This really isn’t a universal formula – it really only makes one specific type of soup, to be eaten in a rather specific way. Even though there’s cream in it, it won’t get you a rich creamy chowder, each spoonful loaded with chunks of corn and potatoes and clams and bacon; nor will it, even though it is a stock-based formula, yield you a delicate, clear broth, swimming with bits of pasta and shredded meat and finely diced vegetables. This soup is a distilled essence of whatever ingredient you choose to make a star, enhanced by supporting players whose roles are hallowed by usage and consecrated by time, in order to form a canvas on which to contrast your garnishes. The logic of this soup dictates that these garnishes are not strewn evenly throughout the soup, but rather placed with intelligence and intention at even intervals and a with appropriate frequency. The plating demands a wide, shallow bowl, so that the garnishes, when added, stand out in high relief, rather than slip silently below the surface. See the Chilled Corn Soup with Crab as an example which, although constructed from a different formula, follows the same logic.
The brilliance of this formula is that it allows for endless variation on both base and – even more so – garnish. These garnishes, be they solids or oils or something else, are virtually limitless in possibility, although I find often work best as creative adaptations of traditional parings – but therein lies the opportunity for you to showcase your cleverness. Your garnishes become their own mise en place and will vary as you see fit, from recipe to recipe and event to event. This formula is also a wonderful answer to the question of what to do with usable scrap, and should you find yourself with four pounds of perfectly delicious asparagus stems after executing a recipe that only called for their tips, for example, this formula is a superlative application.
It is by no means a vegetarian formula , but it is more often than not useful with a vegetables as the focal ingredient – it might work with certain kinds of cuts of certain kinds of meat; mushrooms should be a rousing success; I wouldn’t necessarily try it with fruit. It is a savory application, after all. You’ll have to use your judgment on what works best, based on some common sense and a bit of trial and error, if you like. Will it work with eggplant? Yes, I’m sure of it, and in fact must make a note to try that one day. Cucumber? Not as much, although you never know. Thyme? Don’t be silly. Tomato? Carrot? Sure – but there are already tried and true recipes for soups for each of these, so why deviate from the program? But as for the rest – zucchini, potato, Portobello, abalone – it stands to reason that it will work.
So let’s get on with the formula. I would summarize the steps thusly:
- Render bacon.
- Sweat mirepoix in bacon fat.
- Add main ingredient
- Cover in chicken stock
- Simmer
- Puree in blender or food processor
- Pass through fine mesh strainer
- Add cream
- Garnish
- Serve and enjoy
So let’s walk through the formula with a random vegetable, and explore how not only the process of constructing the base but also choosing the garnish might work. So now to pick our random vegetable…I choose endive!
Let’s assume we’re not working with 4 lbs of endive scrap, but we should have a good quantity of it or it’s not quite worth it – let’s say it’s a couple pounds. The quantities of the rest of the stuff are a bit of an estimate, but like all things, you should make this more than once and you should be able to get a sense of things as you go. Since I already have a sense of things, of course, I don’t expect this to be too far off, but you know, this is a formula, not a recipe.
So let’s say you’ve got about a ¼ pound of bacon, pancetta, salt pork, prosciutto ends, whatever. Cube it, film the bottom of a heavy stock pot with a bit of olive oil, then cook the pig at medium heat. You really want this to render and crisp up, so don’t go too fast. It’s more about infusing the whole thing with that salty, maybe smoky, piggy umami – the fat will go further than the meant in this case, and you’re not getting rid of any of it, unless it’s just totally ridiculous and you’ve got a small pool of fat at the bottom of the pan. In that case you may drain. Again, use your best judgment so you don’t end up with bacon soup (which, with endive, could also be delicious).
Meanwhile, rough chop 1 large onion, 2 carrots (peeled), and two stalks of celery for your mirepoix. I think fennel would go very nicely with the endive so I’m going to make this a white mirepoix and add a half a large fennel bulb, also rough chopped. When the bacon has fully rendered, add the mirepoix, and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, maybe raising the heat a tad, until the vegetables are fully sweated out and soft. You don’t really want any color on them, but a tad won’t hurt.
