Patience is a virtue. I wonder if the original statement was something like patience has a virtue, or perhaps the inverse impatience has consequences. I am standing over a steaming, rich, creamy, fragrant cream of broccoli soup. Green flowers bubble to the surface, ensnared in thick white lava. I am hypnotized by the intoxicating smell of it, and the promise of tasting memories of cafe lunches and coming in from the snow. The bright lights of our kitchen, which Christina has recently transformed into a television set for filming instructional cooking episodes, beads sweat on my brow like an Island sun. I bring a steaming spoonful to my lips, the steam burns me before I even get the soup into my mouth. I have to drop the spoon and get an ice cube to sooth the burn.
As soon as the pain subsides, it is forgotten. I put the ice cube down walk over to the stove and take a huge scalding spoonful to my mouth. A large tree of broccoli with both flavor and heat trapped in its branches, releases steamy wrath on first my left cheek, then over my tongue before finally clearing all the taste buds from my right. My whole mouth, having suffered a brush fire, is now devoid of taste buds. Once again, I had gotten ahead of myself. I allowed my actions to become a chain gang, tethered together working toward some imagined outcome with no individuality of moments.
A few days ago, while driving through the city, I was whining about my life. Not that I have much to whine about, I really don't, but restlessness has a way of finding useful and beautiful things to toss in the trash. "I feel like I have missed my chances, that I reached the edge of my potential, and jumped just short of the other side" The minute I said it out loud I felt foolish, but also relieved. "That is ridiculous" Christina said "you are just getting started. You are just upset because you imagine the payoff to be more than it is. You are working toward something, and that is your life. The working. You are upset because you want more than you have worked for, and you want it because you imagine it to be something that it isn't". I looked at her for a moment in shock. How funny that I have forgotten. We have played these words back and forth, because one of us always forgets. Sometimes we hold them in the same moment, and at these times we can have a good laugh at ourselves.
Christina walked into the room looking for the soup. "I hid it in the oven, be careful it is really hot." "I don't think it is" she said, and she popped it into the microwave for a min. When cooking, it is important to know your audience, and listen to their likes and dislikes. You can present your own idea of perfection and still some people will think that you have missed the mark completely. Fortunately, Christina and I like similar flavors, although we have a very different idea of temperature.
"This soup is amazing" she said, finishing her bowl "the flavors are really unique. It has to be shared. "
Cream of broccoli, tarragon, fennel soup (makes 4 servings)
3-4 Tbsp butter
1 small vidalia onion diced
2 large heads broccoli
1 head of fennel (use the fronds)
1 bunch tarragon (to taste)
3 cups chicken stock (or vegetable stock)
salt, pepper, white pepper
1 cup cream, half and half, or milk
3 Tbsp flour
2 Tbsp cave aged smear rubbed redstone cheese (or some other slightly pungent cheese)
In a large saucepan heat 2 Tbsp butter and add diced onion (with a little salt). Add broken up broccoli flowers, shaved stems (diced) and diced fennel. Pour in chicken stock and add tarragon. Cover and simmer for 20 min, until broccoli is tender. Season with salt and pepper.
In a separate pan, heat remaining butter and add flour. Cook until flour begins to brown. Add ~1/4 cup of soup to the flour and stir until thickens into gravy consistency. Add this "gravy" to the soup and simmer until the soup thickens a bit. Mash up the broccoli with a potato masher. Add milk/cream/half and half and cheese and stir until cheese melts.
Cool slightly and serve!
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