eggplant & lentil stew with pomegranate

The instructor at my crunchy hot yoga studio (not to be confused with the hot yoga studio that feels like a Lululemon advertisement or the torture chamber Bikram yoga studio) said something very interesting the other day.  We were in a difficult pose, and she asked us to try to smile.  With all my weight in my non-dominant leg, the rest of my body contorted all pretzel-like, and my eyes blinking to deflect the salty sweat dripping from my brow, smiling was not on my to-do list.  In fact, it almost seemed unnatural to signal pleasure when I was really in pain.  But, because I am a good student and I try to follow directions, I obliged.  Once I turned my lips up, I sunk deeper into the posture and it almost became easier.  Everyone else must have seen similar results, because the instructor said, "See?  Go through life smiling, and life will smile back." 

But you know, yogis are happy people, all Zen-like and peaceful, so this incident, in and of itself, isn't all that earth-shattering.  But a few days later, I found myself struck with the same message....at church, of all places.  The message of the homily was something along the lines of "Catholics just love suffering.  And we're really good at it.  In fact, we think we're doing something wrong if we're not suffering.  But why do we suffer?  What does it prove?  I challenge you to be bad at suffering."

Interesting, right?  The yogis and the Jesuits are on the same page about something.  Who would have thought?

Honestly, that doesn't have anything to do with this soup, but I've been thinking about that message a lot this week, so I thought I'd share it with you all.  The past few days, I've encountered a slew of first-world problems - all petty things, but things that frustrate me nonetheless.  A parking ticket, stemming from my own inability to properly key a meter code into the pay-by-phone app.  Missing the train and having to wait eight minutes for the next because it's tourist season and they block the Metro escalators.  The water pressure completely failing during my shower, leaving me shivering under a slow stream of water.  Every CVS in town being out of Allegra-D.  In every circumstance, instead of a letting out a long string of profanity, I've tried to remember the whole "smile through your day" thing, and it might actually be starting to work.  Or maybe I've just given myself extra time on my commute, double-checked my typing on my iPhone, remembered not to shower while running the dishwasher, and finally gotten my hands on allergy medicine.

So, if you need something to make you smile, make this stew.  It is a delicious, satisfying soup that will make your insides happy!  Tomatoes and eggplant contain staggering amounts of lycopene, which aid in fighting depression.  And lentils (my favorite legume, obviously) are so, so incredibly good for you.  Seriously.  I can't even begin to tell you.  Just google it.  This stew is a great meatless dish for anyone who observes meatless Fridays of Lent (or, for your next "Meatless Monday").  I am not even sure I'd call it a "stew" - it is light and it can be eaten warm or cold.  So make it. 

A couple quick notes - I think this is a summertime dish because the recipe calls for fresh tomatoes, but I used a large can of diced tomatoes instead.  It also calls for pomegranate molasses, a common ingredient in Mediterranean, Turkish, and Middle Eastern cuisine.  Obviously, the main ingredients in pomegranate molasses are pomegranates and sugar - off-limits for this girl.  Instead, I just used a cup of 100% pure pomegranate juice, with no sugar added.  It still gives the soup a tart, sweet flavor that goes well with the acidity of the vegetables and the earthiness of the lentils.  I ate this for lunch for a straight week - it's that good.  (People often ask me what I have been eating for lunch - it's either a soup, dinner leftovers, or salad these days.)

Eggplant and lentil stew with pomegranate
Adapted from Food & Wine
Serves 4

1 medium eggplant (about 1 1/2 pounds)
Salt
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1/2 cup dry lentils
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 28-ounce can diced tomatoes
2 Anaheim chiles, stemmed, seeded, and coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons minced garlic
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 tablespoons chopped mint leaves
1 cup water
1 cup pomegranate juice (look for 100% pomegranate, no sugar added)
fresh parsley, to garnish

1. Peel the eggplant and slice lengthwise into thirds, then crosswise in one inch segments.  Sprinkle with salt and let sit 20 minutes.  
2. Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, cover the lentils with 2 inches of water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to moderate and simmer until tender, about 20 minutes. Drain the lentils.
3. In a bowl, toss the onion with the garlic, diced tomatoes and juices, green chiles, mint, tomato paste, crushed red pepper and 2 teaspoons of salt.
4. Rinse eggplant and pat dry.  Coat the bottom of a ceramic dutch oven or stew pot with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil.  Spread your ingredients in the dish in layers:  vegetable mixture-eggplant-lentils-vegetable mixture-eggplant-lentils.  Pour the water, pomegranate juice, and remaining olive oil around the side and over the vegetables.
5. Bring the stew to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and cook at a low simmer until the eggplant is very tender, about 1 1/2 hours. Serve hot, warm or at room temperature.



