It’s freakin’ cold. At this point, most people start waxing lyrically about hearty winter soups.
But I don’t really like soup. Or most soups.
The trouble with most soups is that every bite is the same–this is the huge flaw in the one-dish meal. It’s totally boring. Somehow, even if it’s jam-packed with a bunch of ingredients, it still winds up tasting essentially the same.
I like variety–I like to be able to put together each bite in a new way. If I’m going to be eating a one-dish meal, I still want it to taste like I’m eating at least two things.
So when I first read about soupe au pistou–a Frenchie treatment in which a big gob of pesto is ladled onto the top of a basic vegetable soup–I was intrigued. Wise application of a spoon could yield one very garlicky-green bite, followed by one not, for instance. Soon, soupe au pistou (or something vaguely like it–I make no claims to authenticity) worked its way into my repertoire.
So. This winter. Cold. Back from New Mexico and nothing in the fridge. Desperation drives me to the freezer. Et voila: a ham hock, from Heritage Foods; a bag of frozen corn; a block of spinach; some chicken stock. From the pantry, a can of black-eyed peas. Set that all to simmering, with some onion.
But where to get that essential hit of variety–a pistou equivalent? Rummaging further, I found: a withered lime, a half-used can of chipotles and some cashews I’d totally forgotten about. I whizzed the nuts and chile up in the blender with the lime juice, and threw in a couple of cloves of garlic.
It not only added a hit of heat, acid and smokiness, but it looked freakin’ gorgeous in the bowl.
The one “fresh” food employed in this meal: flour tortillas, straight off the machine at the Frontier in Albuquerque, and toted back in my carry-on.
Peter and I slurped it all up, while I related a rare positive airport security moment: I sent my tote bag full of goodies through the X-ray. The guys paused the belt, then one man grabbed my bag out at the end.
“Eh, lady, tell us what’s in here.”
“Two pints of frozen green chile.”
“Right on.”
The guy gives a big smile and hands my bag back without even looking. Que suave, ABQ.
wait, they let you take frozen chili on board in your carry-on? Does that mean frozen liquids don’t count as liquids? Or chile is somehow beyond the liquid-gel space-time continuum? Intriguing. Or maybe it’s just ABQ?
Weird, right? Very confusing, but I guess it overlaps with the category of food (or looks-enough-like-food-that-it-can’t-really-be-used-to-build-a-bomb)? I did sort of wonder about that as I packed my bags, but I trusted people in ABQ would understand.
On a trip a few years ago, though, I brought home a pasta machine. The screeners were totally confused by that. When I explained what it was, one guy said, “Cool–I always wondered what one of those looked like…”