A Vegan Called Bacon

I was staring at the fridge at lunch the other day, and an aging broccoli and a tatty old cauliflower were staring back at me.  I was reminded of a soup we got in Hong Kong made of two sub-soups of contrasting colours, carefully poured into the bowl to make a Ying and Yang shape. 

A friend recently gave me a spare old hand blender, and anyway, chunky soup is so last month.  So I thought I’d make a blended, novelty patterned soup

It seemed a good idea to try for a very dark green bit, and a very light, white bit.  So, on the right, we have half a cauliflower, half an onion, half a celery stick, a small handful of cashews, and some salt.  In the green corner, a bizarre mixture of purple sprouting broccoli, onion, a bit of potato, some black mustard seeds, a bit of seaweed, some spinach, and some red peanuts (just because I’d put cashews in the white bit). And some stock.

I boiled them both for 20 minutes, and blended them both until they were really smooth.

The broccoli bit was nothing to get too excited about.  Despite all the strange ingredients, it just tasted of salty broccoli.  The cauliflower bit, though, was amazing.  It turned out thick – presumably thanks to the cashews – and tasted creamy and delicate and kind of cheesy.  In other words, it was basically a vegetable-flavoured, fat-free roux, so as a side experiment, I popped some into the oven to see how it would fair on the top of something like lasagne:

(I think I can safely say that this application of my newly discovered sauce needs more research)

Then came the really fun part.  I gave up on the Ying and Yang idea before I even started, and after a couple of experiments, for some reason I ended up making patterns that reminded me of kitsch 1970s curtains.  Because the white bit was thick and the green bit runny, it meant you could get some pretty interesting effects.

It reminds me of children’s birthday party food when I was very small – of Battenburg Cakes, Cheese and Pineapples on Cocktail Sticks, and Musical Chairs.  With the significant difference that when I was five, I think it’s very unlikely I would have gone anywhere near broccoli and cauliflower soup.

Since we moved to Glasgow, most of our cooking equipment has remained in storage, somewhere in darkest, suburban England. This includes piles of old magazines, records I’ve not listened to for ten years, and old pairs of shoes; but most importantly, it includes my trusty blender.

(I hate the fact that one day, all our crap will turn up in boxes at our flat, and we’ll have to face up to the reality of a lifetime of junk. Storage companies must make a fortune by collecting monthly fees from people in denial about their boxes of useless gewgaws.)

In my new, blenderless world, I have been shying away from soups. But now I have crossed over to the Chunky Side. Kim has been telling me for years that it’s better when it’s Chunky, but I’ve always ignored her, and whizzed away the little ragged cubes of potato and the mushy beans into a smooth, featureless monotony.

No longer!

Writing out a recipe for soup seems as useful as giving someone instructions on how to use a hand dryer. Cook vegetables, add stock, boil; what more do you need to know?

Still, I should make an effort. The picture at the top of this post is, obviously, Borsht. (Kim took a look at the photo and said, “looks like entrails”). I grated lots of fresh beetroot and some carrots, and also included tiny, diced pieces of butternut squash, and a little shredded cabbage. I might have put in a bit of apple, though I’m not sure. I dressed it up with cumin, a dash of vinegar, and a sprinkle of sugar.

The second photo is of potato and leek soup. I use one leek and three small potatoes per person. I slice the leeks into fairly thin rounds, and sweat them slowly in oil, in a covered pan. I make teeny-weeny diced potato, with the skin still on. I add stock and boil for a good 30 minutes. Then I take a potato masher and thicken it up, roughly. I’ve been doing that one at least once a week, lately. It’s about 10 minutes prep, cheap, and very, very tasty. And much better when it’s CHUNKY.

Finally, this one’s the beginning of a minestrone:

Lightly fried red onion and garlic, diced carrot, courgette, green beans, bell peppers (yellow and red), a handful of diced mushrooms, all sweated up so it looks like the picture. Follow up with a handful of roughly chopped fresh tomatoes, some tomato puree, and stock. Throw in some small pasta (I used penne, put it in a bag, and trampled upon it, delicately). Five minutes before the end, add plenty of chopped parsley and some bits of fresh basil. Lots of people put in some beans but I’m not too sure about that.

I forgot to take a picture of the Chunky results, but that picture there is quite full enough of Chunk. And what’s more, the shadow in the background is cool.

But now, unfortunately, I am going to have to face up to the storage reality. Eighty pounds a month is a hefty price to pay for the convenience of not having to look at my seventeen threadbare towels and thirty three pairs of holey socks. At least I’ll get my blender back, and will once again be able to make breadcrumbs.

At least some of my soups will stay Chunky, however.