A Soupy and Savory Summer, Part II

As we waited, Jeanne recited the different dishes that she had considered making me – roasted potato salad, ice cream, lentils – before she had settled on soup. I told her that I had no problem returning to her place for another meal, if she wanted to try out the others. She laughed, and said “anytime!”

Jeanne got up and looked at the now mushy zucchini and stated “This looks pretty done!”


She picked up the pot and scraped its bright yellow-green contents into a blender that looked like it had been found in a thrift store or been handed down to her from her parents. She pressed the on button and, over the loud buzz, told me that she wished that she had “one of those wands” – meaning a hand blender – and that the food mill that her father had given her wasn’t great for big jobs.


Once the zucchini was blended, Jeanne turned off the machine. “When I was in college, I had a group of friends that I used to like to cook with and I kind of became known as the soup queen.” When I told her that I held a similar title amongst my friends, we commenced talking about our best soups and, admittedly, there might have been a little one-upping going on (chilled corn soup and spicy quinoa soup were our most extravagant). "I always liked being known as the girl who could make good soup. It's a great title to have!" I agreed with this assesment - being known as the kid who can cook had its perks.


As Jeanne poured the contents of the blender back into the pot, she explained that one could use crème fraiche in the soup, but that she liked to use sour cream for its bite. With a large spoon, Jeanne dolloped the thickened liquid into the stew and stirred. She returned the flame to low, and heated the mixture until it was heated through.

Jeanne is an effortless chef. She made me feel that she was completely focused on our conversation while she moved gingerly around the kitchen and negotiated knives, cutting boards, bowls, and awkward counterspace. While I pondered aloud the declination of The Hungarian Pastry Shop on the Upper West Side, I realized that Jeanne - with the grace of a ballerina and the sleight of a magician - had placed a bowl of soup in front of me. I had barely noticed that she had even finished cooking!

The soup was brightly colored and smelled heavily of curry. Jeanne dug out a spoon from her full dish drying rack and handed it to me. I dug in, happy that someone had decided to make me something vegetarian (there is so much meat on this blog!). Scrumptious. It was the kind of food that tasted like the season – summery and light, but still thick and flavorful. I loved it and noted that it was the kind of dish that I usually make for myself.


“I almost canceled on you again tonight… but I’m glad I didn’t! The summer is crazy. But things will calm down again in September,” Jeanne said as she took a bite of the still-steaming puree.


Ah, September, how I cannot await for you to arrive! For the entire summer my Google calendar has been a rainbowed patchwork of engagements - some fun, some laborious - and I cannot wait for an evening for my own. As my friend, Sue, once told me - being busy is the sign of becoming a true New Yorker. We were both quiet for a few moments as we savored our bowls of steaming soup.

“When I was at Saveur they were starting to do research on their butter issue, and I feel like it gave me free license to eat as much butter as I wanted to, which I really haven’t gotten over since,” Jeanne laughed, “But Ronnybrook makes amazing butter… so the guy who owns Colson [a patisserie in Park Slope where Jeanne once worked] and I were talking about it and I told him that I had an idea for ice cream and he loaned me his ice cream maker, which I still have.” I didn’t know where Jeanne was going with this conversation thread. She continued, “I made a sweet potato ice cream last winter…with buckwheat honey and it tasted so good with the sweet potato puree. Anyway," she got up and went to the freezer, "I made us apricot ice cream for tonight...” she said and pulled out a tupperware. Ah, that’s where it was going. Not only had Jeanne fed me cheese, crackers, and olives, not only had she with a minimal amount of time made me a delicious soup, but now she was scooping out a large amount of homemade ice cream for me into a dainty green glass. What a perfect dinner!

While we ate the slightly sweet and fruity frozen dessert that was spiked with a hint of cardamom, Jeanne and I commiserated over our problems making a good ice cream with the right consistency, texture, and proper balance of sweet and flavor (it’s not as easy as it seems!). We agreed to enroll together a class at The Brooklyn Kitchen that was to be led by the Van Leeuwen brothers of Brooklyn ice cream fame (alas the class ended up being sold out) to figure out where our faults lie.

We talked more about ice cream (The Bent Spoon in Princeton, we agreed, scoops up some of the best) then continued onto the divergent flavors of cinnamon and of honey from different regions, and the pleasures of cardamom in stone fruit pie. As I finished the last bit of melty goodness at the bottom on my dish, I realized that Jeanne and I had spent the entire evening talking about food – rarely did we deviate from the subject and we both clearly relished it. Jeanne and I, I thought, as I walked home feeling as stuffed as a fattened goose, are going to be good friends.