When I was in college I lived near the university, on a street I shared with crack dealers. The house had once been a single family home, but long before I moved in someone decided the early 1900s house should be split into apartments, with a large fenced community backyard. My apartment was just the thing one needed in college. I could walk five minutes to get to class. I could have friends spend the night on the Murphy bed hidden behind the closet. I could iron a shirt while I watched a pot of bubbling soup (the narrow board was housed in one of those tall cupboards in the kitchen).  And I could step out the back porch door carrying a pot or plate of something to share with my neighbors, who were all students too.

I started small projects like a little herb garden on the side of the house that got full sun. Never mind that an entire batch of gorgeous basil was ruined because I was talking on the phone, shoving all the lovely leaves into the Cuisinart, along with expensive olive oil, pine nuts, garlic, salt, pepper and very expensive Parmigiano Reggiano. The batch made a horrible grinding noise, nothing like the smooth whirr of perfectly blended ingredients. I hung up on whoever I was talking to and noticed something horrible. Something irreversible. The two cups of pine nuts I had dumped into the work bowl were not a creamy pale color. They were black! They had not been shelled! I cried a little bit. I put the contents of the now ruined batch of pesto into a Mason jar and left it in the fridge for months, unable to throw it out. Every time I opened the fridge I felt terrible until finally a friend who could not stand seeing “the jar” took it out to the trash. I have never gotten over this.

I tried to make a sourdough starter from “free roaming yeasts” found on the grapes which grew along the back fence. I discovered packaged yeast was more friendly. I learned to make hummous the real way, by soaking the little pale orbs called garbanzos in the fridge overnight. My neighbors would swoon when I left my front door open during a breakup baking session. Banana bread smells would waft upstairs to my neighbor Andrea’s apartment, where the sounds of her violin practice would wind their way into my kitchen.

Of all of the things I stirred and baked and chopped and canned those lean years, the thing I was most famous for was the most humble meal you can eat. Soup. I loved to make soup, and I loved to share soup. I loved to freeze soup for those long nights of 20-page paper writing. Andrea’s roommate Duke (viola) would often poke his head into my place to ask, “When are you making that tomato soup again?” Don’t get excited. This is not a story about my tomato soup. That is for another day. When it’s cold and snowy.

It’s summer. And that means corn. Super sweet, juicy, crunchy corn. To me seeing pale green piles of corn at the market means the days are long, the nights are balmy and the toes are showing, so pedicures are a must! Besides giving those tender cobs a quick bath in boiling salt water and slathering them with the most fattening butter known to man, Plugra, along with a good pinch of crunchy kosher salt, the best way to eat summer corn is in a soup.

The beautful thing is you probably have most of the ingredients just lying around, waiting to be consumed. Also this might be the least expensive soup you’ll make all year. So come on champ. Let’s get going!

 

Fresh Corn Off the Cob Soup

1 yellow onion, peeled and chopped

2 carrots, peeled and chopped

2 celery stalks, washed and chopped

1 red bell pepper, cored and chopped

4 small gold potatoes, chopped

8 ears of corn, husked, kernels removed

2 cups chicken stock (or veggie!)

1 pint heavy cream

Fresh herbs (I used basil, Italian parsley, 1 bay leaf and thyme)

Kosher salt and fresh black pepper

Cayenne to taste

Olive oil

In a heavy bottomed pot, start by melting about 4 tablespoons butter and 3 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add all of the chopped veggies with salt and pepper. Saute until they begin to brown, stirring every once in a while for about 10 minutes. Add the chicken stock and turn up the heat so the stock bubbles. This will cook the potatoes through. Add the bay leaf.

While the veggies are cooking take the corn off the cob using a sharp knife. Hold the cob vertically, resting the bottom on a cutting board, and slice down firmly. Turn the cob and keep going. When all of the kernels are off the cobs, add them to the pot. Saute another 5 minutes. Then add the cream and the herbs. Taste and season with salt and pepper. Add a bit of cayenne to your taste. I think I used about a quarter teaspoon. Heat until the cream starts to bubble. Taste again. I added the smallest bit of lemon zest, but Joe thinks it tastes great without the lemon. Serve right away.

Bonus points: If you happen to have some bacon lying around, crumble some on top. Or maybe crisp up some prosciutto and crumble that on top.

Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)