Cabin Fever and Thai Coconut Soup

Not long after Hurricane Sandy trashed the landscape, not far into winter, I decided to take on the chef in our kitchen who consistently produces the most intensely flavored, exotic, delightful Thai dinners. His answer to a recipe request for his coconut soup is to say he never makes it the same way twice; nor is he exactly keeping secrets, because the taste does vary as much as the ingredients.

I wanted a coconut soup that was light, fresh and delicious. So I Googled "thai coconut soup," compared the recipes, picked one, adjusted to serve 40 people, and tried it out. No kidding, it tasted very much like the coconut soup at my favorite takeout Thai place! Unlike every other recipe I have given you here, the broth is an exact science: I make it the same way every time. It is very simple. The yellow lined paper on which I computed the original proportions has become an icon. This soup is wildly popular, and people ask for the recipe all the time. Here it is.

THAI COCONUT SOUP FOR 40

broth:
8 quarts of vegetable broth
4 15-oz. cans unsweetened coconut milk
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 cup tamari
1 heaping tablespoon turibinado sugar
7 basil leaves, chiffonaded
one bunch cilantro, stems included, chopped

vegetables:
5 to 7 bell peppers of any color, cut into long strips that are then chopped in thirds
2 lb. small white mushrooms, thinly sliced
3 to 5 roasted sweet potatoes, chopped

Bring the broth to a boil, add the coconut soup and reheat, but do not boil. Add the vegetables, bring to a boil, and turn off the heat. Add the rest of the ingredients. Serve.

Okay, you're not cooking for forty, are you. I will give you my adjusted version of the scaled-down recipe, serves 6. But first, a few comments on finishing the soup.

I have used Frontier powdered vegetable broth, because the ashram kitchen stocks it. I can't unequivocally endorse it, because the first ingredient is corn syrup solids. But the powder is a workhorse for the kitchen, and it works for this recipe: 2 cups of broth powder for 8 quarts of water. I bring the broth to a boil and let it sit on the stove for a while. Before proceeding, I usually add as much as a quart of water, depending on how long the broth has been simmering and how much water has boiled off.

This is a fresh soup, a midwinter antidote to Northeast cabin fever from an exotic Pacific locale. You don't want to cook the vegetables overlong; you don't want to boil the lime juice, the tamari or the fresh herbs at all.

A note on the vegetables: The addition of peppers and mushrooms comes from the Thai restaurant's version. Theirs always had red peppers. I have always used green peppers, because that's what we had on hand. To compensate for the reduction in sweetness, I added some leftover roast yams (also on hand). That worked so well I go out of my way to roast yams for the soup. I have also tried green peas, which are fine. Add them at the last minute, even if frozen; they will turn gray if boiled for long. One quarter of a cabbage, finely shredded, can substitute for the peppers.

How to roast a sweet potato: wash it, rub it lightly with oil, put it on a baking sheet in a preheated oven at 375 degrees. After half an hour, it should be done (soft). Check by sticking a knife or fork into it.

THAI COCONUT SOUP

serves 6

broth:
6 cups vegetable stock
1 15-oz. can unsweetened coconut milk
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons soy sauce or tamari
1/2 to 1 teaspoon turibinado sugar
1 or 2 basil leaves, chopped
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

vegetables:
1/2 to 1 bell pepper, cut into short strips
1 cup small white mushrooms, thinly sliced
1 small sweet potato, roasted and chopped

Bring stock to a boil, add coconut milk and bring almost to a boil. Add vegetables and simmer one to three minutes. Add all other ingredients just before serving. Note: This soup is richer than the high-quantity version; you can reduce the amount of coconut milk to taste. And see the comments above on suggestions for other vegetables.

After the Holidays: Winter Squash Soup

It's the slow season. Except dozens of people are still showing up for lunch at the ashram, some from yoga class, some still in residence after the holidays. What to feed them? The kitchen stores are depleted, yet there's a backlog of winter squash and just enough else to make a hearty winter soup. This soup is a variation on an ashram favorite that I usually make with red lentils instead of squash.

