red lentil soup

I almost didn’t make this post my first real post on Caramelized Memoirs.  Soup is, frankly, not all that exciting, and this particular soup, while tasty, is visually reminiscent of Linda Blair’s vomit on The Exorcist.  (It is made with red lentils, but it somehow turns out a yellowy-green.  Don't ask.)  But I figure a vegetarian soup is appropriate for Ash Wednesday, a day of fasting and abstinence.  This soup is hearty and will stick to your ribs, making the fast a bit more bearable, and it is meatless to boot, fulfilling the second tenet of Lenten penance.

This soup comes from my mom, who is on a red lentil kick after recently discovering them at Grand Mart, an Asian and Latin food depot in Virginia Beach.  (Which sounds like my personal Promised Land.)  Surely there are similar stores in the DC ‘burbs, but because I have a life and I can’t drive out to Timbuktu for cheap spices and exotic fruits, I get my red lentils in the bulk bins at Whole Foods.

I love the bulk bins at Whole Foods.  Now, I think the grocery store, in general, is an excellent place for social experiments, but the bulk bins attract a particularly interesting cross-section of Whole Foods shoppers.  You have crunchy hippies filling their own reusable pouches (made of recycled, allergy-free, and fair-trade materials) with nutritional yeast and bulgur wheat.  There are mothers stocking up on healthful, economical dried beans and grains with one hand, as the other hand wrangles a small child sticking his slobbery fingers into the organic chocolate-covered pretzel bin.  At my Whole Foods in particular, young urbanites stare at the bulk bins in confusion as they decide which of the four varieties of quinoa would taste best with their salmon.

On Monday, as I filled my brown bag with red lentils, I heard a deep voice behind me.

“I’ve never seen pink peas before.”

As I put my bag on the hanging scale to see if it had reached a pound (it hadn’t), I turned around and replied, “They’re red lentils, actually.”

“Oh.  What are you going to make with them?”

I turned back to the red lentil dispenser to let out a few more ounces of legumes.  “Soup,” I replied.  I put the bag back on the scale.  Exactly one pound.  The obsessive-compulsive part of me jumped for joy.  The part of me grounded in reality, having an awkward conversation in the Whole Foods bulk bin aisle, folded over the top of the bag and jotted the SKU on the outside.

“You sure are precise with those measurements,” he started up again.  “I need four cups of quinoa.  How many pounds is that?” 

I surveyed the scene.  The stranger was in the way of my cart, so I couldn’t exactly blow him off.  And because I am currently working on being a nicer person, I offered to help him out.  “Okay, well do you need four cups cooked or uncooked?”

He looked confused.  “Um, uncooked, I think.”  I was part relieved, because converting cooked quinoa to uncooked quinoa is annoying, as it’s imprecise and depends on the amount of water you use and how long you let it cook.  Unfortunately, I am pretty sure he was wrong, unless he was cooking quinoa for a small army.   Four cups of uncooked quinoa makes, in scientific terms, a shit ton – at least eight to twelve cups.

“Okay, so you’ll just need two pounds.  Easy enough.”  I tried to make my way toward my cart.  At this point, my “let’s be nice” act was up, and I was growing impatient.  It was a beautiful day, and I had somewhere to be.

He looked at me quizzically.  “But how do you know that?”

I began, giving him the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe measurements are not intuitive if you're unfamiliar with cooking or lacking in common sense. “So one cup of uncooked anything is, more or less, eight ounces.  Right?  And there are sixteen ounces in a pound.  So two cups of dried quinoa is one pound, and four cups is two pounds.” 

Finally, a lightbulb turned on for him.  “Oh, cool.  You’re so smart.  Can you weigh it out for me?  I don’t know if I could judge what two pounds feels like.”

I gritted my teeth, forced a smile, and carefully measured out two pounds (another precise measurement, another OCD win).  I handed the bag over.

“Thanks for being so helpful - you really should work here.”

Well, thanks buddy.  I’ll take my compliments wherever I can get them these days.

 

Red Lentil Soup

Serves 2-4

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 large carrots, peeled and chopped

4 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 ½ teaspoons ground cumin

1 Turkish bay leaf, or ½ California bay leaf

1 sprig fresh thyme, or ½ teaspoon dried

1 cup red lentils (about eight ounces, or half a pound), rinsed

3 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth

3 cups water

2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley, for garnish

Cook onion in oil with half a teaspoon of salt in a large saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until softened (about 8 minutes).

Add garlic, cumin, bay leaf, and thyme, and cook, stirring, 1 minute more.  Add lentils, broth, water, and half a teaspoon of pepper, and bring to a boil.  Simmer, partially covered and stirring occasionally, until the lentils are very soft and falling apart, about 30 to 45 minutes. 

Discard bay leaf and thyme sprig and puree with an immersion blender to desired consistency (I like it half pureed).  Serve warm and garnish with parsley.