Soup/Stew

As noted in the previous recipe, borscht can become quite elaborate. Here it becomes a full meal.

An unusual and unexpected variation on the traditional beef-and-vegetable stew, differing largely in its inclusion of beets, which deliver their distinctive sweetness and color. In fact it’s close to the vegetarian version of borscht (page 116), especially if you add the optional sour cream. If you use chuck or brisket here, the cooking time will be longer but the stew will taste better; if you’re in a hurry, use tenderloin—you’ll save time but lose flavor.

This classic Russian soup is rich and full of complex flavors. While there are probably as many versions as there are families, the key ingredient is always sauerkraut. (It’s best served with a whole head of soured cabbage, but you’re going to have trouble finding that; just stick with good sauerkraut, sold in bulk or in plastic packages, which contains nothing but cabbage and salt.) This is one of those soups that pretty much requires good stock, and it’s nice to make it especially for this dish, because the beef is a good addition. If you don’t have time (or you’re a vegetarian), use premade stock or make a quick vegetable stock with the bay leaf, parsley, carrots, onions, and celery.

Jota, often referred to as Slovenia’s national dish, is also found throughout Friuli, in extreme northeastern Italy, and especially in the area around Trieste. It’s a good one-dish meal, not unlike a soupy version of cassoulet. The addition of sauerkraut, however, cuts through the rich pork and the beans, and while it might not exactly “lighten” the dish, it makes it somewhat less dense. Buy “pure” sauerkraut—just cabbage and salt—packed in plastic bags or a barrel. Serve with good crusty bread.

Much northern Chinese food is spicy, and this well known soup follows that pattern, deriving its heat from freshly ground pepper (use a lot of it) and its sourness from rice vinegar. Don’t be put off by the long ingredient list: this doesn’t take much time to prepare and is guaranteed to be better than the version served at most Chinese restaurants. Normally, I think thickening with cornstarch is unnecessary, but here it feels appropriate to give the soup its signature thickness; you can eliminate it if you like. Any of the dried ingredients that you can’t get at your supermarket can be found at almost any Chinese market.

Too few soups are both hearty and quick to make, but West Lake soups—named after their area of origin (West Lake is in the northern Chinese city of Hangzhou)—are stunning exceptions. I’ve eaten West Lake soup only in restaurants and homes in this country, but the preparations have always offered wonderfully clear and intense flavors and a marked richness. This comes not only from dropped egg whites but from loads of meat or fish, cilantro, peas, and, as I found out in the cooking, a bit of cornstarch, which is not altogether necessary but is harmless enough. If you’re interested in West Lake Fish Soup, which uses a slightly different procedure, see page 134. See page 274 for more on Shaoxing wine.

Galicia’s hearty bean and meat stew makes a terrific one-pot meal but is often served in cups as a starter. The rich flavors of the meat and beans are complemented by the sharp turnip and greens. In Galicia, the meat base is made from unto, a cured pork belly that I would tell you how to find if I knew. It’s not unlike pancetta but most like the fatty part of prosciutto, which would make a great substitute; salt pork or bacon is also fine—here I use a combination. There are as many ways to vary Caldo Gallego as there are to vary beef stew. For example, substitute chickpeas for the white beans; add chunks of pork shoulder, ribs, beef brisket, shin, chuck, or oxtail with the beans (increase the cooking time somewhat); replace the chorizo with other sausage; add peeled chunks of winter squash, pumpkin, apple, or pear; or substitute green beans or kale, collards, or chard for the cabbage.

This classic Mexican soup is the perfect solution for leftovers—stale tortillas, cold chicken, and overly ripe tomatoes. It can be garnished with a variety of toppings, from the classic avocado and cheese to steamed greens.

The subtle blend of sweet, creamy, and sharp flavors in this Thai classic makes it one of the first Thai dishes most people learn to love. Although the best version I ever had began with cracking real coconuts—a chore I wouldn’t wish on an enemy—if you make coconut milk from dried coconut or use canned coconut milk, the dish is easy to re-create at home and really great. For information on Thai fish sauce (nam pla), see page 500.

