Irish Vegetable Soup

irish soup

There are experiences that move you. There are moments when you know. There are times when you take a leap and jump into the wide unknown beyond, certain you will be forever changed. On a particularly sodden and blustery day in the late winter of 2008, I knew. I was flying through the streets towards home from school on my bike, soaking wet, and mad at the never-ending Oregon rain. I slammed into our house, made straight for the fireplace where my roommate was curled up reading, threw down my bag, and proclaimed, “I am going to Ireland.”

And I did. Twice. Confidently. Decisively. Never-faltering in my belief that I just needed to be there. Experiencing.

Often, in the tiny spaces in between all the moments that make up each day, I catch myself. I look back at a fragment of time when the whole world was laid out and I knew my course. I knew how to make what I wanted happen, and the making it so came effortlessly.

There are only a handful of moments that I have experienced the kind of certainty I felt then. All the other days, I will myself to know which direction, which passion, which experience. Which one is the one?

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I often feel that our lives are meant to be permanately hazy in the living. Some days are fogged in. Other days the sun comes out, there is a clear way forward, and it becomes spring again in our souls.

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I am beginning to accept this nature of things; I am beginning too, to accept myself in the unknowing. After all, in both certainty and indecision, there is much beauty, and that, I think, should be lingered upon and celebrated.

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Irish Vegetable Soup
Recipe Updated: 3/2023
 
This simple pureed vegetable soup is a comfort I seek in the harried moments when I crave simplicity. It is one of the meals I ate repeatedly in Ireland. It is ever on the menu at both small, quick cafes  or pubs, and nicer restaurants, always served with a slice or two of brown bread. It fills and warms you up, and can contain whatever sorts of vegetables you have on hand. This recipe makes a large batch, enough for 5-7 servings.  meals.
 
small handful of dried porcini mushrooms
small handful of parsley, roughly chopped
4-5 sprigs fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
3/4 cup gluten-free quick oats
2 Tbs. olive oil
3 medium leeks, white and light parts, sliced
1 medium onion, chopped
1-2 carrots, peeled and sliced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 tsp. tamari
salt and pepper, to taste
6 cups of water
1 clove garlic, minced
1  pound yellow potatoes, diced 
2 medium turnips, peeled and diced
2 cups green cabbage, diced
1 tsp. apple cider vinegar
 
  1. Grind the porcini mushrooms in a spice grinder. Measure out 2 teaspoons of the resulting powder. Save the rest for another batch of soup.
  2. Toast the oats in a small pan over medium heat, stirring frequently, until fragrant and they become golden. Transfer them to a bowl to cool.
  3. In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add leeks, onion, carrots, celery, 1/3 cup water, tamari, and 1 tsp. salt. Cook this mixture, stirring it occasionally, until the liquid has evaporated and the onion and celery have softened a bit. You may need to add a little water in this process.
  4. Stir in the ground mushrooms and oats. Add the water, herbs, and garlic. Increase the heat and bring the mixture to a boil. Then reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for about 20 minutes.
  5. Add the potatoes, turnips, and cabbage. Return the mixture to a simmer and cook an additional 20 minutes, or until the potatoes and turnips are soft.
  6. Stir in the vinegar and season to taste with additional salt and pepper. Turn off the heat, and let cool slightly.
  7. If you’d like a completely smooth and creamy soup, puree it in a blender, working in batches. Or puree half and leave the other half chunky.
  8.  This is delicious, but necessary, with a good hearty bread.
  9. Notes:  Other Irish Recipes that might be included in your St. Patrick’s Day Festivities include Brown Soda Bread, Shepherd’s Pie, or Hearty Winter Curry Pie. Sláinte!
 
 

Rhubarb Granola & Vanilla-Orange Rhubarb Sauce

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I did not grow up in a family of cooks.  My favorite cooking memory with my grandma involved making pumpkin pie with the recipe from the back of the Libby’s can.  She advised me to cut the spices in half.  When I didn’t, she told me it was the best pumpkin pie she’d ever had and wondered what magical thing I had done.

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My mom, bless her, taught me how to cook and then promptly let me loose in the kitchen to continue making years of dinner onward, up until I moved away.  Whenever I’m home for a visit, the status quo is accepted without question.  Perhaps out of survival, or because I’m an odd duck in this family of ranchers, I’ve been fascinated with food since before I was taught how to use a measuring cup.  Knife skills were a self-educating adventure, and only when I come home am I reminded that I had no idea what I’d been missing out on all those years.

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Sharp knives have never had a place in my mom’s kitchen.  I ventured to stock her kitchen with one or two nice knives a few years back, though they’ve not been sharpened since.  The rest of the knife drawer includes a random collection that couldn’t have cost more than five bucks a piece.  Now that I know the wonders of a good knife, I shudder at slicing and dicing in my mother’s kitchen.

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I am home with my parents and W for a few days, in between life ventures and to help celebrate my sister’s wedding.  As much as I complain and paint an unfortunate picture, I love being home.  I get to wake up to noise from family afoot.  I get to sit in a sunny yellow room with windows on every wall, opening to a ranch scene of cows and pasture and rail fence and my favorite old barn, the one that is leaning a fair bit.  I get to drink my tea in this room and enjoy breakfast with others.  I can sit out on the front porch in the Adirondack chair and watch the day go by (more of the same scenery).  I can do the same on the back patio.  My favorite running route begins at this farmhouse.  My old 4-H horse will run my direction for a rub when I call her from the edge of the pasture.  I can bake sweets every day, knowing they won’t go to waste and I can start again with something new the next.  I can be as adventurous as I like because if it has sugar in it, my dad will eat it.  I can wander to the garden, and harvest what I want to eat.

