Tag Archives: garlic

Garlic Gruyère Soup

If you’ve looked at any of my recipes at all, you know one thing: I love garlic.

And I love cream. So that’s two things.

We could also add mushrooms in there for number three . . . and how could I forget rice?? So if you’ve looked at any of my recipes at all, you actually know four things. *Insert clever statement of your choice referencing Monty Python’s Spanish Inquisition skit*

This garlic soup recipe came to me from on high. It came via Tasty Kitchen, Pioneer Woman’s recipe sharing site. It came with angelic choruses singing in the starlit sky. It came with blazes of glory, strings of diamonds and pearls, and ribbons in its hair.

It is g-e-w-d. That means ‘good’ in case you’re a step behind things this morning.

I’m a step behind things this morning. But that’s another story, which my next cup of coffee with Peppermint Mocha creamer should put a lovely ending to–a lovely ending such as: “and then the girl with the saggy eyes poured herself a cup of office coffee laced with Peppermint Mocha creamer and she lived happily! Ever! After! Her eyes went from saggy to bloodshot! Then she started typing at 1,000 WPM and cranking out her morning’s work! And the people rejoiced!”

It’s the power of caffeine on a grey morning, folks.

Anyway, enough falderal. We’ve got to get this thing started or I’ll just keep jibber-jabbering all morning long and we’ll never get to the part with the soup in it. Let’s boil it down to the bare facts: cream. Garlic. Wine. Garlic. Cheese. Garlic.

Ingredients

1 TBS olive oil

1 large onion, thinly sliced

16 cloves garlic, smashed

1 c dry white wine

4 c chicken stock

1 Bay leaf

2 cups French bread, torn into pieces

3/4 c heavy whipping cream

½ cups shredded Gruyère or Parmesan

First things first: slice your onion and smash your garlic.

You can see my container of pre-peeled garlic lurking there in the background. It’s one of the many delights provided by my local Asian grocery store.

Now heat the oil in a large pot and add the onion and garlic.

Cook over medium heat for 10 to 12 minutes, by the end of which they will start to get goldeny brown. It’s called caramelization and it’s the greatest culinary technique in creation.

Make sure your wine bottle is open. This funky opener was made for girls like me, who have broken corks untold with traditional bottle openers. It’s called a rabbit, and it would be a great Christmas gift for the struggling wine-opener in your family.

Add the white wine and cover the pot.

Reduce the heat to low, and cook for 10 minutes, giving it a stir every now and then.

It’s now looking something like this, and smelling like your wildest dreams come true.

Pour in the chicken stock and the bay leaf–you could easily use vegetable stock to make this dish vegetarian.

Bring it to a boil . . .

. . . then cover the pot and simmer it over low heat for 30 minutes.

I used this time to tear up my bread, grate my Parmesan, and measure out my cream.

Yes, it’s my Parmesan and my cream. Not the cream. Mine, mine, mine!! All mine!!! Though I will kindly share the cellulitis with you.

Yes, I cheated and used Parmesan even though I specifically used ‘Gruyère’ in the recipe title. But have you seen the prices on Gruyère these days? Have you seen them? And the Parmesan was on sale for $3.49 a wedge! They made me do it!

Try not to consume all the bread and parmesan before its time.

After those 30 minutes are up, turn off the stove and add the torn bread pieces . . .

. . . cover the pot and let it sit for 10 minutes. The bread will get mushy and schmushy–don’t question the process. Just believe.


Take the bay leaf out and try not to wonder why it’s glimmering like gold. Is it a leaf from Loth-Lorien?

I think Galadriel would totally dig this soup, yo.

Now put your immersion blender in and puree this baby.

You can also pour the soup into a regular blender (working in batches) and whizz it there, but make sure not to hurt or burn yourself in the process. I’ve heard stories of exploding soups and I want to make sure those do not take place in your life or kitchen.

Puree the soup until it’s nice and smooth, then stir in the cream . . .

. . . and add generous amounts of black pepper, and salt to taste. Taste it a few times. And then a few more. I know I certainly did.

Garnish each bowl with a hefty sprinkling of cheese. I added green onions for color.

Enjoy!

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Braised Chicken Curry with Yams

I had forgotten all about this recipe until a few weeks ago I was casting about in my memory for delicious stews to counteract the winter chill . . . and I remembered. All of a sudden, the flavor of this dish came rushing back and I knew I had to make it immediately.

