This is one of those soups that can sit on the stove through the Winter, adding to it a juicy bone or two now & again, maybe some more split peas from time to time, onions & garlic, a carrot maybe...or whatever takes your fancy. When I was little my mother had a giant Le Crueset casserole & through the Winter months she'd make her sauces & casseroles, stews, soups & broths in it, litres & litres of the stuff, which would simmer away for days & days at a time, constantly replenished. My grandmother's silver ladle would lay on the bench next to the stove, usually with a fresh loaf of crusty bread somewhere on the scene, one of the country style wholegrain loaves she'd bake or maybe just a loaf of Vogels, for when all us kids would charge home, half the neighbourhood in tow, & we'd spoon out big steaming bowlfuls, wolfing it down before going back for more, while my ma would take our coats, telling us off for bringing muddy shoes inside, asking us about our day, 'slow down, it's not a race...'. Nice memories.
In preparing for this week's dinner box, I asked around the chefs I work with for their versions of Pea & Ham Soup. What I got was both similar versions of the soup & similar versions of the story, so intertwined is this dish with the comfort food ideal, so fixed is it in this way to our shared memories, to days gone by when the hearty soups & stews our mother's made would see us through. Every single person I asked answered with a story about their mum. I love that. But what also emerged is that when it comes to this kind of recipe, there are no hard & fast rules: a dried pulse or three, a few handfuls of vegetables, a juicy bone, a flavoursome stock, time. Let it be enough to say then, that this is the soup I like to make, my comfort food & remedy to Winter blues, even if Spring is already supposedly here.
This week, the recipe in narrative form...
It all starts with a good ham bone. I got mine from work where, over the last week or so, the functions we've cooked for have called for ham carved from the bone. Two nice meaty knuckles from the champagne ham for me, thanks very much. I've used bacon bones in the past, but there's an added saltiness & intensity of flavour there that regular ham bones don't bring. But hey, it's an either/or deal: this is food of necessity; you use what you've got.
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And then you need a good broth, a nice chicken stock works for me. Again, saving the offcuts from a mountain of chicken prepped at work one day, drumsticks & thighs it was, I boiled up the boney/skinsy/tendony/meaty bits. Adding to the pot some stalks of lemon grass, a couple of kaffir lime leaves, a few red peppercorns, an onion/carrot/ends of a leek/head of garlic & a bottle of cider for good measure...hmmm or maybe it wasn't quite a full bottle. Anyway, covered with water, that bubbled away for several hours before I let it cool, setting in the fridge overnight, straining it the next day & bringing to a gentle simmer in readiness for its switch to the soup scene.
Meanwhile in a big pot nearby, onions & garlic sweated off, careful with salt seasoning at this point, just go easy, & a few fistfuls of yellow split peas were added, along with a bay leaf & a few stalks of thyme. I like to save the skin of the ham, cutting it to a small dice which I add at this stage. It stays firm-ish, but softens & imparts lots of rich flavoursome goodness as the soup develops.
And now it's simmer time. Because of my timing constraints, & a change in roster, I needed to leave the pot on the stove overnight so it would be ready in time for Friday afternoon - the kind of thing that I'd have worried about & probably kept waking through the night as a result. Fortunately exhaustion took care of that annoying state of affairs & I slept like a baby, my Pea & Ham Soup quite happy & not burning or sticking at all. But, the element was set to #1, the lowest possible setting, & the pot wasn't even simmering, more like just really hot, all night long. Anyway, it worked for me this time, though to a crock pot would have been a better piece of equipment to use in this situation.
I woke early, turned the heat off, & by the time I left for work on Friday morning the soup was cool enough to refrigerate until I got home. Of course, because of the high stock content & all those bones, the natural gelatinous nature of the soup caused it to set to a stiff jelly, fat rising to a layer on top which could be skimmed off before reheating.
Final stages, the soup gets gently reheated & thinned down with a little boiling water to serve, meanwhile the brioche dough sat in a bowl prooving & I prepared the salad. To all intents & purposes though, this part of the meal is ready.
...
Phase two, making brioche. The recipe I generally use came from a chef who worked for me a couple of years ago, when I was running the kitchen at Orion Cafe in Mt Eden. Normally a sweet item, most commonly seen on counter displays in cafe's everywhere rolled with cinnamon & sugar. (Just because it's so worth the mention I can't bear to leave it out, the best brioche I know of is baked by Jennifer Perry every morning at the Bennetts of Mangawhai Cafe) Anyway, I've adjusted the recipe here since my brioche will accompany a savoury dish, so have reduced the weight of sugar originally called for.
Ingredients & Method: Brioche:
250ml milk; 1tsp dried yeast; 1Tsp sugar
125g melted butter; 3 eggs; pinch salt
425g flour
*stir yeast & sugar into lukewarm milk & sit for 5 mins, till frothy
*in a bowl whisk butter & eggs, pinch salt, add yeasty milk mixture
*make a well in the flour & pour in wet mix, folding/stirring in with a spoon
*stir the batter smooth, adding a little flour, bit by bit, if too wet
Since I was making this batch of brioche at home, & it's freezing outside at the moment, there are no conveniently warm places in my kitchen where the dough can happily kick back & do its thing at. The oven is too hot, the hot water cupboard ok for overnight, (actually, wrapped & left in the fridge the dough is useable for a good 3 or 4 days, at a stretch) but for my purposes a towel folded a few times & rested on the heater in the lounge will do just fine. The dough is covered with cling film & left to double in size over a couple of hours.
*when the dough has doubled in size, knock it back & stir smooth once more
*divide the dough & put into greased/lined moulds to prove
*allow to prove once more, & when puffy brush with egg wash
*bake at 180° & check after 20 minutes. These slightly larger loaves took about 45 minutes.
(I experimented with porcelain bowls, greased, but next time will use baking paper to help remove after baking. Also, the dough didn't colour so well, though the taste was fine...metal is better)
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Phase three, last of all, the salad. Something fresh & crisp to cut through the buttery bread & rich saltiness of the soup, with a little citrus to take it that step further...
I decided upon a simple salad, throwing together a few things I had on hand, choosing one of those things & making it a little bit special. No need for simple to mean plain & boring, right? In this case, pumpkin & sunflower seeds in hot candy. The sweet crunch & shot of heat will contrast nicely with the soft textures of baby spinach leafs, alfalfa sprouts & segments of Kerikeri orange. A perfect component for the meal as a whole.
First preheat the oven to about 160°. What you do is, take a good spoonful of icing sugar, a little shake or two of powdered chilli flakes & toss it altogether in a bowl with the seeds (or nuts or what ever). Pour out onto an oven tray lined with a sheet of baking paper, space apart & put the tray in the oven. DON'T FORGET! The sugar will burn really quickly so it pays to be attentive. I removed the tray from the oven a couple of times, reshake it all about & back in it goes. Eventually, most of the icing sugar has caramelised & the seeds/nuts are a lovely golden caramel colour.
To serve, turn the bread out & rip it into chunks; toss the salad with a splash of olive oil & a squeeze of lemon juice; pour the Pea & Ham Soup into bowls & garnish with some chopped parsley & mint. A nice glass of white goes well, or a cold beer. And, well, that's all there is to it!
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