This soup has become popular in the kitchens of Chinese Americans in the past few decades. It’s best, of course, when you start by making creamed corn (see the second variation), but canned creamed corn—a concoction that Americans of various ethnicities and generations have long enjoyed (sometimes in secret)—allows you to make this tasty soup quickly at any time of year. See page 500 for information on Thai fish sauce (nam pla).

One of the many recipes that bridge the short distance between Chinese and Italian cooking. The main recipe makes a light soup that complements stir-fry dishes well; the Italian variation is substantial enough to serve as a light main course.

This popular soup—a fun dish for a casual meal since the corn is left on the cob—is traditionally seasoned with the fragrant local herb guascas. Unfortunately, I’ve only rarely seen guascas in the States, so I use a combination of cumin and thyme, which approximates the real thing. Fortunately, you can often find yucca, also known as cassava, at most major supermarkets. This root vegetable, native to South America and largely grown in Africa and the Caribbean, has a subtle sweetness, not unlike yams. If you can find it, try the variation. Serve with arepas (page 575) or crusty bread.

A staple in Mexico, often garnished with diced raw onion, avocado, tomato, and a squeeze of lime. You can make the chipotle paste by buying canned chipotles in adobo (sold at almost all Latin markets and many supermarkets) and simply whizzing them in a blender. The results, however, are searingly, blindingly hot and not at all like what you get in restaurants in Mexico, where the paste is made from scratch. Fortunately, making the paste from scratch takes all of 20 minutes, 10 of which are spent soaking dried chipotles (available at most places that sell dried chiles or online at www.penzeys.com and other mail order sources). The lovely brick-red paste, used in small quantities, converts the blandest chicken soup into something hot, smoky, and delicious. Leftover paste is also great on broiled or grilled chicken or pork or stirred—again, in small quantities—into poached or steamed vegetables.

A great place to use leftovers and to improvise. Plenty of lime, raw onion, and cilantro are key; if you include them in abundance, the soup will be delicious and authentic. Though I have never seen it in Mexico, you could use vegetable stock here if you prefer.

Every seaside culture has its own fish stew, but in the West, bouillabaisse is the best known. Older recipes are quite specific about the kind of fish and the technique, but in my experience bouillabaisse, no matter how wonderful, is neither more nor less than a highly seasoned soup made with the day’s catch. So vary this recipe according to what you find at the store (or what you bring home from a day’s fishing).

A simple version of Bouillabaisse (page 138) that uses only one type of fish and is thickened by aïoli, the wonderful garlicky mayonnaise of Provence and Liguria (also called “the Italian Riviera”). Ask your fishmonger to gut and fillet the fish and to give you the head and bones for the stock, which of course can be made in advance. (Within limits you can use as many heads and bones as you like. See Fish Stock, page 161.) Serve this stew with crusty bread and a salad.

Unlike the viscous and peppery Chinese version of this soup on page 145, this one is brothlike and derives its heat from chiles and its intriguing sour flavor from lime and lemongrass. It’s the Southeast Asian equivalent of chicken soup, often eaten to treat a cold. See page 500 for information on nam pla.

This soup is incredibly simple and quick and as different from American clam chowder as it could possibly be. Rather than overwhelming the flavor of the clams with cream or tomatoes, here the seaside flavors of the clams are accented subtly with a seaweed-based broth. More on seaweed on page 483. Use the smallest hardshell clams you can find (do not use steamers) and, before cooking, discard clams with broken shells or shells that are not tightly closed. Be sure to wash the clams thoroughly—no trace of sand should remain on their shells. Any clams that do not open during the cooking process can be pried open with a dull knife at the table.

This is just about the best crab soup I have ever tasted, and it’s also the easiest. (One of the messiest, too; you must eat the crab with your hands.) At its base is miso, combined with go chu jang, a red pepper paste mixed with beans, kind of a spicy version of hoisin sauce. If you live anywhere near a Korean market, you’ll find it; if not, use hoisin mixed with Tabasco. Buy the crabs live and have them cleaned and chopped up by the fishmonger. Or follow the directions for cleaning them in step 1.

This delicate soup is classy yet simple, and leaving the mussels in their shells makes for a beautiful presentation; a touch of cream is a nice addition but an optional one. Serve this with a loaf of good, crusty bread; soaking the bread in the broth is one of this dish’s great pleasures. You can transform this into an entree, using pasta; see the variation.