OMG, Is SALT PIG Back from the Dead?

Maybe. I kinda miss the old beast. I've been busy writing a book (well, collecting other people's stories for a book, that is) and just trying to live my life without focusing too much of what's going on out there. Because what's going on ain't pretty these days. There's a sense of worry in the air, a vibration of discontent. A feeling that hope has been snatched away. Do you feel that? My nails are bitten to painful nubs and the gray hairs have been sprouting up more than I'd like to admit. (I yank out the obvious ones up front, of course, but who knows what the hell is going on on the back of my head...I might be an old lady from behind.)

Strange times, these...not what my generation expected. Or hoped for. There's a new reality and it's taking some getting used to. When I figure out how to cope with whatever comes next, I'll make some soup for ya.

Promise.

Anybody Out There?

I guess you could be asking me the same thing. I'm a terrible, terrible blogger. I've even made soup a few times since I last wrote, without posting a damn thing. I apologize, and I'll try to do better. Soonish. Stuff has gotten in the way, but eventually that stuff will move over. Patience, my Salt Pig pets. Patience.

Turnip the Taste!

So much time has passed since I graced these pages with delicious (or even marginal) recipes, or with deep thoughts. I certainly don't want to give the impression that I've abandoned Salt Pig...after all, I'm paying for the name. So, a quick entry to hold me over for a bit.

Thanksgiving was here, as you may have noticed, and I was given the job of making soup as an appetizer for my mother-in-law's big event. SOUP, of all things! Making a new recipe, with an ingredient you've never used before, to serve at a holiday party is a bit risky, but I went for it. I wanted something in a Thanksgiving color (some version of yellowish) that tasted creamy but was light as a feather. I chose a Silken Turnip Soup, a recipe adapted from a Southern Cooking book that promised to fit both of my criteria.

Turnips, I found, are prettier than potatoes but a little harder to slice. (I think an old boyfriend said something similar about me once.) I doubled the recipe, thinking of the crowd that shows up at my M-I-L's house, so I had to slice A LOT of turnips. And we had A LOT of leftover soup. Overall, it's an easy one to make. And it tasted nice. Kind of potato-oniony with a slight unexpected twist in flavor on the back of the tongue. And it was, indeed, whitish-yellow and seemed creamy despite the lack of cream. Give it a go, on Thanksgiving or any old day.

YOU NEED (for about 8 servings)
4 TB butter (unsalted)
2 med onions, cut into thin slices
4 med turnips, peeled and cut into thin slices
1 small russet potato, same prep (there's lots of peeling and slicing for this)
2 tsp kosher or sea salt, plus more if you like more
5 cups low-sodium chicken broth (homemade is best)
1/2 tsp freshly ground nutmeg
1/3 cup packed basic lives in thing strips for garnish

Melt butter over medium until it foams. Add onions and stir around for a few minutes until softish
Add turnips, tater, salt. Mix well, cover, simmer 20 min, stirring now & then
Add broth, stir, heat through (10 minutes or so)
Remove from heat. Use immersion blender or regular blender to puree it all up like a savory smoothy.
Add nutmeg, put back over heat for a bit, adjust seasonings to taste
Garnish with a little more nutmeg plus basil. Eat.

I suspect you can freeze this stuff with no problem. Which is good for those of us who double the recipe on Turkey Day, a day clearly about other foods. Soup is those other foods' ugly stepbrother...politely acknowledged, patted on the head, and sent to sit in the corner.

SOUP? Yes! SOUP!

I've neglected the whole soup thing for much of the summer, but now that fall is falling, I'm feeling the need for warm, steamy things. I started out October with the kind of steamy thing I like best, a pureed soup with flavors like ginger and curry and cumin (fall-colored spices, like in the picture I totally stole from some website). This one turned out a little too sweet and not quite spicy enough, so next time I'll adjust the honey a bit and use stronger curry (I didn't have the right kind in-house). But my neighbor thought it was just sweet and spicy enough, and she likes soup, too. So, go figure. Adjust to your 'buds, people.

Regardless, it's a delicious Indonesian Carrot-n-Curry soup (with enough vitamin A to turn your elbows orange) based on a recipe from the New England Soup Factory cookbook.

You need all this stuff:
3 TB OO
4 whole cloves, peeled
1 TB minced fresh ginger
1 large Spanish onion (I used a sweet yellow...my grocery isn't that sophisticated)
2 ribs celery, sliced
3 pounds carrots peeled and sliced
2 tsp ground yellow curry (I used "Maharajah curry powder" from Penzeys; maybe something with more kick would be better, though it's a yummy spice mix and I LOVE Penzeys...think kid in a candy store)
2 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
8 cups veggie stock (I used 4 of stock and 4 of broth, 'cause that's what I had)
1/2 cup sherry
1/2 cup honey (or more or less to taste)
2 cans (16 oz) coconut milk
3 TB chopped fresh cilantro
Kosher salt and fresh ground pepper, to taste

Here's what you do with it:
Heat stockpot over medium-high fire. Add: olive oil, garlic, ginger, onion, celery, carrots. Saute 10 minutes. Add the good stuff: curry, coriander, cumin, red pepper, stock, sherry. Boil, reduce heat to medium and simmer about 30 minutes.

