Soup/Stew

A few years ago, at Easter, in addition to the usual spread of ham and sides, I made a gratin of white beans, country ham, and collards from Frank Stitt’s very fine Southern Table cookbook. That dish, which everyone raved about, and the leftover ham bone—a prized ingredient that should never, ever be put to waste—inspired this low-on-the-hog soup.

My friend Phyllis from Mississippi makes this vibrant and creamy squash soup when she comes to visit us in the summer. It’s such a quick and easy way to make use of fast-growing summer squash that it’s bound to become one of your summer staples, too.

No matter how many tomato sandwiches, salads, or platters of thick, salted slices we eat, come August we can never seem to keep up with the overabundance of tender-ripe Beefsteaks, Early Girls, Cherokee Purples, and Arkansas Travelers taking up semi-permanent residence on the kitchen counter. Everyone develops a strategy for the happy problem of too many tomatoes: in some people it inspires bouts of generous and indiscriminate gift giving; in others, a frenzy of canning and freezing. This light and satisfying take on cream of tomato soup is my favorite solution.

This may be the all-time favorite Bayona family meal, created by Greg Collier, aka “Hoss,” one of my all-time favorite sous chefs (he’s now executive chef of Redfish Grill, which is also in the French Quarter). Hoss adapted his family’s chicken and dumplin’ recipe, and the staff still clamors for it whenever there’s a chill in the air. This recipe takes a little time, but it’s worth it. For this preparation, the “dumplin’s” are baked atop a thickened stew (rather than boiled or steamed in broth). Because we use mainly the hind legs and backstrap, or tenders, of the rabbit for the menu, we end up with lots of forelegs and breast meat to use for other things, such as sausage, confit, and crew food. (Naturally, we use the bones to make stock.) You can prepare the meat and stew up to a day ahead, then reheat gently and bake it with the dumplin’s. If you just can’t eat bunnies, chicken may be substituted.

Shrimp and okra go together like oysters and artichokes (which is to say, they’re made for each other). And to my mind it’s no coincidence that corn and tomatoes are at their peak around the same time as the okra. In this recipe, they all find themselves swimming happily in a broth scented with allspice and thyme, and zippy with fresh jalapeños. If you are leery of that much spice in the broth, leave out the jalapeños and just serve some chopped up alongside, for the daring ones among you.

Although I had never tasted it myself, I decided to try my hand at bouillabaisse after listening to my dad reminiscing for years about the one he’d had in Marseilles, in a café overlooking the bustling port. Eventually, after much research, I felt I knew what it should taste like, but I was still overwhelmed when I had my first bowl in Nice many years later—it was even more complex and deeply flavored than Dad’s memories had suggested. This is one dish where a paticularly flavorful version of Fish Fumet (p. 205) is essential. Because we don’t have the same fish as they do in France (such as rascasse, the bony fish that makes a true bouillabaisse), I use Gulf fish and shellfish in the stock. I put in a mix of flounder, snapper, and trout bones along with shrimp shells (and heads, if available), and a couple of gumbo crabs for good measure. Make enough so that you can freeze a batch for the next time you make this stew. My one concession: mussels. We don’t get them in the Gulf, but it’s just not bouillabaisse without ’em. Roasted Red Pepper Rouille (p. 184) and thin slices of toasted baguette are the essential condiments for this soup.

This fabulous, herbaceous gumbo used to be primarily a meatless Lenten dish, served on Good Friday. It is a pretty rare find on menus these days, but if you should come across it, give it a try. It is a thinner, soupier gumbo than most, and you’ll be surprised how much flavor the greens impart to the broth. When I made it the first time, I thought of how wonderful oysters would taste with the herbs, so I decided to top it off with a few fried ones. You could still serve it during Lent, but don’t reserve this delicious gumbo for once a year.

One of the richest, creamiest soups around, bisque is traditionally a puree of seafood, rice, and cream. This luscious version is New Orleans’s eating at its finest. The elegant flavors call for little more than an equally impressive white wine to serve alongside this dish. The aromatic vegetables, tomatoes, tarragon, and liqueur make this recipe particularly distinctive.

Although I was not born in New Orleans—we moved here when I was six—I most definitely consider it my hometown. Even post-hurricanes, I am eternally grateful to my dad for deciding to make this simmering, sumptuous, gumbo-of-a-city our permanent home when he retired from the navy. What a happy circumstance for a food lover like me! Speaking of gumbo, I could eat it every day of the week. And you can’t claim to be a cook in Louisiana without having your own version of its most famous dish. While I have to say that Donald Link, the chef at Herbsaint, makes the best gumbo I have ever eaten, I’ve learned to make a pretty mean version myself. Here is one of the most basic. Feel free to substitute an equal amount of roasted chicken for the duck.

