
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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Ripe tomatoes roasted with garlic until sweet and blistered, then blended into a soup that tastes the way late August smells when the kitchen window is open and the evening is still warm.
The tomatoes at the market last Saturday were the kind that make you rearrange your week. Deep red, a little misshapen, warm from the crate, and they smelled like tomatoes actually should, which is to say they smelled like summer doing exactly what it's supposed to do. I bought a kilo without thinking and carried them home in a paper bag.
This is a late summer soup. It doesn't work in January, not really, no matter what the supermarket tells you. A tomato that has ripened in the sun has a sweetness and an acidity that a glass-grown one simply hasn't earned. Wait for the right tomatoes. The soup will be worth the patience.
The method is close to nothing. Halve them, lay them on a tray with garlic and oil, and let the oven do the thinking. Forty minutes later the kitchen smells roasted and sweet, the tomatoes have collapsed into something sticky and concentrated, and you're most of the way to a bowl of soup that tastes like you tried much harder than you did. Stock, a quick blend, some basil. We're only making dinner.
I wrote it down in the notebook last August: "Tomato soup. Roasted. Best of the year. Bread. Open window." Some meals don't need more description than that.
Quantity
1kg
halved
Quantity
1 whole head
cloves separated, unpeeled
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
1 medium
roughly chopped
Quantity
generous pinch
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
small handful
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a swirl
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| ripe tomatoeshalved | 1kg |
| garliccloves separated, unpeeled | 1 whole head |
| good olive oil | 3 tablespoons |
| onionroughly chopped | 1 medium |
| caster sugar | generous pinch |
| vegetable or chicken stock | 500ml |
| fresh basil leaves | small handful |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| double cream (optional) | a swirl |
| good bread | to serve |
Set the oven high, 200C/180C fan. Lay the tomato halves cut-side up on a large roasting tray. Tuck the garlic cloves, still in their skins, between them. Scatter the chopped onion around. Drizzle generously with olive oil, season with salt and pepper, and add the pinch of sugar. The sugar isn't sweetness. It's a nudge, coaxing out what the tomato already has. Put the tray in the oven and leave it alone for forty minutes or so, until the tomatoes have collapsed and blistered at the edges, their juices pooling and darkening in the tray. The kitchen will smell sweet and roasted and faintly smoky. That's when you know.
When the tray comes out, let it cool for a minute or two. Pick out the garlic cloves and squeeze them from their papery skins into the tray. They should be soft and golden and sweet, all the sharpness gone. Discard the skins. Everything else stays.
Scrape the whole lot into a saucepan: tomatoes, garlic, onion, every bit of the sticky, caramelised juice from the tray. That's where the flavour lives. Pour in the stock and bring it to a gentle simmer. Let it bubble quietly for five minutes, just long enough for everything to loosen and come together. Tear in most of the basil, keeping a few leaves back. Then blend until smooth. A stick blender in the pan is easiest and saves you the washing up. If you want it silky, pass it through a sieve. I rarely bother.
Taste the soup. Season it properly. More salt than you think, probably. A few grinds of pepper. If it tastes a bit sharp, another small pinch of sugar will round it off. Ladle into warm bowls. A swirl of cream if you like, though the soup is good without it. Tear the remaining basil leaves over the top. Serve with bread that's worth tearing. That's dinner.
1 serving (about 325g)
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