Remove from heat, add honey, coconut milk, cilantro, salt, pepper. Puree using hand blender (of course) or work in batches in your regular blender until as smooth as you like it. Put in pretty bowls. If you have it, shred coconut on top (also pretty) and/or sprinkle something green.

Delicious. Warms the soul. Great with bread or over rice!!

Floored

A while ago I promised (warned) that I would occasionally yammer on about our never-ending home renovations here at Salt Pig headquarters. Haven't done much of that yet, so for those curious (nosy) types looking to feel better about their own messes, I apologize.


Today, finally, I'd like to show off and give credit to my husband for making excellent progress in one arena--the bathroom. Granted, it's taken nearly two years to get to this point, but what a difference a floor (and quite a few other custom features) makes. Too bad there's not enough room for a toilet. (Kidding. Sort of. There's barely room. Tall men who dare to sit
may end up with bruised knees after pooping.)

(Is anyone else disturbed by that image? You should be.)

Anyway, enjoy this photographic before and after, Salt Pig style.

Mis-RED

So I tell the hair guy to color me autumn. "You know, reddish-brown, like fall leaves." He wants to do highlights instead, says why have the problem of your root color showing up. This will look more professional, more put together, more classy. Ok, I say, "then maybe mix these two (pointing to red and auburn samples) to make sure it looks natural. Don't want to look like I'm trying to be edgy at my advanced age."

He mixes the two, but not in the same bowl. Instead, he mixes them on my head by alternating, one stripe of straight-up red, one stripe of gold (what happened to auburn?). Another stripe of red, another of gold. And so on. And we're not talking subtle red. We're talking cranberry. See photos, which don't do the color justice. I look like I wrestled with Benjamin Moore or banged my head on the cabinet, then bled. Truly something to see in natural light. Classy.

As the chemicals burn away at my scalp, he appears to lose track of time, asking me at one point, was that 25 minutes or 30? And, try as he might to hide it, even he looks a bit perplexed by the result. But he pulls himself together, proclaims it "edgy" (did we not discuss this?), and charges me $130 (a steal, he says; he usually charges $180 for this artistry).

I'm thinking of asking him for a full makeover. I've heard blue eye shadow is back.

Grab Bag

So I'm waiting for the Metro the other day and I see this bag on the floor next to the marble bench, in no one's possession. A Filene's Basement bag. With something inside. Yes, I suppose it could have been a bomb, but it was worth the risk to find out. I mean, new stuff, still with that new stuff smell! I poke it with my foot. Nothing happens. Trying to look casual, I pick it up. I peer inside. A box. A shoebox. A picture of very nice sandals on the outside. Designer label. I'd say at least $49.95 worth of footwear if there was a good sale. Maybe more like $69.95, if the sale was already over.

Someone on a shopping spree, I think, probably had a bunch of bags, set them down. The train came and she quickly gathered them, not noticing that one didn't make it around her wrist. Doors closed, off she went. Shoes left sadly on the platform, homeless.

So...what to do. Report the "unattended object" to a Metro employee? Take the bag to the lost-and-found at Metro Center and kiss it goodbye? Call Filene's and ask if they can refund the money on the buyer's card or, better yet, somehow trace the buyer by the receipt so I can be a big hero and return the shoes, face to face, to the rightful owner?

Or I could just keep them. For me.

I get on the Metro with my new bag of new shoes and ponder my good fortune as the train zooms from station to station. I gaze at the picture on the box, admiringly, but then sadly note that they aren't my size. Too big. Much too big. Crap. Not that I really would have kept them for myself even if they were a 6, of course...I mean, imagine having the chance to give them back! Much better. The good karma would no doubt be returned sometime after the happy buyer was reunited with her strappy heels. And if that's not possible, I'm sure I have a big-footed friend who would appreciate the unexpected windfall. Or there's always Ebay. Cash for big shoes--a fair trade. Hmmm...cash for big useless shoes. A very fair trade.

I'm almost to my stop, shoe sales still on the brain. Nevermind the rightful owner crap or my extra-large friends: I'm gonna make some walkin'-around money on this deal. And now that I'm sure no one who saw me lift the bag is still aboard the train, it's time to have a closer look at my cash cow.

I slide the box out of the bag and into my lap. I lift the lid.

Old-ass worn-out sneakers. The ones the buyer dumped when she bought her new sandals.

Damn karma.