An Exaltation of Soups (39 page)

W
ALES
LEEK SOUP
C
AWN
C
ENNIN

Serves 6 to 8

T
HIS TRADITIONAL
W
ELSH
leek broth is a wonderful way to start a feast on March 1, St. Tavy’s day. It is guaranteed to strengthen the heart cords of anyone with Welsh blood, but watch out for the celebration: in Wales, to be “full of loudmouth soup” is to be “drunk as a lord.”

1. Sauté the bacon in a large soup pot over medium heat until crisp, then remove it from the pan, drain on paper towels, and reserve for the garnish.

2. Prep the remaining ingredients as directed in the recipe list.

1. In the soup pot, reheat the bacon grease over medium heat and stir in the leeks, turning to coat them and sautéing for several minutes, until they take on a little golden color.

2. Pour in the stock, bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to low and cook, uncovered, for 15 minutes. Remove from the heat. Puree the soup, solids first, then pour back into the pot. Season with salt and pepper.

Reheat the soup over medium-high heat, then ladle it into bowls and top with crumbled bacon and circles of leek.

A
S THE APOSTLES
’ Creed goes, “Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord … was conceived of the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. The third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God the Father almighty.”

That matter-of-fact account, however, leaves out all the horror and joy that Christians experienced on that first Easter and have relived each year since as the central mystery of faith.

I can’t even imagine the shattering finality of Christ’s death to his followers. One day spiritual ecstasy and certainty, hours later and almost out of the blue, the extinction of their leader and with him their hopes, dreams, and faith—“for,” as John remarks, “as yet the disciples knew not the scripture, that he must rise again from the dead.”

In fact, these disciples—every one of them!—literally disappear from the story for a couple days after Christ’s death. Luke says they “stood afar off” during the crucifixion. John notes that they were afraid for their lives and went into hiding; Mark says “they mourned and wept.” It was the outsider Joseph of Arimathaea who got Pilate’s permission to take the body, wrap it in linen, and seal it in a cave. And come Easter Sunday, it was Mary Magdalene and other women who went to that cave and discovered the stone rolled away, heard the good news from an angel of the Lord, saw the risen Christ himself, and raced off to tell the disciples.

And what did these women say to the disciples? What Christians everywhere say on Easter Sunday: “Alleluia. Christ is risen.”

But notice I haven’t said one word about Carnival, Cheese Week, Clean Monday, Fat Tuesday/Shrovetide, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Mezza Quaresima, Mothering Sunday/Rejoicing Sunday, Palm/Passion/Carlings Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, or Holy Saturday? And nothing about Easter being named after a Teutonic goddess, or about Easter eggs and Easter bunnies? Fact is, all these elements came well after the fact. They’re all rituals and customs that developed out of old and new beliefs over time so people could understand, remember, and celebrate the central mystery of Jesus’ resurrection. And food, as always, plays a huge role in these processes, including soup.

Let’s start with Eostre, the Teutonic deity who gave her name to the English holiday. It was the Venerable Bede, of all people, who identified her with the month of April and Christ’s passion
(De Temporum Ratione
, eighth-century
A.D.
England), and she’s as good an earth mother as any to sum up man’s primeval understanding and mythmaking of earth’s natural cycles, and the rebirth of spring—much like Egyptian Isis, Slavic Makosh, Norse Freya, classical Demeter and Ceres, and Aztec Tlazoteotl.

So, when Christ’s disciples—now apostles—“went forth, and preached every where” some 2,000 years ago, they were running into heathens who were already pretty comfortable with the main outlines of a death-rebirth story. The apostles said a “son of God” was sacrificed and reborn at the very beginning of spring, and these heathens could relate. The apostles said that this particular sacrifice meant
eternal
joy and salvation. Well, what’s not to like? Conversions came pretty easily, all things considered.

Eggs? You bet. They’ve symbolized rebirth and regeneration
since ancient man first domesticated geese and chickens. Bread? Yep. Sheaves of wheat have been ritually sacrificed on domestic altars from earliest times; also cakes and boiled, salted wheat. Easter bunnies?
Naturellement.
These prolific little critters were big-time sacred to fertility goddesses in general, and to Eostre in particular. Soup? No, not yet.

Easter’s first custom is Carnival. Think about it. Hints of spring are in the air, you’re tired of winter, and now, with Ash Wednesday coming up, you’re about to sail into a forty-day season of penitence and fasting. What’s a good Christian to do?
Carne vale—
translated, say “goodbye to meat”—in one big blast. Since it’s the end of winter, food stocks are way down, but the hens are still laying and the cows are still giving milk for butter and cheese, and if you can’t slaughter a pig, you can at least use up the salted meat.

Carnival has always been one big food frenzy: lots of meat everywhere. Sweet eggy breads, like English pancakes, German
kuchen
, Polish
paczki
, Portuguese
sonhos
, Italian omelets and fried dough. Greeks marked this time by methodically progressing from a week of bingeing, to a week of finishing off the meat, to a last week of finishing off the cheese.

Austere soup, understandably, played a minor role in shake-and-shimmy Carnival festivities. But it played a role nonetheless. Northern Italians ate
zuppa alla canavesana
, a thick cabbage soup with cheese, bread, and sausage—also
tofeja
, a very beany soup made in public kettles on the piazza, stuffed with salami and pork fat “priests.” Icelanders ate
saltkjöt og baunir
, a thick pea-and-meat soup designed to fill you to bursting on Shrovetide Tuesday so you’d be carried past Ash Wednesday.

Greeks ate
tyrozoumi
on Cheese Sunday, a broth made of wild herbs and the whey of goat cheese, traditionally the first course at the last dinner before Lent. According to George Megas, professor
at the University of Athens, families would say a short prayer, lift the entire dinner table with their little fingers three times, and say “Holy broth, cheese-broth—whoever drinks of it and does not laugh shall not be bitten by fleas.” Then they would silently drink up three spoonfuls … pause … then laugh like crazy.

In Basel, Switzerland,
Basler Mehlsuppe
, or “browned-flour soup,” was and still is eaten at 3:30
A.M.
during Carnival. It’s not a rich, luxury soup at all, but excellent for coating the stomach during the three-day celebration, as you’re putting on your mask to go out for a romp of marching and drinking.

I
CELAND
SALTED LAMB AND PEA SOUP
S
ALTKJÖT OG BAUNIR

Serves 6 to 8

T
HIS RICH SOUP
recipe was given to me by Nanna Rögnvaldar-dóttir, author of
Matarást (Love of Food)
, a 700-page encyclopedia of Icelandic cooking. Her
saltkjöt og baunir
is what most Icelanders eat on Shrove Tuesday, or
sprengidagur
(literally, “bursting day”). According to Nanna, “Tradition says you should eat as much (especially meat) as you possibly can, until you are about to burst. The reason for this is of course that in the old days, you would have been preparing for seven meatless weeks, so you’d better pig out. The soup is fairly similar to Scandinavian pea soups, except they are usually made with salted pork, not lamb.” Salted lamb is not easy to find in many locations, but it is possible to substitute 1 pound of country ham and 2 pounds of fresh lamb for the bacon and salted lamb, below, to get a decent flavor of the dish.