TO COOK FOR A CROWD

We have a 60-cup pot with nice curves -- we call it the sexy pot -- that feeds 35 to 40 people, full. I drag it out and fill it two-thirds full with butternut squash (peeled, deseeded, cut in chunks) and enough cold water to cover. While that's coming to a boil on the stove, I add my spices: a big thumb of ginger (flurried), half a tablespoon of cumin, a pinch of allspice, a pinch of cayenne and a bay leaf. While the squash cooks, I slice two of the enormous carrots we have in the cold room; that's equivalent to about four or five carrots of normal size. I saute the slices in coconut oil.

When the squash is soft, I puree the soup with an immersion blender. I add the sauteed carrots and some leftover cooked kale, chopped into small pieces. Since we don't have cilantro, I add a bunch of curly parsley, chopped fine (stems included). I throw in some salt -- probably a tablespoon -- and there you go. It's surprisingly sweet, this soup; the coconut oil and the allspice are subtle brighteners.

WINTER SQUASH SOUP

serves 6
1 butternut squash, peeled, deseeded and cut into 2-inch chunks
water
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 2-inch piece of ginger, grated
1/8 teaspoon allspice
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1 bay leaf
two carrots, sliced thinly
one small bunch of kale, chopped fine
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
salt and pepper

Put the squash in a 4-quart pot and add enough water just to cover. Bring to a boil. Add cumin, ginger, allspice, cayenne and bay leaf.  Simmer till very soft. Remove bay leaf and puree soup. Return to stove and keep warm on a low flame.
Saute carrots in coconut oil till slightly browned, about five minutes. Add to soup.
Steam kale until tender, five to fifteen minutes depending on the kale. Add to soup.
Add parsley.
Add 1/2 teaspoon of salt, or more to taste. Add pepper to taste.

Feeding Musicians: Middle-of-the-Night Mulligatawny Soup

The retreat center where I once lived and worked occupied the last of a 19th-century estate, with three buildings, including the main house, that hadn't been modernized. This was a good thing, because it meant the buildings remained pretty accurate historically. It also meant that plugging in a coffeepot on a night when visiting musicians had brought their sound systems had the potential to create an immediate blackout. This did happen.

While the estate was old, the retreat center was new. The staff was skeletal (not skinny -- I was the cook -- but rather few; three women worked 83 acres). Indian musicians of very high caliber, on tour in the U.S., discovered us, and offered concerts. But we had never done anything like this before, and there were lots of details to be worked out. The shrine held thirty, and so, while appropriate, was impractical. We converted the classroom. Volunteers built a movable stage (which eventually came to rest in place, of course) and we covered it with rugs from the bookstore and sheets from the linen closet. The sound system was borrowed; the seating was ad hoc. Fifty new folding chairs showed up. Volunteers directed traffic and took donations.

But what to feed the musicians? I had to come up with something that could be made ahead of time (the kitchen could be heard from the performance space); that would be ready to serve right away after the performance; that was simple and fresh.

I found a recipe for mulligatawny soup in an old Fannie Farmer cookbook, part of the estate’s collection of vintage cookbooks. I had never had mulligatawny soup, but it sounded like an appropriate blend of East and West, a recipe from the Raj. The Fannie Farmer recipe called for chicken, though, so I looked online for vegetarian versions. Among the results I Googled was a vegetarian mulligatawny with Southeast Asian overtones, using coconut milk, cilantro and lemon juice, which I replaced with lime juice. With printouts of both recipes on the counter as I cooked, I combined at whim and came up with the following recipe. Luckily, someone asked me to write it down right away, so here it is. All measurements are approximate; feel free to adjust.

We fed the musicians after the concert, late at night. The mulligatawny soup was a hit, and when the company finally dispersed, at two in the morning, everyone was satisfied: those (musicians) who went on to sing and talk elsewhere into the night, and those (retreatants) who went to sleep for an hour before rising to meditate.

Middle-of-the-Night Mulligatawny Soup

In a deep, heavy pot, heat

¼ cup butter or oil

and add

½ cup diced onion
½ cup diced carrot
½ cup diced celery
2 bell peppers, chopped fine
2 apples, peeled, cored and chopped

Saute slowly until brown, stirring frequently. Stir in

1/3 cup flour

and saute briefly. Add:

2 tsp. West Indian curry (at least)
½ tsp. nutmeg
¼ tsp. ground cloves
1 (15-oz.) can diced tomatoes
bay leaf
8 cups vegetable stock

Simmer ½ hour. Add:

1 (19-oz.) can chickpeas (optional)
1 (15-oz.) can coconut milk (unsweetened)
½ cup dried coconut

Cook 10 minutes or so. Puree some or all of the soup. Return to pot. Add:

2 Tbsp. lime juice (or more)
2 tsp. fresh cilantro, finely chopped (or more)

The balance of coconut milk and lime juice is crucial. Salt and pepper to taste.