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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.



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what do soup, black pumps, and men have in common?

Cold Ginger Carrot and Coconut Soup

I love soup!  (And no, that's not the answer to the question.) I like hearty chilis in the winter and light gazpacho in the summer.  I like creamy butternut squash soup, white bean and kale soup, lentil stew, tuscan vegetable soup, you name it, I'll eat it.  Well, I should take that back.  Soup can be a very quotidian thing, but sometimes it's delicious, and this is when it's at its best.  I feel the same way about soups as I do about a pair of black pumps, or even a man.  They're everywhere, and they run the gamut from cheap and tasteless to fancy-schmanzy, too fussy, and too much work (to make, walk in, or date).  Great soup recipes, like men and shoes, take a while to find and a lot of dabbling, but they're out there!  And once you find one you like, why waste time on the other ones you aren't wild about?  Some call it "pickiness"; I prefer "selectivity".  And I'm not sorry about it one bit.

Pureed soup is something that is ridiculously easy to make, but can also be ridiculously unpleasant if you don't do it right.  Kind of like a pair of hooker heels or the complete idiot you went out with once.  I've tried pureed soups with all different kinds of flavors and vegetable combinations, but nothing is like this one.  It's silky and smooth, with just the right amount of kick from the curry, flavor from the ginger, creaminess from the coconut milk, and sweetness from the carrots.  It is supposed to be a cold soup, like a summer gazpacho, but can also be served hot (I ate it both ways).  The final result is a relatively painless recipe yielding immense happiness - everything you should get out of a relationship (with soup, shoes, or men).      

Cold Ginger Carrot and Coconut Soup, adapted from Gourmet 

3/4 cup finely chopped scallion (about 1 bunch)

1 small onion, chopped (about 2/3 cup)

1 tablespoon peeled, finely grated fresh ginger

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon curry powder

1 1/2 pounds baby carrots (about 4 cups)

2 1/2 cups low-salt vegetable broth

1 cup canned lowfat coconut milk

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice

1.  In a large heavy saucepan cook chopped scallion, onion, and ginger in butter with curry powder and salt and pepper to taste over medium-low heat, until softened.  Add carrots and vegetable broth and simmer covered, 20 minutes, or until carrots are very soft.

2.  When carrots are soft, cut heat.  Using an immersion blender, purée mixture in batches, adding coconut milk little by little until very smooth.  Stir in 1 tablespoon lime juice and chill soup at least 6 hour or overnight.

3.  Thin soup with ice water, as needed, and season with additional lime juice and salt and pepper.

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french lentils: this must be what people call "inner beauty"

French lentil soup stew stoup bowl

First, let me get something out of the way.  I know this picture is terrible.  Disgusting, really.  I don't blame you if you don't want to make this dish from the looks of this particular picture.  But throw me a bone, because I am not a real blogger with a real camera.  I have a pink point-and-shoot that is more often on the floor of wherever I am than in my own hands.  Additionally, the blogosphere has this set of rules that you can't take other blogger's pictures.  Something about being "under copywrite".  So, I have to take photos with the aforementioned point-and-shoot instead of just doing a google image search for "french lentil soup."

Sunday afternoon I came down with a bad case of Monday anxiety.  A common 24-hour bug that afflicts millions, Monday anxiety sets in late in the weekend and is most often caused by an overindulgent, overzealous few days, changes in weather, and a daunting to-do list for the week ahead.  When all of these causes coincide with daylight savings time, it is a recipe for disaster, and the only prescription is simple, healthful comfort food.  Since DC is stuck in this "let's-have-the-temperature-hover-at-52-degrees-with-obnoxious-wind-gusts-and-no-sunshine-at-all-and-call-it-springtime" mood, a vegetarian french lentil soup fit the bill.  I have gotten really into making soups this fall and winter.  I love french lentil soup, but I've never made it without a ham hock or some kind bacon fat for flavor.  Wanting to stick to my resolution, I figured I'd try to do without it, but I made a half portion in case the stew was a flavorless fail. 

