The search for the perfect bowl of khao soi.

    Complex, fragrant and often fiery, Thai soups are extraordinary. While tom yum has conquered the world, less famous, and by far my favourite is a soup from northern Thailand called khao soi. Describing it as curry chicken noodle soup make it sound ho-hum which it definitely isn't. Imagine a bowl of thick, creamy soup, dense with soft noodles and, on top, a crown of deep-fried noodles which makes for some interesting textural contrast. On the side, to add at will, are shallots, coriander leaves, pickled mustard greens, chilis and limes.
   Absolutely the first thing I order when I get to Chiang Mai is a bowl of it. And, during the time we were there, I managed to down more than a few versions. Here in France, it's hard to find the right kind of noodles and fresh coriander (cilantro) is something you grab when you see a bunch. But I've nailed the secret ingredient: the little packets of curry powder that I bring back from the market in Chiang Mai. Recipes? Plenty are on the Internet. The one that comes closest to the real thing is from the author of Real Thai: The Best of Thailand's Regional Cooking, Nancie McDermott. http://www.food.com/recipe/chiang-mai-curry-noodles-kao-soi-192829

This version came without the usual additions but with hefty amounts of chopped cilantro and green onion,

Someone getting inventive in the kitchen here. Check the straightness and stylish positioning of the fried noodles.

Lentils and more lentils

   In winter weather, your--or anyway my--body needs carbs. Steamed potatoes mashed with lashings of butter and crème fraîche. Pasta with pesto. Haricots blancs cooked with loads of garlic and tossed with plenty of finely chopped parsley. (Scissored parsley, to be honest. I strip the leaves into a coffee mug and snip away.)

   Recently, during this unseasonably chilly weather, we've been gorging on lentils, making a dark, earthy bed of them for a coil of grilled saucisses with red or green cabbage on the side. We also like them with pan-fried salmon. Hot olive oil in a non-stick pan, salmon in skin-side down, lid on, leave for eight minutes--and that's it. 

   So, lentils. Rather than faffing around with small quantities, I generally empty the entire 500 gram packet into the pan which means leftovers to reheat a day or so later, and soup the day after that. For the master batch, I simmer the lentils for 20 minutes, then add cubed carrot, potato and onion, minced garlic and whatever herbs are around--bay leaf and thyme usually--and simmer for 15 or 20 minutes more. 

   All you do to make soup is water down the leftovers (or you could use chicken or vegetable stock if you happen to have any festering in the fridge) and blitz with a hand-held blender. 

I'll be honest. Beautiful, it isn't but, as you can see, lentil soup looks very pretty once you tart it up with lardons, croutons and parsley.

A Satisfying Morning.

   Rain, wind and cold temperatures have been the norm for the past few days. Tant pis. (All-purpose French expression with many possibly translations depending on the context.)

   Yesterday, I was writing all day so what happened outdoors didn't concern me. Today, I had an enormous list of chores. Not as bad as it sounds as most were food-related. 

   Backing up a bit, last Friday I bought two kilos of beef at Lavelanet market. I can't remember what cut it was but it was deep red, muscular and obviously meant for braising. It had been sitting in the fridge for 24 hours (at least) imbibing the better part of a bottle of Libertin, a wine from Fronton near Toulouse, one of those big reds, along with Madiran and Buzet, that we start to drink a lot of as winter approaches. So, the meat and the wine and some bay leaves and garlic had been the base for a daube which I cooked very, very slowly for several hours yesterday in between word-tinkering. 

    Also in there was half a packet of lardons whose fat, I knew, would rise to the top of the daube if left overnight. It did, I got rid of it, and froze the daube for future cold nights. That was one job this morning.

   The next was to peel and chop a large number of onions to freeze. Almost every recipe uses chopped onions and, purists might disagree, but I've discovered it makes very little difference if you use frozen or fresh onions in your mirepoix. 

   I also made apple sauce. My English neighbour, Bea, gave us a large bag of apples some weeks ago. Our French neighbours, Jeannine and Jean-Louis keep us supplied with walnuts they find when they're out foraging. (Great quote from Jean-Louis: "I don't use the Internet. I go for walks in the forest.") So I cooked those plus the apples, and some raisins, and it's all destined to go on our breakfast yogurts. Not quite porridge season yet. 

   The final dish I made was soup for lunch. A bag of carrots was losing its sprightliness so I looked up recipes (on the Internet) and found one on the BBC web site for carrot and coriander soup. You hardly need a recipe because all you do is chop a pound of carrots, slice an onion and soften both in a tablespoon of vegetable oil. Add a teaspoon of ground coriander seeds, salt and pepper. Pour in, well, the recipe said vegetable stock but I didn't have any so I used plain old tap water. Cook until the vegetables are soft, whizz with a handheld blender, and, just before you dish it up, mix in a good handful of chopped fresh coriander. Delicious. 

   I also prepped ingredients for supper tonight but I'll save that for another post.

Winter Vegetables and Caldo Vermelho

As usual, on Monday, I made a beeline for a certain produce stall at Mirepoix market. It only sells locally grown vegetables but, more to the point, here's where you can snap up the unusual. It's the only source I know of for parsnips, for instance. I've seen bunches of cilantro there too. Monday, the selection included yellow turnips, green cauliflowers, huge black and crimson radishes and vividly coloured chard.

The chard I bought was so darkly red, it verged on black. Its stems were a mix of deep gold and scarlet, like the kind of sunset you see on vintage Hawaiian postcards.

Back home, I sautéed a chopped onion and a garlic clove in olive oil, then added three potatoes cut into small cubes and enough water to cover them. While the mixture was coming to the boil, I cubed an end of chorizo, added that and simmered everything for 15 minutes. Next I mashed some of the potato against the sides of the pot to thicken the soup. Finally, in went shredded chard--leaves and stems--which I left to cook for another seven or eight minutes.

In Portugal, where it's the national soup, this is called caldo verde but this version was a deep warming red, so the name caldo vermelho (vermilion) seems more appropriate.

How to Make the Simplest Soup Imaginable

Here's a soup I make often in France. Doesn't look very impressive, does it? Just roughly chopped vegetables, a sprig of thyme and water. But give it 30 or 40 minutes, and a buzz with a hand-held blender and you have delicious, home-made soup. 

I start by melting a knob of butter in a medium-sized saucepan. An onion and a clove of garlic, both chopped, go in next. Toss them around so they take on a buttery sheen. Then add cubed, unpeeled potatoes, one of medium size per person and one for the pot should do it. Using a wooden spoon, toss those around too. Next, into the mix goes the featured vegetable (courgettes in this case; carrots are good and leeks are excellent). Finally, throw in the thyme. Add water to cover, bring to a simmer, put the lid on the pot, the timer on for a half-hour and go sit somewhere and read.

When the timer pings, return to the kitchen and stick a sharp knife down through the vegetables to check that everything's cooked. Then whizz with a hand-held blender until the mixture is smooth. 

Here's where you start tinkering. Salt and pepper of course. Maybe more water to thin the mixture. A little cream never hurts. 

If you have stock on hand, you can of course use that. But, quite honestly, plain tap water is fine. Water, vegetables, herbs, salt and pepper. A lovely, comforting soup that warms you down to your toes is really no more complicated than that.