A Love Affair with Southern Cooking (14 page)

HAM, OKRA, AND TOMATO SOUP

MAKES
6
SERVINGS

Having grown up in Ohio, my father probably never tasted okra until he moved to Raleigh to teach at North Carolina State College, and it was
“yecchhh!”
at first bite. As a child, I remember his saying, “When I’m elected president, no farmer will be allowed to grow okra.” He was joking, of course. Still, the only times I ever encountered okra were in school cafeterias, at the homes of friends, and at the old S & W in downtown Raleigh where Daddy took us on special occasions. To be honest, I wasn’t crazy about okra either. But my two thoroughly southern nieces, Linda and Kim, have taught me to appreciate it.

1 small ham hock (about 1 pound)

6 cups (1½ quarts) cold water

2 large whole bay leaves, preferably fresh

2 tablespoons bacon drippings

1 large yellow onion, coarsely chopped

1 cup diced ham (from the hock, plus additional ham if needed to round out the measure)

1 tablespoon sugar

1 pound baby okra, stemmed and moderately finely chopped

One 14.5-ounce can crushed tomatoes, with all liquid

1½ teaspoons salt, or to taste

¼ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

• 1.
  Place the ham hock, water, and bay leaves in a large nonreactive saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Adjust the heat so the water barely trembles, cover, and cook until-the meat practically falls from the bone, about 1 hour.
  
• 2.
  Remove the ham hock from the pan; strip off and dice the meat. Discard the bay leaves. Reserve 4 cups (1 quart) of the ham broth for the soup. Save the rest for cooking beans or greens another day.
  
• 3.
  Heat the bacon drippings for 1 minute in the saucepan over moderately high heat. Add the onion and cook for 2 to 3 minutes or until
  golden. Mix in the ham and sugar and cook for 2 minutes. Add the okra and cook 3 to 4 minutes longer, stirring often.
  
• 4.
  Pour in the reserved ham broth, then add the tomatoes, salt, and pepper. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
  
• 5.
  Taste for salt and pepper, adjust as needed, then ladle into heated soup bowls and serve with freshly baked corn bread.
  

CLEAN-UP-THE-GARDEN VEGETABLE SOUP

MAKES
6
SERVINGS

I had barely begun my job as assistant home demonstration agent in Iredell County, North Carolina, when I was sent to the northern end of the county to persuade a country woman to reinstate her teenage son and daughter in the 4-H Club. Fresh out of Cornell and never having spent much time with country folk, I was startled to find that her home was a four-room cabin with daylight streaking through walls, ceiling, and floor. In the kitchen I came upon Mrs. Farmer, a blowsy, red-faced woman, making soup mix from garden gleanings. Chickens pecked up the spills and shoats (young pigs) snoozed beside the stove. Mrs. Farmer’s opening shot: “Are you a lipper or a dipper?” I had no idea what she meant. “Your snuff,” she continued. “What do you do with it? I’ll bet you’re one of them dainty l’il things what daubs it around with a toothpick”—her definition of a “dipper.” She, a “lipper” and proud of it, pulled out her lower lip and upended a can of Tube Rose directly into it. I was unprepared for the tirade that followed. Under no circumstances would she permit her children to rejoin the 4-H Club because “it was draggin’ them through the flames of hell…’lowed them to dance!” Which she pronounced
dayntz.
Clearly we had no common ground; in fact we could barely communicate. In defense of Mrs. Farmer, however, I will say that she made one terrific soup mix and canned gallons of it “for good winter eatin’.” It’s the basis for this vegetable soup—but no garden needed. I buy the makings at my local farmer’s market.

3 tablespoons bacon drippings or vegetable oil

1 large yellow onion, coarsely chopped

1 medium celery rib, trimmed and thinly sliced (include some leaves)

1 medium carrot, trimmed and thinly sliced

¼ cup coarsely chopped parsley

½ teaspoon dried leaf thyme, crumbled

1 large whole bay leaf, preferably fresh

4 cups (1 quart) chicken stock or broth

3 large dead-ripe tomatoes, cored, peeled, and coarsely chopped (reserve juice) or 2 cups canned crushed tomatoes, with their liquid

1½ cups fresh whole-kernel sweet corn or if unavailable, solidly frozen whole-kernel corn

1 tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

½ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

8 ounces tender young okra pods, stemmed and sliced ½ inch thick or if unavailable, solidly frozen sliced okra

• 1.
  Heat the drippings in a large, nonreactive soup kettle over moderately high heat for 1 minute. Add the onion, celery, and carrot and cook, stirring now and then, for 10 to 12 minutes or until limp and lightly browned.
  
