Carrot Soup All The Way from England

In spite of our drought, I had a fairly impressive garden this past winter: several varieties of lettuce, basil (until the frost killed it), and chives and parsley, which are both hardy in cold weather. I enjoyed fresh lettuce every day from November through March. But then I planted beets and carrots and it wasn’t long before ennui set in. I had purchased them as wispy-thin seedlings, clumped into small starter packs and they were planted too densely. I repeatedly thinned them for several weeks, but as they matured I could see they were still too close together. Feeling defeated, I left them to survive on their own. The beets kind of grew into each other, producing gigantic, grotesque beetroots that I cut up anyway into more manageable pieces and roasted in olive oil. They tasted just fine.

The carrots grew in a comically catawampus way, sticking out every which way, and kept poking their heads out of the ground to show off their colorful shoulders and try to convince me that they were actually beautiful. I finally pulled them all, relieving the poor darlings from further ridicule. I had decided to just chop them up and cook them in a light, carrot-ginger soup, or try to replicate Bryn's tasty curried carrot soup. But an article in the Los Angeles Times changed my mind.

 

What caught my eye was “A taste of Bath.” When I was in England in 2012 researching my family’s history in Cornwall, my British cousins persuaded me to join them in Bath where they were enjoying a weekend of theater, museums and sightseeing in that magnificent old city. John was anxious to take me to one of the oldest restaurants in town, the Sally Lunn EatingHouse. As a child in the 1940s, John and his mother had been sent from London to the countryside to escape the bombs dropped by German warplanes. One of his happiest memories of living in Bath is eating at Sally Lunn’s, so in a culinary nod to happy times, we gorged on his childhood favorite, the Bath Bun, a rich buttery roll that has a lump of white sugar baked into it, a delicacy that’s been famous since the 18^th century.

When we had recovered from the sugar high, we settled into healthier fare. Fortunately, the menu provided several choices, one of which was the subject of the Times’ article. Reading through it, I was nostalgic for my trip to England but I also had stumbled upon a way to use my homely carrots.

Sally Lunn’s Carrot and Lentil Soup

2 Tablespoons olive oil

2 Pounds carrots, chopped, about 6 cups

3 Large celery stalks, chopped

1 Onion, chopped

2 Leeks, white and pale green parts only

½ Lemon (peel and segments), chopped

6 Cloves garlic, chopped

1 Tablespoon ground cumin, or to taste

1 Teaspoon ground cardamom, or to taste

2 Teaspoons garam masala, or to taste

½ Teaspoon smoke paprika, or to taste

¼ Teaspoon cayenne pepper, or to taste

½ Pound red lentils, about 1 cup

8 Cups vegetable broth

Salt and pepper

In a large stockpot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Stir in the carrots, celery, onion, leeks, lemon and garlic, along with the cumin, cardamom, garam masala, smoked paprika and cayenne. Cook while stirring frequently until the vegetables are soft and the spices are aromatic, about 7-8 minutes.

Stir in the lentils and broth. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to a gentle simmer and cover. Cook until the vegetables and lentils are tender, about 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and season with 2 teaspoons of salt and a scant teaspoon of pepper.

Using an immersion blender, puree the soup. Add additional broth or water if necessary to bring it to desired consistency. I don't puree this soup to a fine consistency; I leave it a little chewy so I can bite into all those vegetables. Taste and adjust the seasonings if needed. Garnish with a sprig of celery leaves or a generous pinch of thinly sliced scallion greens.

Makes about 3 quarts.

With all the Indian spices in this soup, I think a chilled Reisling is the best choice for wine.