I’ve never considered myself a skilled soup maker, the kind of cook with a grounded intuition about herbs and acids (like the head chef at Magpie who is an actual soup goddess), but I think I may be improving. This year I’ve done more riff soups, kitchen-sink soups, and non-recipe soups than ever before and most of them have been quite fine. Some have even been splendid.
And then a couple weeks ago, Adam Robertsdid a post about soup over at Cup of Jo. His approach is both practical and inspiring, the exact sort of slapdash, there-is-no-one-right-way philosophy that opens me up to explore and grow, and now I feel liberated to soup* with even more abandon and conficence.
The physicality of the show was absolutely mind-boggling: a little bit like Cirque du Soleil but with drumming and martial arts, flute playing, acrobatics, chanting, and an enormous variety of drums and sticks, some as big as baseball bats. At first I was a little edgy — the way they were wailing on those drums just a few feet from my precious noggin! — but I soon realized that these were some seriously skilled people who had a good handle (literally) on what they were doing.
Our seats were in the very first row, which I didn’t know until we arrived (squee!), and then another attender told me that the tickets had sold out within 24 hours of going on sale: There’s nothing like a good scarcity story to make me feel lucky!
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I’ve always been in awe of Rosanna Nafziger’s writing. Our parents were friends when we were children (I have fuzzy memories of gathering around their kitchen table, big loaves of her mama’s brown bread, and us kids running around their hilly West Virginian yard), and back when she had a blog, I followed along religiously (and still mourn its ending). She’s been writing essays, though(!), and her recent piece about money and poverty and giving and religion is both honest and generous, a balance which can be hard to strike as a writer. Highly recommend.
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I have not read many books in recent months but I devouredFeast by Hannah Howard, pun intended. The food, the stories, the inside look at kitchens, the excruciating detailing of disordered eating — it was truly a feast.
Note: I recommend the book with one caveat. Even as a person with a pretty grounded relationship with food, some of the descriptions of her eating disorder were difficult to read. Know your limits.
Every morning when I get the NY Times newsbrief (or whatever you call it) in my inbox, I scroll straight through the headlines down to the bottom where they always post a single recipe, usually something from the NYT Cooking archives. Most of the time it’s a recipe I’m not interested in, like the latest iteration of pan-fried chicken breasts or yet another version of brothy noodles, but every now and then the recipe jumps straight off the screen, grabs me by the shoulders, and screams “MAKE ME.”
As was the case with the Spiced Irish Oatmeal with Cream and Crunchy Sugar.
I’ve made them twice now and then I (almost) ran out of steel-cut oats so, in a mild panic, I bought them in an expensive little tin from the chain grocery store because I didn’t want to wait until the next time my mom made a run to the bulk food store.
The first time there were some issues: 1) the pan was over full even though it was the correct size, and 2) the oats looked disgusting, all gluey and gray and blech — nothing at all like the glorious staged photo in the NYTimes.
But they tasted amazing. “Now this is an oatmeal I could eat every day,” my husband said, and if any of you 1) know my husband, and 2) understand his relationship to oatmeal (the two are barely on speaking terms), you will understand what a profoundly moving statement that is.
So I made them a second time with tweaks and, while they weren’t twinning with the fancy NYTimes oatmeal in the photo, they were definitely kissing kin, the sort of relatives who know what each other does for work and share the same dangling earlobes and hooded eyelids. Family, obviously.
partially baked
giving it a stir
These oats require a long bake time, so either mix them up the night before and then bake them in the morning while you’re out milking the cow or going for a run (as one does), or simply bake them the night before along with the supper’s baked potatoes, then store them in the fridge and reheat individual servings in the microwave the next morning.
before the last spin in the oven: a flurry of sugar and dots of butter
Although with the latter option, there is one problem: a fresh pan of these oats is irresistible — every time I walked by the pan cooling on top of the stove, I took a bite or three, utterly helpless against their buttery, spicy, caramelly, nubbly charm.
terrible nighttime lighting, but still: that caramelly goodness!
Wicked good is what they are.
accidentally unshaken milk is NOT a problem
And that’s all I have to say about that.
Spiced Irish Oatmeal Adapted from the New York Times.
I cut the recipe in half (if doubling, bake it in a 9×13 pan), reduced the sugar, upped the spices, dialed back the water, and stirred multiple times while baking.
1 cup steel-cut oats 3 tablespoons butter, divided ¼ cup cream 3 cups boiling water ½ rounded teaspoon cinnamon ½ rounded teaspoon cardamon ¼-½ teaspoon salt 2-4 tablespoons demerara sugar flaky sea salt, for garnish
Melt two tablespoons of the butter over medium-high heat. Add the oats and stir for 3-5 minutes until toasty and golden brown. Add the salt and spices and stir another minute. Transfer the oats to a buttered 9-inch pie pan or a square baking dish. Add the cream and boiling water and give it a stir. (If baking later, now’s the time to cover it with plastic and refrigerate.)
Bake the oats at 350 degrees for about 30-40 minutes. Stir after 15 minutes, and then again about 10 minutes later. One the oats are fairly tender and most of the liquid has been absorbed, give them one more stir and then dot the top with the remaining tablespoon of butter, sprinkle with the raw sugar, and bake for another 10-20 minutes. (I haven’t tried this yet, but I imagine that a brief run under the broiler at the very end might seriously boost the caramelization factor.)