• 2.
  Mix in the parsley, thyme, and bay leaf and cook and stir 1 to 2 minutes more. Add the chicken stock, tomatoes and their juice, the corn, sugar, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, then adjust the heat so the soup bubbles gently. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 1½ hours or until the vegetables are tender and the flavors well blended.
  
• 3.
  Add the okra, cover, and simmer 10 to 15 minutes longer or just until tender. Discard the bay leaf. Taste for salt and pepper and adjust as needed. 4. Ladle into heated soup plates and serve with fresh-baked biscuits or corn bread.
  

VIDALIA ONION SOUP WITH SMOKY BACON

MAKES
4
SERVINGS

The inspiration for this elegant onion soup is one that I enjoyed some while back at the Carolina Crossroads Restaurant in Chapel Hill’s historic Carolina Inn. Chef Brian Stapleton here is one of some half dozen gifted chefs bringing sophisticated cuisine to the Raleigh-Durham–Chapel Hill triangle, an area once known for food that “did not soar.” Thanks to the international corporations now doing business in the Research Triangle Park, a vast rural swatch anchored by these three university towns, this is a region of increasingly cosmopolitan and demanding tastes.

4 slices richly smoked bacon, snipped crosswise at ¼-inch intervals

2 large Vidalia onions, coarsely chopped (about 1½ pounds)

2 large garlic cloves, finely minced

²
/
₃
cup dry white wine (such as riesling, chardonnay, or pinot grigio)

Five 3-inch sprigs of lemon thyme tied in cheesecloth with 2 large bay leaves (preferably fresh)

1 medium all-purpose potato, peeled and finely diced (6 to 8 ounces)

4 cups (1 quart) chicken stock or broth

½ teaspoon salt, or to taste

¹
/
₈
teaspoon ground hot red pepper (cayenne), or to taste

1 cup light cream or half-and-half

¼ cup finely snipped fresh chives or garlic chives

• 1.
  Fry the bacon in a large, heavy soup kettle over moderate heat for about 10 minutes or until the drippings cook out and only crisp brown bits remain. Scoop the bacon onto paper toweling and reserve.
  
• 2.
  Add the onions to the kettle drippings and sauté for 8 to 10 minutes or until limp and lightly browned. Mix in the garlic and sauté for
  1 to 2 minutes more. Add the wine and cheesecloth bag of herbs, reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 10 minutes.
  
• 3.
  Add the potato, chicken stock, salt, and cayenne and bring to a boil. Adjust the heat so the stock bubbles gently, then cook uncovered for 15 to 20 minutes or until the potatoes are mushy. Set the soup off the heat and cool for 20 minutes. Remove and discard the cheesecloth bag.
  
• 4.
  Purée the soup in small batches in a food processor or electric blender at high speed, transferring each batch to a large cheesecloth-lined sieve set over a large bowl. Once the soup is strained, discard the solids. Also rinse and dry the soup kettle.
  
• 5.
  Return the soup to the kettle and smooth in the cream. Set uncovered over moderately high heat for about 5 minutes or just until the soup steams. Do not allow the soup to boil or it may curdle. Taste for salt and cayenne and adjust as needed.
  
• 6.
  Ladle into heated soup bowls, and scatter the reserved bacon and chives over each portion. Or, if you prefer, chill the soup well and serve cold, again garnishing with the bacon and chives.
  

CREAMY MIRLITON SOUP

MAKES
6
SERVINGS

Also called chayotes, vegetable pears, or custard marrows, mirlitons are particularly popular in the Deep South where they are grown commercially. Their delicate, faintly sweet flavor reminds me of cymlings (pattypan squash), to which they’re related. Southerners know countless ways to prepare mirlitons, among them this silky soup. Make it a day ahead, then serve hot or cold.