Well, the dish did end up as a quasi-fail, but not for lack of flavor.  It was just the "soup" part that failed.  I make this soup all the time, normally with great success, but something happened here.  Somewhere along the way, the vegetable stock was completely absorbed and I ended up with just lentils.  Maybe I mismeasured something, or maybe I let it all simmer too long - I am not really sure.  It was surely an operator error, as I was barely functional after returning from New York.  When I realized I had not a thin soup but a thick pot of cooked lentils, I stored the beans in tupperware, covered with an extra cup of vegetable broth, and went to bed.

On Monday morning, I opened the tupperware and, to my amazement, the beans had continued soaking up the extra liquid I put in, even though they were already cooked.  My poor lentils were ugly.  "Well," I thought. "If this tastes bad I am totally going to Taqueria Nacional."  (I obviously was still FOMO over the missed opportunity for La Esquina.)  I shoveled some of the ugly stuff into a smaller container to take for lunch, mixing it with a bit of leftover quinoa from last week's stuffed eggplant.  When 1pm rolled around, I begrudgingly heated it in the office microwave and wow - I was blown away!  Though I wanted it to be a soup, it turned out to be delicious, hearty, fork-based lunch that stuck to my ribs all day long - I didn't even have dinner until 8:30pm! Since it is so thick, the lentils would also be nice as a side dish or wrapped in a tortilla.  The nice thing about green lentils is that they weren't too mushy, because even when overcooked they still maintain their shape better than other lentils.

This recipe for lentils is for green lentils, French-style, though lentils make a terrific canvas for any flavoring you'd like.  I also love robust Moroccan flavors for regular brown lentils.  (Stay tuned for a Moroccan recipe next week!)


French lentils
Serves six

olive oil and/or butter
3 stalks celery, finely chopped
3 carrots, finely chopped
1 onion, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, chopped (or about 3 teaspoons minced garlic)
1 medium sweet potato, peeled and chopped into bite-sized pieces
1 pound dry green lentils (about 2 cups)
2 bay leaves
2 teaspoons fresh or dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon pepper
6-8 cups of stock, varying the amount of stock depending on desired thickness
Note:  I like a lot of "stuff" in my lentils.  If you don't want the extra veggies and potatoes, just cut it down or out entirely.  Most recipes only call for one stalk of celery and one carrot, for example.

Rinse the lentils and quickly sort through them to make sure there are no small pebbles in there.   Finely chop the onion, carrots, and celery.  In a large pot, saute the onions, carrots, and celery in olive oil and a pinch of salt.  Let them all mix and cook for 5-7 minutes until they start to sweat.  Make sure they don't brown.  Then, add the sweet potato, lentils, stock, and spices.  Bring to a boil.  When it comes to a rapid boil, cut the heat down to low, cover, and simmer for about 40-45 minutes.  Make sure to keep checking on the soup to ensure the desired liquid content is maintained and lentils remain al dente.  I think that's where I went wrong!

That's it!  Hard to believe that I neglected the pot and ended up with a thick lentil dish instead of a thinner soup.  Either way, they are both tasty dishes!  This soup/stoup/hot mess also freezes very well.

P.S. On a completely unrelated note, what did y'all think of The Bachelor?  I must admit, NOT the outcome I expected, and, after watching the after-show, I can't say I'm pleased with the result.  (Not that I saw a great future with the other one, but I wasn't as happy as I thought I'd be when I learned who he chose.)  Yep, I said it....sorry, y'all, but I do not see a rosy future for those two.  I hope they prove me wrong.

ALSO, I get the stats for this blog and I know how many of you peeps are reading it.  It's a lot more than just the five of you who have commented.  Stealth readers, reveal yourselves!  Leave your feedback in the comments or shoot me an email.  Thanks!! Pin It Now!