
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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Created by Chef Thomas
A one-pot soup where red lentils dissolve into a smoky ham broth without any help, thickening themselves into something that feels like it took all day but asked very little of you.
January rain on the window. The heating on. A smoked ham hough in the pan, doing its quiet, patient work of turning water into stock. This is the soup for that evening.
Scottish lentil soup is not a recipe so much as a principle: put a ham bone in water, add red lentils and whatever root vegetables are in the house, and wait. The lentils do the rest. They dissolve entirely, falling apart into the broth until the whole pot turns thick and velvety without anyone having to reach for a blender. The ham hough gives the salty, smoky backbone that holds everything together. It costs almost nothing and feeds a household for two days.
I first had this in a farmhouse kitchen in Perthshire, years ago now, stood at the range with a bowl in both hands because it was too cold to sit still. It tasted of smoke and warmth and someone paying attention. I wrote it down in the notebook that night: lentils, ham, turnip, rain. That was enough to bring it back every winter since.
A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. The vegetables are suggestions. Use what you have, what looked decent at the market, what needs using up. A parsnip instead of the turnip. A leek instead of the onion. The lentils and the hough are the constants. Everything else follows your kitchen, your evening, your appetite.
Quantity
1 (about 700g-1kg)
Quantity
250g
rinsed
Quantity
2 medium
roughly chopped
Quantity
3
peeled and diced
Quantity
2 sticks
sliced
Quantity
1 medium
peeled and diced
Quantity
2 medium
peeled and roughly chopped
Quantity
2
Quantity
a few sprigs
Quantity
1.5 litres
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
if needed
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| smoked ham hough | 1 (about 700g-1kg) |
| red lentilsrinsed | 250g |
| onionsroughly chopped | 2 medium |
| carrotspeeled and diced | 3 |
| celerysliced | 2 sticks |
| turnip (swede)peeled and diced | 1 medium |
| potatoespeeled and roughly chopped | 2 medium |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| thyme | a few sprigs |
| cold water | 1.5 litres |
| black pepper | to taste |
| fine sea salt | if needed |
| good bread | to serve |
Put the ham hough in your largest pan and cover it with the cold water. Bring it to a gentle simmer. A scum will rise to the surface in the first few minutes. Skim it off with a spoon and don't worry about it. This is just the protein doing what protein does. Once the broth is running clear, add the bay leaves and thyme, put a lid on slightly ajar, and let it tick away for forty-five minutes to an hour. The kitchen will start to smell of something good and salty and smoky. That's your stock building itself.
Lift the hough out onto a board and set it aside. Don't throw away the broth. That broth is the point. Add the onions, carrots, celery, turnip, and potatoes to the pot. Give it a stir, then tip in the rinsed lentils. Bring it back to a steady simmer. The lentils will start to break down almost immediately, which is exactly what you want. They'll thicken the soup from within, no blending needed.
While the soup simmers, deal with the hough. The meat should be soft enough to pull away from the bone with two forks. Shred it into rough pieces, discarding the skin, fat, and bone. Don't be too tidy about it. Some pieces bigger, some smaller. The bone and any trimmings can go back into the pot for the last twenty minutes if you like, then fished out before serving. Every bit of flavour counts.
Cook the soup for another thirty to forty minutes, stirring now and then to stop the lentils catching on the bottom. They stick when they thicken, and they thicken without warning. The soup is ready when the lentils have dissolved into the broth entirely and the carrots and turnip are soft but not collapsing. It should be thick, properly thick, the sort of soup that holds a wooden spoon upright for a second before it topples. If it's too thick, add a splash of water. If it's too thin, give it longer.
Stir the shredded ham back through the soup. Taste it. The hough will have given the broth plenty of salt, so check before you add any more. A good grind of black pepper. Fish out the bay leaves and thyme stalks. Ladle it into warm bowls, generous portions, and put bread on the table. The kind of bread that can take a bit of dunking.
1 serving (about 490g)
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