There are two kinds of people: those who are excited by soup and those who are not. I neatly fall into the first camp. To be fair, it’s easy to be excited by anything when your earliest memories came from a kitchen like my grandmother’s.

I remember beautiful and rustic potages, aromatic and creamy leek and potato, cold cucumber soup in the summer with a dollop of cream on top.  I remember a bouillabaisse in the South of France when I was a little girl- I had a mussel I knew was bad, but I just threw the mussel to the side and kept eating because I’d never tasted a broth so good.

My father loved soup too, I remember the way he’d say “Passe le beurre, si vous plais” in his comically bad French accent. He’d joyously drop a pat of butter into his potage, swirling it around with the sour cream and fresh herbs.  Soup wasn’t just a seasonal thing in our family. Vicchysoise and cucumber soup made appearances, but more common in the summer months was soup au pistou, and something that could almost be called a ratatouille soup (tojours sans aubergine!).

Though parts of my family lived just 45 minutes from the Spanish border, gazpacho never made an appearance on my childhood table. Here’s how my first encounter with gazpacho went down.

“What’s it called?” I asked. Skeptical of the uncooked tomatoes, and a name that sounded entirely made up. So skeptical, in fact, I almost didn’t try that soup. It was the 80s and my mom and dad were obsessed with their new Vitamixer. My mom was usually a pretty fantastic cook, but these blended creations were far from her best work. This gazpacho was not looking too promising.

“It’s Spanish,” my mother assured me. “You probably even ate it when you were there.”

Of course, my mom knew the magic words. I had loved Spain- everything about it, and if I’d “probably” had gazpacho, it would stand to reason that I’d loved it too.  Funny thing is, I don’t particularly remember my mom’s gazpacho other than thinking it tasted sort of like salsa.  I also don’t remember her ever making it again.

I do remember being very into gazpacho and Spanish food in general after that. I ordered gazpacho each time I saw it on a menu, and began to suggest Spanish restaurants when we went out to dinner. Eventually, I found a place in North Beach that I would fall in love with. The food was so-so, but the gazpacho was cold and fresh, the sangria was a revelation, and the flamenco was sublime. Plus they passed the bota bag early and often- never thinking to check if I was 21. Incidentally I did celebrate my 21^st birthday there. By then, my flauxmenco  dancing (see how I did that faux + flamenco) was only half dreadful. A typical evening involved me in a steamy embrace with the flamenco dancer, being dragged across the floor, with a rose in my teeth. Salut!

Now where were we? Gazpacho!  Each summer, I make gazpacho at least a half dozen times. Each time, I’m sure I’ve found my favorite recipe.   This one is stunningly good. I start by roasting heirloom tomatoes low and slow just like I learned from Molly Weizenberg’s beautiful memoir
. The soup is smoky and thick and topped with a salsa of yellow tomatoes, cucumbers, and yellow plums. It’s good, really, really good. Sexy good. So good you might want to put on some Spanish guitar and stomp around your kitchen flauxmenco style, just don’t forget to remove the thorns from your rose before you put it between your teeth.

It wouldn’t be exactly true to say that I woke up to rain. Still, a heavy blanket of fog swaddled our little yellow house on the hill, and the ground was wet enough that I can imagine it may have rained overnight.

Bundled up in my red winter coat, I leashed up the pooch and went for a long walk in McLaren Park. Despite what folks say, we do have seasons in California.

Sometimes, we live with evidence of all of them at once. Just today, as Ruby and I tromped through mud and autumnal fallen yellow leaves, I also bathed in the smell of winter’s piney conifers. These firs, lush yet strangely expectant, as if they’re just waiting to be strung with shiny glass balls.

Just a short way down the path, I was surprised to find evidence of the first blackberry blossoms, a reminder that summer will come and provide mounds of juicy berries- rife for the foraging.

I found pink cottage roses wet with dew, spiders spinning sparkly webs, dazzlingly-bright yellow flowers, shy mushrooms peeking from beneath blades of grass, and nasturtiums- from whom I stole a sip of spicy nectar. When I left the cover of the tress and came upon a grassy playground, robins sang while hunting for fat little worms.

You see all the seasons, right there before me.

As we neared the end of our walk, a few raindrops fell. Tucking my camera into my coat and quickening my pace, I looked forward to the decidedly wintery soup waiting for me at home.

I’ve spent all but a few of my 38 years in the San Francisco Bay Area. I was born and raised here, and while I’ve left a couple of times, I’ve never tricked myself into thinking my leaving was permanent. Sure, I’ve thought about  a simpler life, a porch swing, a big rambling yard. Sometimes the dreaming drifts to living in a “real city” or finally moving to Maui or The South of France, but when I truly connect with the place I live, I fall head-over-heels in love all over again.