3 tablespoons butter

2 medium-large mirlitons (about 1½ pounds), quartered, peeled, pitted, then each quarter thinly sliced

1 large Vidalia onion (about ¾ pound), halved, peeled, then each half thinly sliced

1 medium celery rib, trimmed and thinly sliced

3 large parsley branches

1 large whole bay leaf, preferably fresh

3 cups chicken broth

½ teaspoon salt, or to taste

¼ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

1 cup half-and-half

¼ cup buttermilk

2 tablespoons finely snipped fresh chives

• 1.
  Melt the butter in a large, heavy saucepan over moderately high heat; add the mirlitons, onion, celery, parsley, and bay leaf and stir-fry for 2 minutes. Reduce the heat to moderately low, cover, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes or until the vegetables are golden.
  
• 2.
  Add the broth, salt, and pepper and bring to a boil over high heat. Adjust the heat so the soup bubbles gently, cover, and cook for 50 to 55 minutes or until the vegetables are soft.
  
• 3.
  Pour all into a large fine sieve set over a large heatproof bowl; discard the parsley and bay
  leaf. Purée the solids in a food processor or electric blender at high speed.
  
• 4.
  Combine the puréed vegetables with the soup liquid, then mix in the half-and-half and buttermilk. Taste for salt and pepper and adjust as needed. Cover and chill overnight.
  
• 5.
  Either serve cold, garnishing each portion with the snipped chives, or reheat just until the mixture steams; do not boil or the soup may curdle. Ladle into heated soup bowls and sprinkle each portion with the chives.
  

Variations

Yellow Squash Soup:
Prepare the soup as directed but substitute 1½ pounds thinly sliced yellow squash for mirlitons and 8 finely chopped large scallions for the Vidalia onion; also add ¼ teaspoon finely chopped fresh (or crumbled dry) rosemary. In Step 2, cook only until the vegetables are soft—15 to 20 minutes—then proceed as directed. Serve hot or cold, garnishing each portion with a small sprig of rosemary instead of freshly snipped chives.

Cool Cucumber Soup:
Prepare the mirliton soup as directed, substituting 1½ pounds peeled, seeded, thinly sliced cucumbers for mirlitons and 8 finely chopped large scallions for the Vidalia onion. Omit the bay leaf and use 3 large dill sprigs in place of the parsley. In Step 2, cook only until the vegetables are soft—15 to 20 minutes—then proceed as directed. Finally, increase the amount of buttermilk to ½ cup. Serve cold and garnish each portion with freshly snipped dill instead of chives.

COOL FLORIDA AVOCADO SOUP

MAKES
4
TO
6
SERVINGS

When I was a teenager, my mother, father, and I piled into our pea-green Mercury and headed to Florida, where my older brother was working as an intern in an architectural firm. I was excited to be heading south (a first, since our relatives all lived in the Midwest), thrilled, too, to be adding three new states to my list. Still under the spell of
Gone With the Wind
,
I yearned to see Tara-like plantations and fields of cotton. From Raleigh, it took us a day and a half to reach Florida; there were no Interstates then and the speed limit was only fifty-five on the open road. We lunched in Charleston, South Carolina, still sleepy, still poor, then drove on to Savannah for the night. Arriving just as shafts of downing sun filtered through tatters of Spanish moss, I thought Savannah the most romantic city I’d ever seen. It was down-at-heel then, even slightly decadent. By noon the next day we were in the land of oranges. What impressed me even more, however, were the avocado trees; every Florida yard seemed to have one. Back home, avocados were a “special order,” still my father the botanist made sure that my brother and I met them early on—sliced thin and drizzled with a not-too-tart vinaigrette. I never dreamed that avocados could be prepared any other way until I tasted a cool, ever-so-lightly curried soup on that first trip to Florida. This is my attempt to re-create that soup from those long-ago flavor memories. Note:
Bright green Florida avocados are much larger than the dark-skinned Hass and Fuertes of California, yet they are more delicate and lower in calories. Indigenous to and cultivated in Latin America for more than 7,000 years, avocados were introduced to Florida in 1833 by horticulturist Henry Perrine. Only at the turn of the twentieth century, however, did they become a commercial crop.