Gujarati Mango Soup

Initially posted on The Jew and the Carrot: www.jcarrot.org.

Walk into any Jewish household on a Friday night, and you'll have an instant window into that family's food legacy. The Syrian table is piled high with ka'aks, zucchinis and eggplants stuffed with lamb and beef, beautiful molded rice with blanched almonds, and my favorite, lahmacun, those wonderful flatbreads topped with tamarind-and-tomato drenched ground meat. The Eastern Europeans have lokshen and cabbage, noodle kugel, gefilte fish, and of course, cholent. But come over to my house, and you might be confused: we'll start with, say, a Moroccan soup called harira. The pièce de résistance, if I'm lucky, is huachinango a la Veracruzana, my favorite preparation of red snapper in a Mexican tomato sauce with onions, olives, currants, hot peppers, and cinnamon. A side of the Indian eggplant curry baingan bartha might round out the meal, and for dessert, my mother's homemade chocolate croissants. If you're following along, that makes one American Jew, born and raised in Washington, DC, with relatives from across Eastern Europe, who, along with her mother, is building a cooking legacy on Indian curry, Mexican fish, Moroccan soup, and French pastry.

I don't come from a strong cooking tradition. It's possible my great grandmothers slaved over some top-notch borscht, or -- in the case of the piece of my family that's been in the US for seven generations -- some excellent apple pie. But I wouldn't know. My grandmother, who grew up in Chicago, didn't cook much at all. My Bubby, who grew up in New York and has spent most of her life in Richmond, VA, used to make an excellent Thanksgiving dinner, but her cooking didn't have a particular perspective or core list of key ingredients.

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Color me jealous: I've always wanted to come from one of those families with a strong culinary tradition. I've longed for native staples - the sorts of ingredients you always have on hand in multiple forms and in massive quantities, that find their way into everything: the Italians' olive oil and tomatoes; the Indians' garlic, ginger, and chilies; and so on.

So we weren't bequeathed a strong culinary heritage by our relatives or our culture; that hasn't stopped us from building our own. My mother has spent years accruing knowledge of different cultures' cuisines, acquiring a taste for spice, learning to achieve that balance of spicy, sour, salty, and sweet that makes food -- of any origin -- great. And ever since I learned to cook, I've been trying to follow in her footsteps. Yes, we're creating our own culinary legacy. Our legacy uses lemon in copious quantities; it doesn't skimp on the chile; it favors things with pools of zesty tomato-based sauces to be sopped up with good bread; and it always includes something sweet to finish things off.

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But there's more. We love olives, capers, and anchovies, individually or all together in a tapenade that'd make a cook in Provence swoon. And we love Indian flavors; we've spent many a meal tasting curries two, three, four times in a row, to decipher their ingredients one by one. As I served an Indian-spiced chilled mango soup to my guests on Friday night -- its pale orange surface flecked with black mustard seeds and buoying a dollop of spicy green chutney -- I felt connected to a cooking heritage. The people may not be my own people, but the legacy of Indian cooking -- the boldness with flavors, the embrace of real, sweat-inducing spice, the mixing of hot and cold together in the same dish -- is one I have come to love, and to take as my own. Not being born into a strong cooking tradition may be a blessing in disguise, after all.

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Gujarati Mango Soup with Green Chutney Adapted from a recipe in Amanda Hesser's The New York Times Essential Cookbook

After initially making this soup, I was concerned it would be cloying, even in small doses. I'd added some lime juice, but it still tasted quite sweet. On a whim, I made this green chutney (below), and its fresh, green heat complements the soup perfectly.