This past Sunday, we woke up early and lazed around in bed. I had planned on making some apple tarts to bring on our day trip, but Joshua managed to talk me into extra snuggle time, and before I knew it, I was rushing to photograph Friday night’s pumpkin soup before we were heading out the door to Point Reyes- bellies full of the last of the pumpkin goodness.

It doesn’t matter how many times I cross the Golden Gate Bridge and pass through the Rainbow Tunnel into Marin County. Each time, the beauty, the happy memories, the readiness for adventure, the sense that something wonderful could happen at any moment, is always fresh.  This time, it truly would be new; we were headed up to the birthday party of Joshua’s friend’s kid near Tomales Bay. Climbing the hill to the property, we were surrounded by redwoods. Wild strawberries lined the path, and a break in the trees revealed a jaw-dropping view of the Pacific to the west. We heard children’s laughter before we saw the gate.  Oh, and the signs…“Deaf Dog” & “Please close gate, sheep wandering free”

I looked at Joshua, “what is this place?”

We found Joshua’s friend, who welcomed us, warmly and started the tour, beginning  in the sheep pen. I met the horse, the pony, the chickens, and the dogs, but the donkeys were apparently out exploring. Finally, I met the people. Enchanted by hydrangeas, fuchsias, and tiny koi fish in the Fairy Tale Garden, I wandered the property, camera in hand.

The vegetable garden drew me in, of course, and I laid on my belly marveling at the late fall squash blossoms and noticing that if I held my camera just right, the red chard looked as though it was actually on fire.

Sometimes, I forget to leave the city, and when I finally do, it seems I can’t do enough to drink in all the beauty of my surroundings. All my senses overjoyed, I am simply filled. The snorted greeting and the barnyard smell brought another layer of warmth to the hot autumn day as I approached the horse stall. I stood in the hot sun for a good long while just stroking the horse’s neck while she nuzzled me back.

“This”, I thought, “is the life”.

As the day went on, we had the idea to go sailing, well perhaps motoring (since there was virtually no wind). But, first, I had to meet those donkeys. I walked down to their pen, and said “Hey Donkeys” and up come these adorable little guys. One was friendly and gregarious, he walked right up for loves, the other, the white donkey, was more shy. I stood between the chicken coop and the donkey pen and pet a chicken with one hand and a donkey with the other for a while.

Really, “this is the life”

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and had to go into the donkey pen which is when I made my new best friend. I now know, I want a donkey. I think Ruby and the donkey would get along fabulously and I think the donkey would be fine in the backyard. I also think it would be nice if I could give him a bath, so that I could be less dirty that I was from hugging the donkey I met on Sunday.

A detour, down to our friend’s place led to an excellent cup of espresso and my learning to throw knives. I hung back at first, letting the boys throw, but eventually, I said that I’d like to learn as well. I think it could be a new hobby. Suits me, no?

All of the knife throwing, coffee sipping, sparkling conversation, cat cuddling, and the like made the possibility of sailing a little dim, so we hiked down to Johnstone beach before parting ways with our friend.

In the end, Joshua and I were hungry and stopped off for some fresh local oysters and fish and chips at a little roadside café since all we’d really eaten was the pumpkin soup at 11am.

Ah, and speaking of pumpkin soup, I suppose I should tell you a bit about the best pumpkin soup I’ve ever made. It’s roasted, filled with Parmesan and roasted shallots, and then topped with Parmesan and sage whipped cream. It really couldn’t be simpler, but it couldn’t be much tastier either. Sort of like reconnecting with my city and falling in love again, I’m totally smitten with pumpkin soup, in a whole new way. I hope autumn brings new life to something familiar in your life.

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Sabrina

Last Saturday was fantastic. I mean really really great. I woke up, walked the dog, fussed around the kitchen a bit. Made some tart dough, got dressed in favorite summer dress and headed downtown to attend a cooking demo at Macy’s in union square.

I must admit this was my first time attending one of the culinary council’s demos (I’ll definitely go again). So, why now?  Two words. Dominique Crenn. Chef Crenn is one of the hottest chefs in the country right now, and though I haven’t had the chance to dine at her extraordinary restaurant, Atelier Crenn, it has been at the top of my list since it opened earlier this year. I have it on excellent authority that we will be doing the 11 course tasting menu on my birthday!

I arrived early for the demo and had a chance to chat with Chef Crenn, a recent champ on Iron Chef (battle yogurt vs. Chef Symon). I dug her instantly and was thrilled to find that we share many of the same food philosophies. She spoke passionately of food as art, of soulful cooking, and of spending time eating and enjoying conversation and laughter with the people you love being an important part of an excellent meal. (see, I told you we shared a lot  in our food Philosophy).