Add the endive, which you’ve also rough chopped, and cook for just about a minute, till it’s wilted. You don’t really want it to give up all its water, but you do want it wilted so you can add the correct amount of chicken stock. (If you’re using a vegetable that benefits greatly from a high heat sear, like brussel sprouts, for instance, you might want to sear this separately to get that nice caramelization, but you don’t need to go all the way before adding them to the pot.) When you do add the stock, just cover the endive, add a bouquet garni, bring to a simmer and keep it that way for about 40 minutes or so. If the level of the liquid goes significantly below the top of the endive, add more and reduce the heat. It really shouldn’t reduce that much.
When the whole thing has cooked for at least 40 minutes and let’s say up to an hour fifteen, place it in a blender, and, working in batches if necessary, which it almost certainly will be, puree (be careful of flying splatter), and pass through a fine mesh strainer, pressing on and then discarding any solids. The only thing that could possibly have survived in a solid form might be a piece of pig, especially if you are using something like a prosciutto end, but you’ve gotten all that you need from it so you may eat it if it seems appetizing, or discard it.
When the entire batch is sitting in a pot or a bowl, strained, add enough cream to increase the volume by ¼ to 1/3. You want this to perceptibly increase the richness and body but not smack of cream or dairy. Stir to combine and taste as you go until you think you’ve got it right.
At this point, you can go one of two directions – warm or chilled. If you decide to go with a chilled soup, either place in the fridge uncovered, or cover with plastic wrap and poke holes in the wrap to allow it to vent. Otherwise it will cool too slowly and could actually dwell in the danger zone between 140 and 40 for too long.
Now we come to garnishes. One thing to consider is that endive has a bitterness which is traditionally offset with something sweet. Beets might work, in this case, and the color would be appealing too. A rather traditional presentation of endive pairs them with walnut, pear, and blue cheese, so perhaps we can play off of that. In this case, I might go for a hot soup, and I might candy some walnuts, which will give me some sweet as well as nutty, cut them into halves or thirds and sprinkle them around the soup, then create a pear syrup, which will also give me some sweet as well as a bit of fruity tang, put that in a squeeze bottle and just sprinkle a bit around here and there, either in a zig zag or a wide spiral, and then a few crumbles of a nice sharp blue, that would partially melt but float on top of the soup, and I’d say we’re in business.
If I were going with a chilled version, I might also try to play off the same theme, but in this case might sprinkle some walnuts (toasted and chilled, but not necessarily candied) around the perimeter, then lump a salad in the middle that’s made up of julienned raw endive with julienned pear and dressed with a blue cheese vinaigrette. Or, if I wanted to go in an entirely different direction with the chilled version, I might take my inspiration from the sometime-hors d’oeuvres that sees crab salad mounded in an endive leaf cup. I might float that very endive cup and crab salad right in the middle and drizzle a bright red Szechuan peppercorn oil around the perimeter and call it a day.
Or, for one final variation, just to show you how limitless the possibilities can really be, I might opt for something a bit heartier – for something, in fact, which begins to approach your more standard chowder. Endives pair beautifully with both sausage and mushrooms, and this could be an insane fall or winter superstar: remove the casings from some fennel sausage (won’t it be nice as the fennel seed evokes the broad base of the fennel bulb in the soup?) and sear over high heat in olive oil, breaking up into small bits. Meanwhile, gather a mix of while mushrooms – say black trumpets, maitake, and king – and sauté in butter, salt, and pepper, until golden, then add a bit of chicken stock and reduce á sec. You’ll have to figure out how to cut the mushrooms to make the garnish work, but I would create a ring of artfully placed black trumpets and kings, alternating with nuggets of sausage, and then a flowery bloom of maitake right in the middle. Serve while steamy and luxuriate.
So there you go – there’s four recipes that are all guaranteed winners. After you’ve either tried this or read this but either way you get the logic behind it, go out and try it with rutabaga. Or purple cauliflower. Serve with your latest brainstorm, and enjoy.
The Grumpy Gastronome 
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