2 tablespoons chickpea flour 1/8 teaspoon ground turmeric 3/4 teaspoon ground cumin 3/4 teaspoon ground coriander 1/2 cup plain whole milk yogurt (Greek is best) 3 cups canned mango pulp or mashed fresh mango pulp (1 mango yields between 3/4 and 1 cup of pulp) 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 1/2 teaspoon sugar (may need more if using fresh mangos) 1 jalapeno pepper, chopped (I used all the seeds. If you prefer less spice, omit seeds and membrane) 2 tablespoons peanut or corn oil Generous pinch ground asafoetida 1/2 teaspoon whole brown mustard seeds 1/2 teaspoon whole cumin seeds 2 whole hot dried red chilies 1/8 teaspoon whole fenugreek seeds 10 fresh curry leaves (optional) Juice of 1 lime

Put the chickpea flour, turmeric, and ground cumin in a bowl. Fill a measuring cup with 1/2 cup of water, and add a couple tablespoons to the flour mixture, stirring carefully until the flour is a smooth paste with no clumps.

Add more water very slowly, ensuring an even consistency as you stir.

Once enough water has been added that the chickpea flour has been fully incorporated into the liquid with no lumps, add the rest of the water and stir to combine. Whisk in yogurt, mango, and 2 more cups water. Add salt, sugar, and fresh chilies. Mix well.

Put oil in a heavy-bottomed medium pot over medium heat. When oil is very hot, add the asafoetida, and then — in quick succession — the mustard seeds, cumin seeds, dried chilies, fenugreek seeds, and curry leaves (if using). Have a splatter screen on hand: the mustard seeds will pop almost immediately after being added.

As soon as you have added the above ingredients, remove from heat and add mango mixture. Stir to combine, return to medium heat, and simmer for 5 minutes, stirring. Then remove from heat, cover, and allow to steep for 30 minutes.

At this point, you can either reheat the soup to serve warm, or do as I did, and refrigerate it to be served cold. Either way, strain the soup through a coarse sieve, then spoon some of the smaller seeds from the strainer back into the soup. Immediately before serving, stir the lime juice into the soup.

Serve soup in small bowls, with a spoonful of the chutney in each.

Spicy Green ChutneyAdapted from a recipe by Madhur Jaffrey

2 tablespoons lemon or lime juice (lime is preferable) 1 small tomato, diced 3/4 teaspoon salt 3 fresh hot green chilies, such as bird’s eye or jalapeno (can start with 2 and add to taste) 2/3 cup fresh chopped cilantro 1/3 cup fresh chopped mint 1/2 cup grated coconut, fresh or frozen and defrosted

This chutney can be made rustic in a mortar and pestle, or smooth in a blender.

Combine 3 tablespoons water, lime juice, tomatoes, salt, and chilies. Mash or blend until combined or smooth.

Add cilantro and mint; mash together or blend until smooth.

Finally, add coconut and blend or mix more, until chutney is fully mixed or completely smooth. Serve cold.

Chutney will keep in the refrigerator for a few days, but will keep for months in the freezer.

Many of the ingredients in each of these recipes are available online at Kalustyans.com.

Peach Tomato Gazpacho

Ok y'all, I'm a bit late posting this, and you’ll have to forgive me. But then – and I mean immediately; do not pass go, do not wait for September to drift into fall – you must get off the couch and make this soup.

Just last week, the dog days of summer seemed a permanent fixture. Now, as I’m walking to the farmers’ market, I find myself rubbing my hands together, picking up that pace a bit, and reaching for….a cardigan. Fall’s crept up on me again. Every year, I bemoan the end of tomatoes and nectarines, my shortsighted lack of urgency in eating as many of those beautiful beefsteaks and heirlooms as possible. Now I’m making a mad dash for those tomatoes, eating a peach after lunch every day and one in the evening as well, trying to cram as much of the rapidly depleting summer produce down my craw as time will allow.

My fridge is only so large; not, apparently, large enough; those 5 pounds of peaches that I bought last week have softened, ripened, and softened some more. Last night, I came home to some peaches practically begging to be eaten. Ditto the beautiful red tomatoes, which, seemingly suddenly, after a short stay on my counter (never store tomatoes in the fridge; it ruins them), were near-overripe.

I didn’t have quite enough tomatoes to make a sauce-making project worthwhile. As for the peaches, in the past week, I’d made two cakes and a crostada with them and some nectarines. I needed a change of pace.

