Soup tonight ~ parsnip, turnip, sweet and white potatoes, leeks, and herbs. Is something forgotten? Small spoonful of crushed coriander seeds briefly warmed in olive oil and butter at the beginning. Salt and pepper. Then the hand-held blender. Sprinkle parsley, and a spoonful of dairy, as in yogurt or sour cream or perhaps creme fraiche, if I'd had some. It was nice and after all the wrong foods, foraged here and there, the root vegetables had me brimming with confidence. That mid-winter confidence. This nice soup came from La Tartine Gourmande blog, where I look at the pretty pictures, read about things to cook, read the French version (Paris still calling), and generally try to ignore the rest. The rest is very nice also, if one is interested. Served with warmed up ricotta and spinach ravioli. Too bad about no salad.
Tomorrow ~ chicken with dumplings
Next ~ goulash (beef), with many onions, good paprika (let's hope). Cabbage somehow, probably baked slowly. But does that seem too much luscious, with the braised meat?
Who bought this? or rather all of that? the pounds of onions, odd bags of root vegetables, the rippling ruffled (whoo hoo, such sounds!) Savoy cabbage, frozen peas, and ee gads enough meat to feed...
Goulash/Gulyas ~ how I learned to cook. It's because I love looking at the word gulyas and possibly even more I love the sound of it. Long ago a young woman arrived in my home town. Many, or was it all, of the young men I knew were in love with her. She was Hungarian, which to all of us meant danger and escape. Upon catching sight of her, my friends would comment in low tones, okay, in reverential tones, that her name, Czardas, was Hungarian and meant dance. Or was her name Esterhazy? Over the years my memory of the name has wavered. None of this means much, except that it's how and why I learned to cook.
