
Chef Thomas
A Proper Chicken Broth
Sunday's roast chicken, simmered slowly on Monday with carrots, celery, leeks, and thyme into a bowl of clear, golden broth that smells like the kitchen is paying attention.
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A pale green bowl of English asparagus, made in the eight weeks when the spears are worth eating and the soup tastes like the season itself, gentle, fleeting, and worth every minute of your attention.
The asparagus arrives at the market in late April if the spring has been kind, early May if it hasn't. You know before you see it. There's a smell, grassy and mineral, faintly sweet, that cuts through the coffee and the bread stalls. The bundles are thick and the tips are tight and the colour is that particular green that only lasts a few weeks. The market decides. And for the next two months, asparagus decides what's for dinner.
This soup is the simplest thing I know to do with a bunch of good spears. Butter, shallots, a potato for body, stock that you've quietly fortified with the woody ends. It cooks in less than half an hour and tastes like you've spent the afternoon on it. The cream goes in at the end, just enough to round the edges, not so much that it buries the asparagus under a blanket of dairy. A squeeze of lemon keeps everything honest.
I make this three or four times each season, and I write it down every time. The note never changes much. "Asparagus soup. First of the year. Kitchen smelled green." There are few better feelings than putting a warm bowl of this in front of someone on a cool May evening, the window cracked open and the garden just starting to wake up.
A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. If your asparagus is slender, it will cook faster. If it's fat and woody, trim it harder. Trust your nose. It knows before you do.
Quantity
500g
woody ends snapped off and reserved
Quantity
30g
Quantity
2
finely sliced
Quantity
1 small
peeled and diced
Quantity
700ml
Quantity
100ml
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a squeeze
Quantity
a few
reserved from the bunch, blanched
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| English asparaguswoody ends snapped off and reserved | 500g |
| unsalted butter | 30g |
| banana shallotsfinely sliced | 2 |
| potatopeeled and diced | 1 small |
| light chicken or vegetable stock | 700ml |
| double cream | 100ml |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| white pepper | to taste |
| lemon juice | a squeeze |
| asparagus tips (optional)reserved from the bunch, blanched | a few |
Hold each spear near the base and bend it gently. It will snap where the woodiness ends. You don't need a ruler for this. The asparagus knows. Keep the woody ends. Simmer them in the stock for fifteen minutes while you get on with the rest, then strain and discard them. It's a quiet trick that puts asparagus flavour into every layer of the soup. Cut the tender spears into rough pieces. Slice the tips off six or eight of the thinnest spears and set them aside.
Melt the butter in a heavy pan over a low heat. Add the shallots and a generous pinch of salt. Let them cook gently, stirring now and then, until they've gone soft and translucent with no colour at all. Five minutes, perhaps a little longer. You want sweetness from them, not caramel. If the butter starts to sizzle impatiently, turn the heat down. This isn't a race.
Add the diced potato and stir it through the buttery shallots. The potato is there for body, not flavour, so keep it small so it cooks quickly. Pour in the strained asparagus stock. Bring it to a gentle simmer and cook for ten minutes until the potato is tender. Add the chopped asparagus spears and cook for four to five minutes more, just until they turn a vivid, almost startling green and are tender to the point of a knife. No longer. Asparagus that simmers too long loses its colour and tastes like pond water.
Take the pan off the heat and blend until very smooth. A stick blender will do, but if you have a countertop blender this is the time for it. You want silk, not texture. Pass it through a fine sieve if you want perfection, pressing the pulp with the back of a ladle. I do this when I have the patience, which is about half the time. The soup should be a pale, clean green, the colour of early spring.
Return the soup to the pan over a low heat. Stir in the cream and warm it through gently. Don't let it boil or you'll dull that green. Season with salt, white pepper, and a small squeeze of lemon. The lemon is important. It lifts the asparagus and stops the cream from flattening everything. Taste it. Adjust. Taste again. Meanwhile, drop the reserved asparagus tips into a small pan of boiling salted water for two minutes, then drain. Ladle the soup into warm bowls, lay a few blanched tips across the surface, and bring it to the table.
1 serving (about 350g)
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