Since the recipe calls for letting the soup sit for several hours to let the flavors come out, it's perfect for an after-event meal. A vegetarian entree with a coconut curry/lime juice base, it doesn't resemble anyone's idea of actual mulligatawny soup, but the name remains.

My First Recipe: French Peasant Soup

The first recipe I learned to make came from the Dutch au pair next door, who was an exotic addition to our brand-new and homogenized Long Island suburb. This was the '60s, and the au pair was everything I was not: petite, curvy, sexy, and blonde. She was also seven years older than me, and I developed one of those undying crushes that only teenaged girls can have.

The relationship expanded when she married a friend of the family who lived in the Hamptons. I was her underage maid of honor. After that, I began to visit the young couple lots during the summers. I was her little sister for a long time, and she taught me to cook.

She was a classic teacher. She didn't measure; she didn't use recipes; she just knew how to be a good Dutch housewife. I call this recipe French peasant soup, because I once found a recipe much like it in a cookbook somewhere. But it's hers, and it has comforted me all my life.

GET A BIG POT

A big pot, with a heavy bottom. Dice an onion, or two (if they're small). Scrape the chopped onion off the cutting board into the pot, which has been heated and filled with enough oil to cover the bottom. At this point, I use olive oil for everything; I'm sure in the beginning I used "vegetable oil."

As the onions are gently sauteeing -- stir them occasionally -- peel or scrub three to five carrots and slice them. (Why peel an organic carrot?) Take a bunch of celery, trim off the browned cut ends of the stalks, remove any discolored leaves, and chop the whole bunch all at once, moving down the stalks till you have gone about halfway. Take all the pieces, dump them in a bowl of cold water to clean them; then pour the contents of the bowl through a strainer or colander.

By now, the onions may be beginning to brown; add the carrots and celery and stir, to slow down the cooking process. A little water at this point will also keep the onions from getting browner.

Peel five potatoes, more or less. I started with generic white potatoes, and I have never found a better substitute. (Yukon Gold are good; russets are bad.) Cut them into bigger pieces than dicing would accomplish; this provides substance to the soup. Throw them in the pot. And while you don't have to peel organic potatoes, white chunks look better.

Add one large (28-oz.) can of peeled plum tomatoes in juice. Then scoop up each tomato, one by one, with a big spoon, cut it in half the long way, and drop it back into the pot. This is part of the ritual for me, and I have no interest in accomplishing this more efficiently. As my blonde and groovy married friend explained, this helps the tomatoes to fall apart during the cooking process.

Fill the tomato can with cold water and add to the pot. Make sure the water level covers the vegetables at all times; as the soup simmers, you are going to be adding more water now and then. Turn up the heat until the soup begins to boil; then turn it down so it is bubbling, but barely.

Canned tomatoes often have added basil, a warming herb that is good for this recipe. The key, though, is thyme, so warm it's hot. Three good-sized pinches of dried thyme, ground between your fingers before it's dropped into the pot, gives a nice flavor to the tomato base. Fresh parsley. If you have an herb garden, basil, thyme, oregano, and marjoram are all great; and beyond that is your call. And add a bay leaf.

Simmer for two hours. What? Yes. It takes vegetables longer to soften in a broth made with canned tomatoes. Also, the longer you cook the tomatoes, the sweeter and richer they get.

I am typing up this new post as my soup cooks. I am checking the water level, stirring, amazed at how crisp the vegetables remain, but confident that gradually, but inevitably, the soup will soften into the tenderhearted fragrance of memory.

DISHING IT UP

This is a beautiful soup, red, green, white, gold. It's simple, clean and vegetal. To make it heftier, add chunks of jack or cheddar cheese, or slices of Swiss, to each individual serving. Or add a can of chickpeas to the pot, shortly before serving. I like to keep the original palette intact. I have been known to add sweet corn kernels, paired with sultry broccoli florets, in the last half hour of cooking. Salt and pepper to taste.