Lentil Soup: my last lunch.

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Lentil Soup: my last lunch.

One year and three days ago, at 3:30 in the afternoon on 11/11/11, I was eating lentil soup. I am able to tell you exactly that, as it was the meal I finished just as my water broke for the birth of my son. Truthfully, it was lentil soup followed by a scoop of my husband’s homemade vanilla bean ice cream, topped with a generous drizzle of David Lebovitz’s perfect hot fudge recipe, and it may or may not have been then topped with a few crushed peanut M&Ms that had been unclaimed by trick or treaters eleven days earlier. If there was ever a time to treat myself to a tasteful hot fudge sundae in the middle of the afternoon, my due date seemed the best day of any.

Standing at the edge of the new parent cliff, really having no idea what the next many weeks would hold for us, I had been furiously putting meals away for days and days. I don’t know what I expected, but my level of anxiety was fairly appropriate.

And when I get anxious, I cook.

When someone is struggling, I cook.

When things seem grim and I have no idea what to do, out come the cookbooks.

And so for the very expectant weeks prior, I had been cooking and cooking. Our chest freezer in the basement was a culinary tetris, packed tightly with calories to keep us going in the 3ams of the coming weeks. Quart container after quart container of warming stews, gumbos, and soups were obsessively stacked alongside a half dozen bags containing fifty frozen dumplings each, devotedly hauled home from Chinatown in the city. I may have been facing a month without leaving the house or having both hands free at once, but I was not going down on an empty stomach. I didn’t know who I’d be on the other side of all of this, but I knew I’d still demand great food.

Lentil soup has been a comfort food staple for me through most of the very varied episodes of my life. Cheap, simple, high in protein, and even vegetarian—for that twenty-year phase I went through—its sum is definitely more than its parts. And this will always be the last thing I cooked as a person who wasn’t someone’s mom.

As soon as it gets dark before quitting time and a tiny chill shimmies under the door, I crave this recipe. And eating it again this year, days before I became a person who is the mom of a one year old, I am brought right back to a year ago, or my lunch break room in graduate school, or the kitchen in my first apartment in New York, and also my tiny dark brown dorm fridge.

I look at the photo we snapped just before walking out the door to drive to the hospital, and am astounded by how I feel like I don’t even know those people. But it is indeed me, as is the girl hosting her first dinner party in a studio apartment, or the girl with the giant mug in her window seat in college, all recognizing each other by the smells and tastes of the recipes that make up my life’s cookbook.

Happy first birthday darling boy.


	Lentil Soup Makes about three and a half quarts. 4 tablespoons olive oil 1 1/2 cups diced onion, from about one large onion 1 clove of garlic, minced 1 lb lentils, rinsed and picked over 1 teaspoon cumin 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon 4 cups crushed tomatoes and juice, bonus points for using your own canned tomatoes 7 cups stock (chicken or vegetable) or water 2 cups diced carrots, from about 4-5 large carrots salt 1 bay leaf 8 ounces fresh baby spinach leaves In a large soup pot, gently heat the olive oil. Add the onions and saute on medium-low heat until softened. Add the garlic and continue to saute for a few minutes, lowering the heat if the garlic starts to brown at all. Add the cumin and cinnamon to the pot, adding a bit more oil of the mixture seems dry, and saute the dry spices in the oil for a couple of minutes to wake up the flavors, being very careful not to burn. Add the carrots, bay leaf, lentils, tomato, stock and a half teaspoon of salt, scraping any browned onions or spices stuck to the floor of the pot. Bring to a boil and then cover and reduce to a simmer for one and a half hours, until the lentils are tender. Taste and add more salt if desired. Just before serving stir in spinach leaves, until just wilted. Serve topped with grated sharp cheddar or a swirl of plain greek yogurt, and maybe some grated lemon zest. The soup is even better the next day, and will keep in the refrigerator for up to five days. It can also be frozen, for emergency late-night nourishment.

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Zucchini, Carrot and Scallion Fritters

These fritters are an homage to the perfect little hometown restaurant we had in our shoreline Connecticut town growing up in the 80s. A place where everybody knew our name, where you could pop in casually for a wholesome lunch, or count on it for a suitably festive and elegant special occasion dinner.

I've been thinking a lot about food of that era lately. As a kid I was permitted to tag along on many grownup restaurant dates, luncheons and dinner parties, giving me the chance to try copious amounts of new foods, many definitely not considered on the childrens' menu. I remember these new tastes and textures more vividly than I do where I was or who I was with (go figure.)

But what is most interesting to me in hindsight, is that what was 80s nouvelle cuisine, was in many ways using a huge amount of the same ideas of locavore cooking now--using the freshest possible ingredients, lighter sauces or preparation to let the produce or proteins really be the focus, an overall lighter, fresher, more in-the-moment way of cooking. The only difference being that then it seemed revolutionary and nouvelle, while today it is seen as a return to the basics.

This fritter is exactly in keeping with that. The freshest possible ingredients, at the height of their season, minimally dressed up. In the 80s something like this seemed very exotic, today it feels like the perfect, summer, wholesome appetizer, right out of a Deborah Madison book.

And plus...ding! ding! ding!...it is something to do with all of those zucchini piling up on your counters, that you perhaps might be starting to resent in just the slightest way.


	Zucchini, Carrot, and Scallion Fritters by Catie Schwalb makes about three dozen. 1 cup flour 1 ½ teaspoon baking powder ¾ teaspoon salt few turns of fresh black pepper ¾ cup of milk 2 large eggs 1 1/4 cup grated, zucchini, about one medium zucchini 1 1/4 cup grated carrot, about three medium carrots 1/2 cup scallion, white and green parts, about three scallions 1/3 cup toasted sunflower seeds canola or peanut oil, for frying In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, salt and pepper. Set aside. In a larger bowl, whisk together milk and eggs. Add the dry ingredients to the milk mixture and whisk until smooth. Grate the zucchini on large holes of a box grater, or with the grating blade of a food processor. Squeeze in several layers of paper towel to remove as much liquid as possible. Grate carrots to the same size. Add both to the batter. Thinly slice the scallions. Add scallions and sunflower seeds to batter and mix to thoroughly combine. Fill a pot with canola or peanut oil, until it is 2 inches deep. Heat the oil to 360 F. Carefully drop about one tablespoon-sized dollops of the batter into the oil (they will puff up considerably). Do not put too many fritters in the pot at once, as the temperature of the oil will decrease too much. Also if the fritters are too large they won’t cook through by the time the outside is sufficiently browned, and will still be raw in the middle. Fry until golden brown, turning over once when cooking, about two minutes total. Turn the heat down if the fritters are browning too quickly or the temperature continues to rise. Remove fritters with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain. Salt lightly while still hot. Serve warm. Dipping Sauce ideas: Soy sauce topped with a few teaspoons of toasted sesame seeds and Sour cream or plain greek yogurt mixed with a few teaspoons of freshly grated lemon zest

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Catie Baumer Schwalb is a chef, food writer and photographer, who splits her life between the city and the country. Not too long ago Catie was a New York City based actress and playwright for more than a decade. She has her Master of Fine Arts from the National Theater Conservatory, and her Grand Diplôme in classic culinary arts from the French Culinary Institute in New York City. ... Read More ≫

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