I remember a time when gazpacho became very trendy and was on every menu. I decided to come up with a different version—even with a different color. It was José Andrés of Jaleo in Washington, D.C., who made the best Spanish gazpacho I ever tasted, so I borrowed his technique of frying the bread in olive oil. The toasted flavor and richness of the fried bread helps mellow the acidity and round out the flavors of the other ingredients. The shellfish garnish is not necessary but makes the dish a little more elegant and sumptuous.

This silky concoction makes an elegant starter, or a light supper if paired with the Parisienne Bistro Crudité Plate (p. 102) or the Bayona House Salad with Balsamic Vinaigrette (p. 95) and a warm baguette. Oysters and artichokes are another favorite New Orleans combination. For your convenience I’ve called for canned artichoke hearts, but if you’re feeling expansive (and industrious), use fresh artichoke hearts. Your efforts will be rewarded.

The Crescent City Farmer’s Market has had a huge impact on the quality of cooking and eating in New Orleans, and on my own life as well. Over the years it has grown from one location where you could get only bell peppers and tomatoes, one day a week, to four bustling locations (open four days a week) where you can buy anything from Creole cream cheese to colorful varieties of eggplant and Swiss chard, lemongrass, Thai basil, soft-shell crabs, tamales, hibiscus flowers, sweet potato pies, and mayhaw jelly! Happily, post-Katrina, the farmers are back, and this vital part of the community is still up and running. My only complaint is that I can’t just run in and grab what I need in a hurry. When I go, I spend at least an hour perusing produce, catching up with farmers, and socializing with all the other shoppers and chefs I know. The market is a modern-day village green. Of course, this is also what I love about it. If you’re lucky enough to have a real farmer’s market in your area (they’re sprouting up everywhere), be sure to seek it out. It’s bound to have the makings for this soothing and delicious chicken and vegetable soup, among other satisfying meals. Feel free to substitute local seasonal vegetables for any of the ones listed here.

This recipe came about much like the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercial—“You got chocolate on my peanut butter,” etc. One day a long time ago, I had some peanut sauce left over from making pork satés, and I was in the process of putting together a cream of celery soup. I started thinking about how people have been known to eat celery sticks with peanut butter, so I swirled the rich sauce into the delicate soup. With a little extra garlic, chile paste, and soy sauce, the result was pretty darn tasty—and I’ve been making it ever since.

I belong to the growing cult who believe that celery is an underappreciated vegetable. Used raw, it has a juicy, nutty crispness that stands on its own with just a couple of other ingredients. When cooked, the flavor becomes deeper and richer, as it does in this soup. Don’t be fooled by the deceptively simple sound of this soup. This celadon puree is elegant and comforting, and can serve as the basis for more complex variations, such as adding leeks, asparagus, broccoli, or poached shredded chicken. Judicious seasoning is important, as salt will really round out the flavors. Croutons made from multigrain bread are the perfect garnish.

The secret to this soup, a luscious puree of caramelized garlic and onions thickened with French bread, is patience. I originally developed it at Savoir Faire. At the time I had a boyfriend who frequently traveled to Mexico. He would rave about sopa de ajo—a broth flavored with garlic and egg—and it sounded so earthy and scrumptious that I decided to try to make it. My approach to recipe development typically involves looking up several versions of a dish, then taking what I like from each of those recipes. That’s exactly how this soup was created. I trained with French chefs, so a puree leapt to mind. Then I read that in Latin countries soups are often thickened with bread. One version relied on fish stock, but I thought chicken stock would be more universally appealing. So I stirred all my ideas together, my mentor Daniel gave it his enthusiastic blessing, and my first true culinary creation was born. When we initially started making this soup, my dishwashers had to peel 10 pounds of garlic at a time. Thankfully, these days at Bayona, we buy peeled garlic by the gallon. In order to develop the proper deep, rich flavor, it’s essential to take your time cooking the garlic. You need to stir the mixture a lot over low heat and wait until the onions and garlic get very dark and caramelized. I love garnishing this soup with tiny croutons that provide a crunchy contrast to the silky body.

Creamy polenta provides a wonderful counterpoint to this hearty stew. To time everything right, bring the water to a boil while the chicken is browning, then add the polenta to the water when beginning step three of the chicken recipe.

You can replace the zucchini with other vegetables, such as eggplant or bell peppers. Turmeric, which is related to ginger, is what gives curries and prepared mustard their distinctive yellow color. Look for it in the supermarket’s spice aisle.

This sweet and spicy soup is wonderfully rich, even though it’s made without a drop of cream. If your carrots don’t taste sweet enough, add up to a teaspoon of sugar in step two.

When buying parsnips, choose those that are smooth, firm, and about 8 inches long, roughly the size of a large carrot. They should not be soft, spotted, or damp.

Like many other bean- and legume-based soups, this one is flavored with bacon. It can be served at the start of a Sunday dinner, or as a weeknight meal itself when paired with a green salad topped with Lemon-Parmesan Vinaigrette (page 347).