Chicago winters last a long time. I don't mind the low temperatures or the snow. (I spent my early childhood in Canada.) But the gray skies that persist from late November through mid-April are another thing. For five months, Mother Nature experiments with nearly every shade of gray: steel gray, bluish-gray, pinkish-gray, the list goes on. In December, the dreary skies are bearable because most of us are distracted by the commotion of the holidays and the promise of the New Year. Snow is a novelty, a delight, really, compared to the late fall landscape - bare trees, dead leaves, tired brown grass.
In January, snow blankets the ground and the sky is often a whitish-gray, making the horizon hard to find. We continue to take pleasure in fresh snow, packing it into snowballs, rolling into snowmen, listening for the crunch under our feet. By February, we begin to feel sapped by the lack of color and days being book marked by darkness. We boast of our Midwest hardiness, but deep inside, we long for winter’s spell to be lifted. March brings about the cracking point. We feel crazed by weeks without sun, so crazed we expect a ground hog to bring about winter’s end. Still, we keep our spring clothes in storage and goggle “beach vacations” should it linger on.
Early April brings forth the tempestuous side of spring - fits of rain, temperature dips, and crabby skies. We replace boots with waterproof shoes and scarves with umbrellas. The snow melts away, leaving weathered sidewalks and naked trees. Not the sort of change we've ached for. Then slowly, amidst the chill and sullenness, golden clouds begin to huddle among the trees; their soft contours and luminous color countering months of monotony.
In fact, the clouds turn out to be bouquets of tiny yellow flowers with bright green stems. Their colors blend into the new birth green that appears only in spring, and "is Her (nature's) hardest hue to hold"as Robert Frost concluded. Within days, rain scatters many of the bouquets over sidewalks and into gutters, spreading fragments of color from the sky to the ground.
Daffodils and dandelions usher in even more green and gold. As the grass gets a solid footing, the trees toss off hundreds of tiny golden petals, inaugurating the end of winter’s long reach with the regality of a royal wedding.
ASPARAGUS SOUP
(COPYRIGHT CARDAMOM KITCHEN 2011)
This time of year (when the heater continues to kick on) there are days I crave the comfort of soup. This dish, which blends asparagus, artichokes, and leeks, offers warmth while capturing the freshness of spring. I like to include the eggs, cooked until the yolks are silky. But the soup is full-flavored without them. Also, if you're itching to make your own bread, take a look at Jim Lahey's book. He makes it remarkably easy. Really, you'll be amazed.
Also, here's a helpful video on prepping leeks.
INGREDIENTS
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium leek
2 pounds of asparagus, washed
1 teaspoon minced garlic
4 cups (or two 14.5 cans) vegetable broth
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 jar (6.5 ounce) marinated artichoke hearts
6 eggs
Pecorino cheese as garnish
Slice away dark green portion of leek. Cut rest into disks, widthwise. Place in bowl and cover with water. Rinse until all silt is removed. Drain.
Chop off ends of asparagus. With a peeler, remove outer skin from woody section (bottom 2 inches or so). Chop into 2-inch pieces.
Heat oil in Dutch oven or stock pot over medium heat. Add leek. Cook for 3 minutes. Add asparagus, garlic, stock, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer for 15 minutes or until asparagus is tender. Let cool 5 minutes.
Place eggs in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil. Turn off heat and cover pot with a lid. After 5 minutes, transfer eggs to a bowl of cold water. Let cool for 3 minutes. Peel eggs.
Place artichokes and 2 cups of soup in a blender or food processor. Puree. Stir back into soup.
Ladle soup into bowls. Top each bowl with a sliced egg and sprinkling of cheese. Serve with crusty bread.