Helping with the demo/MCing the event was the utterly charming Liam Mayclem the host of Foodie Chap on KCBS.  I also can’t say enough good things about this guy. He claims not to cook, but he handled the melon baller pretty well. I was excited to learn the he will be MCing all of the SF Chefs preview events. If you’re in San Francisco, come by and meet both of us. I’ll be covering them for this blog, starting next Saturday at 2pm at the Ferry Building.

Chef Crenn’s demo was part of Macy’s Pride celebration. For it, she prepared a beautiful and light rainbow salad with compressed melon and cucumbers, crisp olive bread, buckwheat that had been fried and smoked (YUM), and micro greens. Each melon had been prepared with a different simple syrup. I wish you could have tasted this salad. It was my exact flavor profile perfection. From ginger lime to cilantro and chile. Simple syrups matched perfectly with a salty sweet olive bread.  Textures played on colors played on scents. Expertly balanced and remarkably fresh is the only way to describe this dish, and I get the feeling Chef Crenn can do this dish with her eyes closed.

I was so inspired by the flavors, colors, the compressing technique, and Dominique Crenn’s marvelous energy and generosity of spirit that I was immediately compelled to make a dish as an homage to Chef Crenn’s salad. So, meet my heirloom tomato and watermelon gazpacho with compressed cucumbers. I hope you’ll enjoy this icy cold soup with spicy sweet cucumbers. We most certainly did on a rare warm San Francisco evening.

You will hear more from me on Chef Crenn, but I’ll leave it at that. Keep your ears peeled for more news and please, when you get the chance, go eat at Atelier Crenn, which is one of the top restaurants in the country today.  Oh, and pick up the July issue of GQ for Alan Richman’s piece on San Francisco Restaurants. It’s all about how they’re kicking the tails of New York’s. Dominique Crenn and Atelier Crenn figure heavily into the piece.

These will keep in your fridge up to one week, Chef Crenn said she’d gotten interesting textural results having frozen the compressed cucumber/melon as well. I haven’t tried this yet.

To assemble: Chill some glassed in the freezer for at least 20 minutes
While glasses are chilling, strain cucumbers, mix with ¼ cup chilled diced watermelon, and finely chopped cilantro to taste Taste soup once more for a final seasoning check. Add salt and pepper if needed. Ladle into glasses, top with a bit of the cucumber and melon and enjoy.

At last week’s market, I was found myself drawn to a ghostly, bluish, pod-shaped squash at Miramonte Farm’s stand. I lovingly shot photographs of it. I smiled as I admired it, and made sure that it was situated next to an orange and green acorn squash to accentuate it’s decidedly Victorian pallor as it patiently sat for photographs.

Upon my return home, I placed the pale, blue-tinged gourd upon my vintage French butcher’s table next to a golden-hued butternut squash. Having recently had a fantastic soup at Bar Jules with pumpkin, faro, and pancetta, I fancied a version of my own using my new blue squash, leeks, green garlic, and some of the Italiany bacony stuff.

In researching the blue “harbour” squash, the first thing I learned is that it is actually called a blue hubbard squash.  Evidently, I’d misheard. I also re-learned that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. Everything I read, described this squash that I had been making eyes at, as beastly, ugly, warty (well that part was true), and altogether unattractive on the outside.  People were much kinder when extolling the virtues of the tasty orange insides, and I knew the blue hubbard and I were just perfect for one another.

A side note, most people bake these and use them in heartier dishes. I rather liked the starchiness of this squash in a broth-based soup. You could substitute any winter squash here, butternut squash, pumpkin, or acorn squash soup are all fantastic! Also, feel free to sub regular garlic!

Have you had a blue hubbard squash before? before? What’s the best way you’ve eaten it?

I concocted this soup recipe to serve in pretty vintage punch glasses for my friends’ wedding. It provides a big mouthful of flavors- salty, sweet, spicy, and herbaceous, so it works well as an amuse bouche or an appetizer when served this way or even in tiny shot glasses. It is also a perfect hearty (yet still) vegan soup if you’re feeling like a big bowl of warming spices and pure deliciousness on a cold an rainy day.

My neighborhood has two very distinct personalities and nowhere is it more apparent than in my favorite two markets. One is Bi-Rite market; it is a foodie Mecca featuring the most glorious heirloom veggies, specialty products, artisan cheeses, a deli counter that will make a grown San Franciscan weep. The other is Casa Lucas which also features awesome produce, they’ve got the yummiest requeson, and really nice little chorizo though they have no other meat counter to speak of. Tonight I found plantain flour. It was a different kind of specialty product than one might find at Bi-Right but no less special.