Here’s the part where we rewind a few days, and I explain the real reason I made this soup. Yes, I wanted to make something savory with peaches and tomatoes. That’s all true. But here’s the rub: my friend B brought this over one Friday night, and I ate so much of it, so quickly, I’m not sure I left any for her to try. This soup is the best thing since sliced bread, and since I first had it, I’ve made it three times. “And only now I tell you?!?” Yes. I’m sorry. (‘Tis the season of forgiveness!) Now go and make it, while peaches and tomatoes are still around. There’s plenty of time for apples and kale, squash and potatoes. We’ll talk about those next week. For now, make this soup, and drink up those last drops of summer while you can. And if you’re as bummed as I am about the end of this season, you can make a big batch of this soup to freeze or can; I’ll be doing just that.

Peach Tomato Gazpacho Adapted from Gourmet

Note: this recipe has you puree part of the ingredients into soup, and combine what remains into a rustic salsa with which to serve the soup. I’ve done this once, and it’s quite delicious – but feel free to simply blend everything together and serve with the cubed avocado and a light drizzle of oil, as pictured. If doing this, don’t add all the salt immediately; taste the blended soup and only add as much as is needed.

1 1/2 lb tomatoes, chopped (4 cups) 1 lb peaches, pitted and chopped (2 cups) 2 tablespoons chopped shallot (1 medium) 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 1/2 tablespoons white-wine vinegar 1 tablespoon chopped chives 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon black pepper 1/4 to 1/2 cup water 1/2 avocado, chopped

Purée two thirds of tomatoes and half of peaches with shallot, 1 tablespoon oil, 1 tablespoon vinegar, 2 teaspoons chives, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper in a blender until very smooth, about 1 minute. Force through a medium-mesh sieve, discarding solids. Stir in water to desired consistency.

Toss together remaining tomatoes and peaches with remaining tablespoon oil, remaining 1/2 tablespoon vinegar, remaining teaspoon chives, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper in a bowl. Serve soup in bowls topped with tomato peach salsa.

Cucumber-Avocado Soup

No food-friendly home is without its strange culinary rituals, and mine is no exception. Just ask a recent house guest, who during her 3-day stay caught me in the kitchen before 7 am in wet hair and a bathrobe on two separate occasions, cooking not eggs and toast as the normal people do, but strawberry-chili jam and walnut chocolate chip cookies. I like making elaborate things early in the morning; I'm a total weirdo.

Take another odd ritual in chez NDP: when summer rolls around, I start awkwardly hoarding empty yogurt tubs, filling them as quickly as possible with all sorts of cold summer soups: white gazpacho and chilled corn soup and more. Why I can't use tupperware like the rest of earthlings, I don't know. All I know is that cold soup ladled from recycled yogurt tubs on a hot and humid summer day makes me grin big.

Here, then, is my first chilled soup of the summer, one that has already made its (very temporary) home in a yogurt tub. It's inspired by a soup my friend Beth made last weekend, which was creamy and smooth, yet seemed almost whipped, it was so light and airy. The key, of course, is to make it in a blender. Its ingredients are few -- cucumbers and avocado, yogurt and jalapeno, perhaps some chives -- but bowls of the stuff would be lovely garnished with any number of things. I've done yogurt and more chopped chives, and I'm particularly excited about topping my next bowl with some quartered cherry tomatoes.

Chilled soup provides such easy reprieve from the heat, I'll be making it regularly through August. Stay tuned for more recipes, and as always, feel free to share your own in the comments!

Cucumber Avocado Soup serves 4-6

2 avocados, preferably Hass, halved and roughly chopped 1 English (seedless) long cucumber, halved lengthwise and sliced coarsely 1 jalapeno pepper, chopped (with seeds), more to taste 1 cup yogurt (I used greek, but any will do) salt and pepper to taste 5-6 fresh chives, chopped

Combine all ingredients in a blender, starting with just half of the jalapeno and reserving 2-3 sprigs chives and 1/4 cup yogurt for garnish. Add 1/8 cup water to get the blending started, then blend on medium until completely smooth. Taste, and add salt, pepper, and more jalapeno to taste.

