Soup's on

The recipe from my mother-in-law for carrot and leek soup was probably not even necessary. Everyone in France for any length of time learns this one. It's a popular one. It's a simple one. It's good on a winter evening. So why did I even bother with getting the recipe? Because her version is perfect that's why.

Velvety smooth, a golden nutty tone, and full of subtle delicate flavors, I've been dining on this soup with my in-laws for the seven years that I've been in France and I've been trying to copy it for all of those seven years. I have never been able to do it. Mine always comes out different.

The recipe my mother in law finally handed me last year in her delicate, upright swirly, handwriting was not a gift with the secret for the soup. If you've ever asked a French person how to make a dish like this, first you'll get the "you have to be kidding me" look, then you'll get maybe a head scratch and then probably a Gallic sigh,* and finally a tentative "je peux essayer...je suppose" (I can try...I guess). It's not that they don't want to share, it's just that they make it all with such ease and afterthought that putting it into a recipe is as impossible to explain as trying to explain how we walk or talk or sleep. We just do.

Needless to say the recipe made my soup worse. It calls for 500 grams of carrots, 3-5 leeks and about a 900g of potatoes. Then it calls for a whopping 3 litres of water. The rest just says mix it all together. How? There is no explanation. Don't worry, I knew that part, but you see how horribly vague she was. You can see that we're drowning in water here. And it's clear to anyone that we have enough potato quantity to keep a small Irish farmer in business all winter long. She'd tried in vain to explain the unexplainable. I'd just have to give up. It wasn't going to happen.

No, no no. I would not give up! But, three attempts at the new soup recipe just made me look more and more incompetent. Seb just shook his head each time and said "no, it's not bad but..." I knew he wanted to say "but not like maman" but he is a wise, wise man and that's why I married him. He knew to keep his mouth shut about making comparisons. After a downright awful third attempt a few months back, I put away the recipe, but in the last few months it had been bugging me. I ignored the call until a recent trip to the market had me eyeing some lovely leeks. "Leeks, oh I love leek soup...and the carrots I'll just get a batch and..." And the vegetables sat forlornly in my fridge all week long.

This weekend I decided that the batch I'd bought for the damn soup had to be used or else tossed out so I decided to try again, why not, in the interest of not wasting food. Why not pull out the recipe. Why not suffer humiliation and defeat. Did I even have the energy? I pulled out the recipe. The quantities we're grossly off, yes. I studied it again. I looked at it ten times. And then I got frustrated and closed the book. I carefully cut up my two medium sized leaks and sautéed them in some butter with just a hint of garlic. To this I added trace spices; ginger, cumin, red pepper seeds and cinnamon, then the garni of thyme sprigs, bay leaf and salt and fresh ground pepper. None of the spices mother-in-law really would have ever used. Too racy and avant garde for her tastes. Then I added a very simple double heaped, handful of diced carrots and finally three very medium sized potatoes. I put in enough water to respectfully cover the vegetables and let the pot simmer for 35 minutes. The aroma of a wonderfully tasty mixture started wafting through the house almost immediately and Seb peeked around the corner from where his nose had been buried in his laptop and work papers, "mmm, smells really good."

And it was very good, nutty and golden with a hint of kick just like I like. It didn't come out lumpy and starchy like all the times before. It didn't come out watery and tasteless like the other times. It came out perfect and velvety, and slightly thick and a even a teensy bit robust. I'd made it my way. It wasn't her soup but it was good. And I could do it again and again, and maybe even better next time.

I'd broken the mold. It's important to break the mold. I mean sometimes you just have to follow your own recipe, right?


* A Gallic sigh is a full body sigh with a huge heave of the chest, a sort of twisted mouth turn and wide eyes, and of course it's always accompanied by the remark, "je ne sais pas..." You will find yourself doing this after even the briefest short stay in this country. It's highly effective, which is why most mother-in-laws and teenagers do it very well, ...oh and of course anyone giving you a time frame for the completion of any project in France.