I love my two markets. I shop often enough at each that I have a rapport with the people who work there. Each has it’s own rhythm and I feel happy and at home in both places.

Tonight was a Casa Lucas night. I had some handmade tortillas from La Palma that were stale and needed to be used which meant it was a perfect night for tortilla soup. After last night’s heavy dinner, though, the soup was going to be vegan! So, here’s my light and spicy vegan soup with homemade tortilla strips.

Serve soup with shredded cabbage, lemon, radish, and tortilla strips.

Isn’t it the strangest thing when you have two long time friends who have never met? Heather has been my best friend for more than 20 years. Sean and I have been dear friends for more than 11 and even lived together twice. It just so happens that these two friends have never met due to our extremely glamourous jet setting lifestyles. Well, it’s really due to the fact that Heather and I only recently started living in the same metropolitan area again and Sean lives in Southern California, now.

So, you can imagine, I was thrilled when Heather decided to come over for dinner on Thursday while Sean was in town visiting from LA. I’d love to tell you that I decided to make a bright orange soup to support my home team in the world series, but I can’t say I really think about things like baseball.  Truth is, I’d been thinking about a spicy carrot soup with pepitas ever since I saw this spicy pumpkin soup from Pinch My Salt.  This carrot soup is topped with a spicy pepita butter, requeson, an apple salsa crudo, & Salvadorean chorizo, but could easily become veggie or vegan if you just omit the chorizo the requeson and the tiny amount of cream in the soup.

Joshua, Sean, Heather, and I had such a great time eating, laughing, and drinking some pumpkin beer from Dogfish Head. We also had a little Steak with the pepita butter on top and a carrot and apple slaw with pomegranate seeds on top. The real standout (aside from the company) was this soup, though. Heather said this was one of the tastiest things I’d ever cooked for her, Joshua (my husband) went back for seconds and thirds even though he knew he wouldn’t have room for the steak when it was served, and Sean’s words were “wow, you’ve stepped up your game”.

Here’s the secret, this soup is EASY—almost criminally so. I am so happy to post in here for you. Share it with friends & family and have a lovely meal. Oh and “Go Giants, I hope you totally win that Superbowl!”

The weather continues to get chillier, and for me, that means soup, specifically, hot spicy soup. I’ve always had Pozole Rojo with fatty juicy lovely bits of pork preferably chewed off the bone, but recently we were hosting my sister and brother in law. My sister in law is gluten-intolerant, pregnant and a little squeamish at the moment about some foods, and my brother in law is Jewish and doesn’t eat pork. Here is my version of the amazing dish called pozole that (hopefully) honors the traditional pozole verde but also honors my family.

*epazote is a Mexican herb that is fairly easy to find in it’s dried form in any Latino market and can also be found fresh. If you can’t find it- no worries. It can also be an acquired smell & taste. I love it, and feel it adds a beautiful dimension to Latino Foods- it smells stronger than it tastes. Don’t be intimidated by it if it smells weird in the store.

Last winter, I ate so much cauliflower soup, that my family and friends had to stage an intervention. It’s true that I tend towards a soup addiction anyway, but this cauliflower soup problem reached terrible levels. I think I made four or five batches in a row before they finally stepped in. Oh sure, it was fun at first, everyone was joining in and enjoying it with me, but soon, I was doing cauliflower soup all by myself– breakfast, lunch, dinner- even once or twice in-between-meals. People were getting sick and tired of cauliflower soup.

“But it’s so healthy!” I would say. “It’s so easy.” I pleaded. You see, the cauliflower soup I was making back then only had five ingredients: cauliflower, water, salt, pepper & milk. You boiled the cauliflower with salt and pepper then blended it with some of the water, some milk, and salt and pepper. It was really simple and so delicious. How could I bring myself to stop?

But, eventually, I did stop, although before going cold turkey I did try to hide my soup use with “curried cauliflower soup” or “garlicky cauliflower soup”. Finally, I knew enough was enough. Sure, I still had a bowl here or there when it was a special occasion and I saw it on a menu, but for the last year, I’ve kept cauliflower soup out of my house. UNTIL LAST NIGHT…
My girlfriend, Miss Jackson, came over for dinner, and I decided to do some bistro fare. It’s cold, wet, and rainy, right now in San Francisco. As I was walking to the market to get ingredients for our bistro dinner, it dawned on me, I’d make roasted cauliflower soup. I’d roast cauliflower and garlic and make some baked Parmigiano-Reggiano croutons. It was so good, that last night, no one complained when I fell off the wagon.

Serve soup with croutons and fresh parsley on top