Refrigerate at least 1 hour.

To serve, fill bowls and garnish with yogurt, chives, chopped cherry tomatoes, or anything else that suits your fancy.

A Corn Soup for Summer or Winter

First, dear readers, a housekeeping item. The spot of press that I've gotten over the past couple months was truly unexpected; I've spent a couple years in this here little corner of the web, so when people started to take notice, I wasn't quite prepared. But as of yesterday, I've got a shiny new press page that shares links to places where NDP has gotten publicity, so that a) I don't forget about where the blog has been profiled -- I'm a bit forgetful -- and b) I can share the good news with you, my wonderful readers and chearleaders. Thanks in advance for checking it out!

Now onward and upward, because I've been meaning to tell you about this soup for months.

Frozen corn isn't exactly a staple in this house. We've got corn on the cob coming out of our ears (hehe), a freezer door full of six or seven different kinds of polenta, fancy heirloom hominy, and copious amounts of popcorn. But frozen corn rarely makes it through the door.

All that's changed, though. In the past couple months, I've made variations on this soup at least four times. It's a simple concept, really. Shallots are sauteed in butter (game over), corn and broth are added with plenty of good spices, and after a long 10 minutes on the stove, the soup is cooled, blended, and finished with buttermilk. Done.

But oh, you know me. I'm not one to leave a recipe alone. I've always got to tinker. So I tried adding coconut milk instead of buttermilk, for a Thai-inspired version. Then I added half coconut milk and half buttermilk (the perfect balance, if you ask me). I tried it with chicken broth and vegetable broth; I even tried it with plain water. (Not bad at all.) All said and done, it's pretty hard to go wrong with this soup. The weather hasn't even turned miserably hot, and already, it's a staple.

But by the way, don't wait for summer to make this, because truly truly, it's great both hot and cold. No excuses: make this one now.

Corn Soup With Curry and Mint adapted from F for Food's recipe on Food52

30 g shallot (about 2), chopped 2 tablespoons butter 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander 3 tiny dried red chilies, de-stemmed 1/4 teaspoon ground yellow mustardseed 1/2 teaspoon curry powder 1 teaspoon dried mint 1 tablespoon salt 10 ounces frozen corn (no need to thaw) 3 cups vegetable or chicken broth (I actually preferred vegetable) 1 cup coconut milk 1/2 cup buttermilk (feel free to substitute all buttermilk or all coconut milk, if you prefer) several baby leaves fresh mint, for garnish 1/4 cup creme fraiche, for garnish, optional (when I don't have any on hand, I just swirl in some buttermilk or yogurt)

In a large pot over medium heat, saute shallot in butter until translucent and fragrant, about 5 minutes. Add chilies and all other spices, and salt. Cook about 1 minute, until spices start to release their aromas. Add corn and broth and stir to combine. Turn heat to medium-high, and cook 10-15 minutes. Taste and adjust salt as necessary. Add coconut milk, and stir until combined.

If you have an immersion blender, turn off the heat and blend soup until relatively smooth. If you don't have an immersion blender, transfer the unblended soup to the refrigerator to cool off about 20 minutes, then blend soup in a blender or food processor. Don't skip the cooling step, because hot soup can easily explode out of the blender, and yikes...that would suck.

Taste and adjust seasoning again, remembering that if you're serving the soup cold, the spice and salt will be somewhat muted.

For serving the soup hot: if you blended using an immersion blender, add buttermilk and stir to combine, ladle into bowls, top with a dollop of creme fraiche and a sprig of mint, and serve immediately. If you had to let the soup cool before blending it, reheat, then follow above instructions.

For serving the soup cold: add buttermilk, blend or stir to combine, and refrigerate soup. Follow the same serving instructions as above. Soup may thicken once chilled, so add water or broth to thin out as necessary.