The original recipe comes from Ming Tsai’s East Meets West, which I checked out of the library in Delaware years ago. I had scribbled some brief instructions on a lined sheet of paper which was subsequently swallowed up in my recipe binder where it lived for a few years, forgotten and alone. Until now! Though I loved the base flavor of the original recipe, I wanted some more texture and ‘zing’, so I added some golden raisins and cilantro to finish it off. It’s perfection.

Don’t hesitate–just make it!

Ingredients

(Serves 6)

2.5 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs

Salt and pepper, to taste

3 TBS olive oil

2 large onions

2 TBS minced garlic

1 TBS minced ginger (heaping!)

1/3 c Madras curry powder (fresh as possible)

4 c chicken stock

1 large banana (or 2 small ones)

2 bay leaves

2 large yams, peeled and cubed

1/3 c golden raisins

Garnish with cilantro and blanched almonds, coconut flakes, or lime juice

First, trim the chicken thighs. For some reason the fat on chicken thighs really grosses me out, though I’m immune to the fat of pork or steak.

Now pat them dry (super important!–this will help them brown well) and put salt and pepper all over both sides of them. Heat the olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven. When it’s very hot, add the chicken thighs. You may want to do this in two batches, because if you overcrowd the pot they will steam instead of frying.

It’s important to take your time during this step, because you want a really nice sear. It will probably take 10 minutes per batch. Don’t hurry though–you’re building flavor.

While the thighs are browning, roughly chop the onion. Very roughly.

No mirepoix required here, thank you very much.

Mince the garlic and ginger as well.

You should also have plenty of time to peel and chop the banana.

Once the thighs are done browning, remove them to a plate. They should look something like this:

Your pot will now look something like this:

Without cleaning it, dump the onion, ginger and garlic into the pot . . .

. . . and cook for about 5-6 minutes, until they’re getting golden and wonderful. Stir often so that you don’t burn the garlic! Right now your entire household will come to the kitchen to investigate what that heavenly smell is. Use your tongs with impunity to defend the pot and beat them back.

Now add the curry powder.

What a gorgeous, gorgeous yellow.

Stir constantly and vigorously for no more than 2 minutes. The spices need a couple minutes to get fragrant, but they also burn easily, so keep the ingredients in constant motion.

I should also mention that having the chicken stock handy is important, so that you don’t have to stop stirring. If you burn that curry powder, the flavor of the dish will be . . . not right.

Pour in the chicken stock . . .

. . . and add the bay leaves and banana.

Stir to scrape any brown bits off the bottom of the pot.

Bring it to a boil, then lower the heat and add the chicken back in.

Cover the pot, but leave a little vent for the steam to come out.

Let it simmer for an hour and a half. During this time, the banana will completely dissolve. The flavor it adds is wonderful, but nobody would guess it was created by a banana. If you peak into the pot after half an hour, the banana will look frightening and disturbing. I actually poked at it and asked out loud “What the heck is this thing?” before a logical process of elimination revealed it was the very banana I had peeled and chopped with my own two hands not thirty minutes prior. So don’t peak, and just trust the fact that by the end of the hour and a half it will have completely disappeared.

If you get ravenous, grab a snack. This chocolate from a Big Jake food shipment came in handy. You can see proof that he delights in a good deal by the orange 50 cent sticker.

You should also use this time to peel your yams . . .

. . . and chop them into medium sized cubes.

And rinse and chop some cilantro if you plan on using that.

After 90 minutes, take the lid off the pot and smell the goodness at hand.

Now grab those yams, add them to the pot and give it a good stir to submerge them.

Cook for 30 more minutes with the pot partially covered–but no longer than that or your yams will get really mushy. During the last 15 minutes of cooking, add the golden raisins.

They will get plump and delicious, and they add a fun burst of texture and flavor.

Remove the bay leaves and serve over rice.

Top it with cilantro. Or blanched almonds. Or peanuts! Or lime juice! Or just eat it as is.

The chicken is fork-tender. Mmmmmm.

I also tried sprinkling it with coconut flakes:

Delicious. You can tell this was a different night because the color of the plate has changed.

Make it! It’s fall, and I can’t think of anything else I want for dinner at this moment. A bowl of this magic would hit the spot.

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