Broccoli soup

Originally I intended cream of cauliflower soup with chiles, but the cauliflower that I knew I bought and knew I hadn't used and so thought was still there, was nowhere to be found, and there is only one reasonable place it would be. This sudden disappearance convinces me that spies are sneaking into my home when I'm away and stealing my cauliflower, punking me as it were,  while leaving everything else in order, then carefully locking the door behind them to make it appear as if it's all me.

It's the only rational explanation.  *looks around for cameras*

The idea was to char the chiles, burn if you like, then sweat and peel them. They were charred and sweated but they refused to peel. FINE! They would be processed with skins on along with their charred portions just as they are. 

The checkout guy spoke with a heavy Mexican accent. I said, "Wow. You knew what parsnips are." He responded, "Yes, and I knew what the leeks are too. They make us learn all those things," he waved his hand at the direction of the produce section. I was impressed. I find often that clerks in my own age group and younger have no idea what many of the vegetable are that I present to them there at checkout. 

The parsnip seemed the toughest vegetable so after the Anaheim chiles were charred and covered with plastic in their own little bowl, the cut and oiled parsnips went next into the same pot. They too were charred while the carrots were cut, the next hardest root vegetable. I suppose I could have roasted the vegetables all at once, but I wanted to get started immediately so I took the rash impetuous route. 

There were two parsnips. 

These two things, parsnips and carrots, made the soup surprisingly sweet. Because of these, the soup tasted as if I had poured in about four ounces of honey. 

The leeks were filthy. They were cut and soaked. Removed to a separate bowl with vegetable oil. They went into the pot oiled. 

I don't know why I added potatoes except that I have a bag of them that must be used somehow so now is good a time as any. 

I believe these potatoes obliterated the heat of the Anaheim chiles. I did taste a nick of the raw Anaheim chiles to gauge their heat quotient and deemed them decently hot for Anaheim chiles, but now whatever capsaicin they possess is utterly undetectable in the final soup. Conclusion: use more Anaheim peppers next time, or use poblanos chiles, or omit potatoes and cut back on the root vegetables. 

The deli no longer deals with slabs of bacon. The Asian guy, nonplussed with my request, retrieved another deli worker w-a-a-a-a-y down at the other end of the counter where a gaggle of workers were collected,  and then both came a-a-a-l-l-l-l-l-l-l the way back to  direct me to the cases w-a-a-a-a-y over there , so with thick-cut bacon in mind, I found their salt pork and this stuff here, smoked jowl. The word 'smoked' appealed to me in that moment and I recalled a long time ago hearing a chef extoll the virtues of hog jowl, or maybe it was that guy on the Travel Network who eats weird things, Andrew Zimmern, whoever it was, hog jowl was somehow recommended by somebody who knows more than I do so I gave it a go. 

It's gross. 

Bacon is better. I cooked thick slices of this hog jowl with the soup then removed it to process the vegetables. Once the cooked jowl cooled I diced the slices and fried them in a separate pot to produce something approximating bacon bits. They rendered three useful tablespoons of fat as they  popped right out of the pot like popcorn except much more hazardous. 

And they're gross. 

I'm not complaining. The hog jowl did flavor my soup. It gave the soup a palate-pleasing oomph  that the chicken broth and the beef broth both lacked. It imparted depth and body, so to speak, the way butter does for vegetables. Umami up to there *dramatically slices the air above head*

I bought a small sac of this long pepper months ago for something specific and then lost track of its intended purpose. I have no idea now what to do with them so I used them here on impulse.  They're fine. Though I do not know why they would ever be specified. 

 

The soup was also seasoned with the last of the fresh sage.  :-( , sorry that's all gone. And the last of the coriander, now that's all gone too.  :-(  , 

and Cumin. 

Know what that means? Well it means I have to go right out there and get more fresh sage and a new jar of coriander, that's what. 

Finally for the vegetables, broccoli and a large hunk of curly parsley. I have both kinds of parsley on hand but I copped an attitude about giant Italian parsley so I might throw it out, if I cannot cook out its bitterness. 

One carton of chicken broth plus 3/4 carton of beef broth was the liquid that went into this once the vegetables had seared and softened. The chicken broth seemed weak on its own so I switched to beef and kept adding until the viscosity seemed acceptable. It's subjective. I could have added the entire second carton and it would be just as good. 

The vegetables were processed with an immersion blender which turns out to be better than the Cuisinart or a regular blender. Cleanup is a consideration over here. I don't much care for all those loose parts when it's not necessary. I'm too much of a klutz and those knives are treacherous.  The prepared broth was added in increments at the end. 

The original idea was for a 'cream' of cauliflower soup but I spaced the cream too. Now I ask you, how can I make cream of cauliflower soup without cream and without cauliflower? If I had cream now, I would drizzle it on top in the serving bowl as a garnish, then blend it at the table with a soup spoon. Cream would impart a silkiness that this soup lacks, but that's okay with me. I'll suffer creamlessly with my delicious broccoli Anaheim soup. Besides, I do have sour cream. 

I kept test-tasting as I proceeded, determining what was lacking -- the strength of beef broth over chicken broth, the lack of fat, the need for aromatics, etc. If I may be so unkind as to note, this is where my own father failed. With great enthusiasm he would come home with a sack of various root vegetables marketed "For Soup," and expect if he would boil the shit of those vegetables then he could produce soup. Honestly, you could not add enough salt to get that vapid crap to approximate soup. And there would be gallons of it frozen locking up space in the freezers for ages. Finally I asked him why he didn't start with a proper stock and he goes, "What is stock?" 

One cup of dry black-eye peas, and one cup of dry small red beans were soaked until they doubled in volume then pressure cooked to near doneness.  I knew already that half a teaspoon of ground habanero was too hot but I added it anyway. Come to find out,

IT WAS WAY TOO HOT!!!!111!1!11

The beans were so hot, the ones pictured up there ↑ and down there ↓ they cannot be eaten by mortal gringo. Actually, I did eat 80% of them but it burned my face off, drew tears and made my nose run -- to escape, no doubt. 

I fixed the beans good, I sure did.  Rinsed the remainder by running water through them in a colander. Returned to the pot, also rinsed, with fresh water and another small potato diced to the size of the beans. Cooked further until the potato was cooked. Added molasses. Now the beans are harmless. So harmless, in fact, that ironically, I might have to add some habanero chile powder to jazz them up. 

Mint, because it is there. 

I must add, the soup on its own, without the beans or any enhancement at all, is absolutely delicious. Sweet, and completely kid-friendly. It has everything a soup lover could ask, except for possibly a straightforward simple plan.