers market or farm stand. Occasionally, I’ll buy it at a good grocery store so long as I know it hasn’t been sitting on the shelf more than a day or two. After that, corn’s sugars turn to starch and it loses some of its inherent, well, corniness.

While there’s no cream in the soup, my version has an inherently creamy mouth-feel, likely because I obliterate it in the blender and then force it through a fine mesh sieve. Don’t skip this step, as it’s the only way you’ll get a truly smooth and creamy cream-less soup. I prefer my corn soup hot, but judging by the number of chilled corn soups on Bay Area restaurant menus, it looks like the cold soup camp is growing in numbers. No matter – this soup is tasty and soul-satisfying either way.