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My mother is an avid gardener, and there is always fresh produce in this season.  Perhaps in part because I steal rhubarb every time I visit in the spring, my mom planted several more plants.  She is a veritable rhubarb farmer now, as there is an excess that only someone who loves to spend time in the kitchen can begin to use up.  That’s what I’m here for.  Chopping thick stalks of rhubarb with a dull knife.  Making rhubarb sauce and rhubarb granola.

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There is nothing I love more than rhubarb and oats.  Except perhaps the rhubarb yogurt pairing found in Ireland.  Make sauce with honey and orange and vanilla.  I’ve been making it all spring and dishing it up atop anything and everything.  I like my sauce a touch on the tart side, but add as much honey as you like.  The sauce is perfectly poised to take part in this lovely crunchy, chunky granola, which come to think of it, I may or may not share, because my dad, who also loves rhubarb, will have gone before I can blink!

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Vanilla-Orange Rhubarb Sauce
a pot full of rhubarb, cleaned and chopped (approximately 8 big stalks)
1 Tbs. pure vanilla extract (or a vanilla bean if one can be sourced)
zest from one whole orange
3-4 Tbs. raw honey (or to taste)
 

Chop rhubarb and throw in a large pot.  Add honey, orange zest, vanilla, and a touch of water for moisture. Bring to a low boil, and then simmer until the rhubarb has cooked down until thick and creamy. Take off the heat and let cool.

 
Rhubarb Granola
3 cups old-fashioned oats
1 1/2 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup raw almonds, lightly toasted and chopped
1/2 cup raw Hazelnuts, lightly toasted and chopped
3 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
3 Tbs. raw honey
about 3/4 cup Rhubarb Sauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  In a sauté pan, lightly toast almonds and Hazelnuts and then take off heat to cool slightly.  Measure out three cups oats and pour into a mixing bowl.  Measure out vanilla, honey, oil and rhubarb sauce.  Mix until combined and then pour into oats.  Add toasted nuts and mix until combined.  Add more sauce as needed until the mixture is at the desired consistency.  Spoon into a baking sheet and bake for about 15-20 minutes, stirring half way through.

Carrot Orange Corn-Flour Waffles

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“The heart decides, and what it decides is all that really matters.” – Paulo Coelho

As a teenager, suffering through the angst of star-crossed infatuations, I ran. Though not a runner then, not adept at sports, without the proper shoes, I’d run the dirt paths behind the horse pasture, round the fields of corn and alfalfa, dodging animal tracks and farmers.  I’d often run away my worries, my frustrations, replacing them with a colorful imagination of the reality I wanted to exist.  In college, I learned from my phys ed prof, dubbed “Lance” by the farm boys in my class, that it takes five years to make a habit a lifestyle. Seven years later, I’m still running.  Running away my worries.  Running away my frustrations, gaining a better perspective, creating a new reality.

This last few months, running has been my guidebook.  Hours away from W for weeks at a time, too often feeling like an island of one, I’ve ran and made waffles.  And been humbled.  I have done things I didn’t think I could. I have stumbled and cried, been disrespected in small, countless ways, been left speechless. Hit roadblocks.  I have laughed uncontrollably.  I have pushed and stirred, over-analyzed, lost sleep, pulled a zillion gray hairs, and gone a bit mental.

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I’ve been encouraged and let down. Too often, of my own subconscious volition, I stood at the edge of a circle looking in. Wanting to both jump towards acceptance and run towards a calling I cannot explain.  Hours, weeks, months convincing myself to feel something that my heart long ago gave up.  Getting close to the end, I worry again.  I had a standard; did I uphold it?  Did I demand all that I should have?  Did I reach those that needed to be reached?  Was there real progress made?

At the end of the day when I’m less frustrated, when my run is complete, and those waffles have been devoured, I reach for a broader perspective.  In a tough position, I am making the most of it.  I could do more. But my heart has decided, and what it decides…is all that really matters.

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Carrot and Corn-Flour Waffles, adapted from Good to the Grain
Recipe Updated: 5/7/2012
Dry Mix:
3/4 cup corn flour or finely milled cornmeal
3/4 cup gf flour mix, or all-purpose flour
3 Tbs. ground flaxseed
1 1/2 Tbs. brown sugar
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/4 tsp. salt
Wet Mix:
1/2 cup + 2 Tbs. (10 oz.) carrot juice, plus more if needed
1/2 cup + 2 Tbs. (10 oz.) orange juice, plus more if needed
1 1/2 Tbs. olive oil
zest of half an orange
1 egg
  • Turn the waffle iron on medium-high.  Adjust as needed as cooking progresses.
  • Sift the dry ingredients together in large bowl.  Set aside.
  • Whisk the wet ingredients together in a small bowl.  Pour the wet mixture into the dry mixture.
  • Brush the waffle iron with additional oil, as needed. Ladle out the batter and cook until fluffy and done.
  • If available, top with freshly picked strawberries and yogurt, and savor over a cozy spring meal.