Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

I know it does not look too pretty, but I assure you this soup tastes of...well, the Parisian suburbs.

Many moons ago, I lived in Paris. I had left Auckland to really find my voice, to understand how I felt following the untimely death of my sister. Being at home was too suffocating, and I needed to physically extricate myself from it in order to deal with the loss in my own way. I stayed with a friend and his family - yes, we were just friends; in fact he is going to marry his high school sweetheart in July (awwww...). The time spent in France was amongst the best and worst five months of my teenage years. I had gone with five years of high school French and a very naive outlook of the world. I was welcomed with warm arms into the family and was ushered into French society as though I were part of it. I never once felt like I was being judged for being an English speaker, contrary to every warning I had received before going.

Naturally, the bad times were spent processing my sister's death - confronting it, learning to accept it. In addition to this, as if I needed more to deal with, I struggled with the language, having all but no choice to really speak it every day. I went to bed very early most nights for the first month because I was braindead from the constant concentration required to follow conversations. Of course, this intense focus paid off, for I became and have remained very conversant in the language, even choosing often to read French novels. More importantly, with the language acquisition, I have been able to maintain consistent and meaningful contact with my French friends over the last decade.

I attended high school with my friend whenever I felt like it (my favourite class was philosophy; my least favourite was Spanish because it messed up my French). When he did things with his girlfriend or other friends, I sometimes decided to hang out with his mother instead. In retrospect, she was practically my best friend. We went to art galleries, watched movies, ate out...She really showed me Paris, taught me to appreciate it, as well as some of the lovely countryside South of Paris, such as gorgeous Rambouillet and, much farther South, Toulouse.

Some days I wandered around Paris and Gif-sur-Yvette to my heart's content. Along the winding path behind the many apartment buildings on the way back home I often smelled (I didn't know what it was then, but I know what it is now) the combination of bay leaf and thyme. When I saw the ingredient list for this simple soup, I was hoping to recreate that earthy smell, and I did. I have translated the recipe below, but the only thing the recipe does not disclose is whether to take out the bacon or not after rendering its fat. I took it out; you can choose to leave it in. The recipe makes enough for four healthy servings.

Cream of Green Split Pea Soup
(from Pol Martin's Le Grand Livre de Cuisine)

125g/4 1/4oz bacon
1 onion, diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
1/4 teaspoon thyme
1/2 teaspoon basil
1 clove
1 bay leaf
200g/ 1/2lb green split peas
1.2 litres/5 cups hot chicken stock
1 decilitre/1/3 cup hot single cream
salt and pepper

1) In a stock pot, render the fat from the bacon for about two minutes. After doing so, this is when you can decide to leave the bacon in there or take it out.
2) Over a medium flame, add the diced onion, stir, cover the pot, and cook for about two minutes.
3) Add the carrots and spices, stir, cover, and cook for another two mintues.
4) Add the split peas and incorporate the chicken stock. Bring to the boil, partially cover, then simmer on a low flame for about one hour and thirty minutes.
5) Taste for seasoning, add salt and pepper according to your preference.
6) Use either an immersion blender or pour the soup into a blender and blitz until smooth.
7) Add the cream and blitz again.

To serve, add croutons or splosh some more cream on the surface - presumably more artfully than me.

My angelheart Eric and I were fortunate to spend some time in Paris earlier this year, so I introduced him to those gorgeous Frenchies who had accepted me into their home and hearts, and who had helped me come to terms with the tragic death of my sister. Today's recipe comes from a French cookery book published in 1987 that my friend's mother gave to me, knowing how much I love to cook; she had not looked at it herself for years because she already knows by heart the recipes she loves (and her endive salad is still one of the best salads I have ever had in my life). I will never forget the generosity and warmth of my French family and friends who, in turn, have lovingly accepted my angelheart Eric into their lives.

[Okay, no more sappy posts for the rest of the week. I promise.]

Labels: Bay Leaves, French, Pol Martin, Soup, split peas