Year of the Lentil

By all accounts, and according to the Asian zodiac, 2008 was the year of the rat. In my private world, however, 2008 was the year of the lentil.

You heard me right: the year of the lentil.

Lentils helped me survive that long bleak winter last year, the one I now refer to as the dark night of the soul. It was unexpected. I’ve had a lukewarm relationship with lentils for most of my life—for ages I thought they tasted like dirt. Last year, however, any remaining hesitation vanished and lentils became my new best friend. I made a batch of lentil soup nearly every week, it’s earthy heft felt sustaining to me.



For many of those weeks my soup of choice was Heidi’s chunky lentil soup with kale and tomatoes, as good for you as it is delicious. I never got around to making the saffron yogurt she uses to top it, but I found that a poached egg makes a mighty satisfying topping as well, and not a bad off-night dinner.

But the soup I fell madly and totally in love with was a concoction I now call Pretty Pink Lentil Soup. It came to me via the Soup Swap, in an old yogurt container with a label made of duct tape, but do not let appearances deceive you. This is good stuff, far more sophisticated than first glance might lead one to believe.



The recipe came along with the soup, a Melissa Clark recipe from the New York Times. She writes that she was surprised by the sophistication of the soup as well, when she first had it at a party (served in tiny white espresso cups, no less—it’s that elegant a soup). She tweaked the recipe her friend gave her, and I have tweaked it further to my own tastes (more salt and lemon, keeps the lentils from tasting like dirt).

I even fed this to the niecelets last week and the older one—the one who tends towards pickiness and prefers chocolate, quiche, and croissants over any other food—loved it and asked for more. I was pleased. There’s a chance she’ll be smarter than her aunt and not wait thirty years to develop a relationship with the lentil.



Why am I telling you about this soup now, in March, when by all rights we should be getting ready to put away the soup pots in favor of lighter fare? Because this is a soup for the shoulder season—not one of the heavy, hearty stews of winter. It will warm you up, certainly, but it has a light touch—and with the lemon, cumin, and cilantro, it’s a frisky, flirty little thing. This is the soup for this time of year—when we are tired of root vegetables and longing for a return of cherry blossoms and short skirts and radishes and peas in the baskets at the farmers’ market (I can’t be the only one, can I?).

This soup is smooth and supple, a pretty orangey-pink hue, even. It’s a reminder that spring is indeed right around the corner.

I promise it is.



PRETTY PINK LENTIL SOUP
Adapted from Melissa Clark in the New York Times

Red lentils are sold split and hulled. This means they will cook quickly. This soup can be ready in under 45 minutes, with half of that time hands off. It can be made ahead, though it tends to get thicker as it chills and sits, so you may want to thin it out a bit with a little stock or water.

3 tbs. olive oil
1 large onion, chopped (2 cups, give or take a bit)
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 1/2 tbs. tomato paste
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 to 1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
3-4 cups quart chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup red lentils
1 large carrot, diced (at least 1 cup)
2-3 tbs lemon juice
chopped fresh cilantro and plain yogurt to top (optional)

In a medium sized pot, sauté onion and garlic in olive oil on medium high heat until golden, about five minutes.

Stir in tomato paste, cumin, black pepper and sauté another five minutes.

Add 3 cups broth if you prefer a chunky soup, 4 cups for a thinner version. Add lentils, carrot. Bring to low simmer and cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally until the lentils and carrot are soft (about 20-25 minutes).

Blend soup, using an immersion blender or in a countertop blender. You can choose to blend completely for a smooth and supple soup, or leave some texture if you’d like it a bit chunky. Both are good.

Add lemon juice. I like this soup quite lemony and use somewhere between 2 and 3 tbs. You may want to stop at 2 tbs.

Add salt. Depending on the salt content of your stock, you may want more or less salt. Start with 1/2 teaspoon and work your way to where you like it. I always use at least 1 tsp, sometimes more.

Serve topped with yogurt and chopped cilantro, if desired. It’s also delicious without any topping.