A Bowl of Delicious Soup is Always the Answer

After Paris, I was depressed. What to do? Make soup. Of course.

December in Paris was reviving, heady, gave me hope for a more normal/covid-free future. Being there, walking the streets, window shopping, visiting my favorite market and fromager each day: this delivered joy, so much joy.

In fact, at the small, modest, hotel where I was staying, the owner and I got into a conversation about the importance of joy. Another time, passing the reception desk on my way out the front door, the receptionist at that time--who was also the receptionist when I arrived--commented that visiting Paris had been very good for me. "Perhaps it has saved your life". It was impertanant and weird; it was also lovely, perceptive, and completely correct. I felt suddenly like I had a little family here looking out for my well-being. I mean: that they even noticed?

Paris was much less crowded than usual. It was easy to interact with people (masked and distanced that is). And, as you may have seen in my post about Paris (and the fromage, and my green handbag, and the huge bubble of joy that I seemed to be gliding on for a handful of weeks).

But then came Omicron. Getting home to UK was difficult, and frightening. Once I got back to Waterlooville, that was it. And even if all the restrictions are lifted (for business normality, not for safety), I don't feel safe at all. And that makes me sad and scared and hopeless about the future. Which, come on, its not sustaining. I tried, tried, so very hard, to reach out but to be honest, even I knew I was a pain to interact with. And the truth is that we are all trying to survive a traumatic time, any way we can.

---

I put away my green polkadot handbag, source of so much joy, for next time I'm able to leave our village. Then I started thinking: what would make me feel better? Swimming definitely would, but I don't feel Covid safe at the local pool, and even if I did, its so far away. A long long walk. And was it even open?

Gardening always lifts me, but its the middle of a freezing winter, and my pots of herbs are now inside. Its too cold to garden; nothing is quite ready to grow yet.

Cooking of course. But depression (we gotta call it what it is) was dulling my sense of wonderment in the kitchen. Nothing seemed quite exciting enough to prepare or taste, to lift my spirits. And as much as I'd love to kvetch at you all about how miserable it is to be back, I won't. Its not fair. You might be miserable too, and to be honest, we have only so much energy for ourselves, let alone for others. We have to put our own oxygen masks on first, then we can help our neighbor, everyone, anyone. So I don't want to exhaust you.

Also: you'll unsubscribe, and then you won't be around when I run all the recipes I so excitedly have in mind for you. And my stories too. There might be something useful, or entertaining that you'll miss. And you know that I want to tell you EVERYTHING. well, you know what I mean.

So I emailed my dear friend Kamala. She and I go way back, decades back. Along with our mutual friend, Sandy, who died several years ago, we were like three sisters, three slightly wacky, food and travel loving, cooking sisters. When I was working on a script treatment for a food television series, Kamala's little "extra bedroom" was my home away from home. It was, in fact, a shelf/couch tucked into her kitchen: under a wall of cookbooks. I would wake up in the morning, usually a beautiful Marin County morning, pet Kamalas kitties who were suddenly right there on top of me, sniff the air in my warm little kitchen shelf-home, open my eyes and there was Kamala, handing me the mug: "coffee, Mar?"

It was Kamala's birthday. I didn't have much to say because I have been so boring for the last 2 years (except for my weeks in Paris). But Kamala's words was perkey; her words were so heartfelt. "Its hard on all of us, Mar...a communal trauma...BUT I made your barley and yogurt soup and it was SO GOOD".

I suddenly felt better: yes, it is hard on us all. Yes, we all are getting through this as best we can. And most important, my recipe was able to lift Kamala's spirits. I felt so much better about my life at the moment of being so isolated and feeling like I was giving nothing to anyone around me (except for British husband and little Jack Russell).

And I had forgotten about this recipe. Published in From Pantry to Table ( Aris Press, Houghton and Mifflin, USA, 1994), a James Beard award nominee, it always seemed simple, wholesome, nothing special. Here Kamala was, telling me it was indeed special. And that it had lifted HER spirits. I was hugely touched; my heart felt full that I had given Kamala joy. Now she had given joy back to me. I went into my kitchen.

I assembled the ingredients: I had everything on hand. It is a healthy dish, a frugal dish, a warming dish: barley, yogurt, fresh herbs. I had to redo the recipe a bit--the original was cold, and its the middle of winter here in the UK so the soup needed to be hot. And I added a few new ingredients that I had fallen in love with over the years.

Was it good. Was it GOOD? It was delicious. And more than that, it reached my languishing spirit. British husband agreed; he of the meat and potatoes, fish and chips, rhubarb and custard , was spooning up this herby, whole grain (with a touch of lentil), yogurty soup, humming with joy at each mouthful.

The dish has roots: roots in Eastern Europe, in the middle east, in the Balkans. Wherever yogurt, herbs and grains are eaten together. Wherever I travelled through and found a flavor I loved, or whenever I met someone from somewhere that offered me a new taste combination. I added a few new ingredients to the mix; a Persian dried black lime, lightly crushed. And some Chinese Silk-Road seasoned cumin lamb dumplings; mine were homemade, but frozen storebought dumpling of any kind would be good: Chinese, Japanese, Korean, even Thai, or something of your own inspiration that you whipped up and stashed in your freezer for moments like this.

The Paris hotel guy was right: we need joy. Its not an optional ingredient. And Kamala was right: its a good time to be reminded of something so simple and special. And once again I am reminded that you never know where your next hit of joy is coming from. It might just be a bowl of rustic simple soup.

(We ate the leftovers for next day lunch; since the barley made the soup thicken overnight, I added more broth and yogurt to the mix. It was just as good--maybe even better).

I ran out of green onions, so used chives instead—you can see the little green oniony bits floating all over the bowlfuls.

Yogurt Barley Soup with Spinach, Dumplngs, and Fresh Herbs

Serves...6? or dinner for two, then seconds, then next day lunch for two

Takes maybe an hour, but a non demanding hour, this and that, here and there, and its easy.

1/2 cup (or several handfuls) raw pearl barley

4 cups water

3 tablespoons or so red lentils or yellow split peas; alternatively, you could use the sort of barley/legume mixture that is so together, instead of barley and lentils separately. That would be, in total, about 3/4 cup barley/legume mixture.

1 black lime, cut into three or so pieces or with several large holes cut into it with a sharp paring knife

1 stock cube/bouillon cube/or equivilant (optional: you could also cook the barley in broth instead of water and omit the bouillion cube).

1 smallish bunch spinach, coarsely chopped, or about half a package frozen

Frozen dumplings: allow about 3 per person; they may be vegetarian, or meat; homemade or storebought. I really liked the cumin-lamb ones I had made earlier

2 cups (or more) yogurt

1 tablespoon flour

Salt and pepper to taste

3-5 green onions, thinly sliced

Several tablespoons each, coarsely chopped: cilantro/coriander, fresh dill, a smaller amount of fresh tarragon (optional).

Several large pinches dried mint, crushed between your fingers and sprinkled into the soup

1 lemon, cut into wedges for squeezing

In a medium large saucepan, combine the water (or broth/stock if not using a bouillion cube), barley and lentils. Bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer for about 40 minutes. If using yellow split peas, allow an extra 10 minutes or so, or until tender.

Halfway through the cooking, add the dried black lime; it should be tender when the barley and lentils are tender, and it will have given a strong though lovely perfume to the pot. If you cooked the barley in water, now is the time to add the bouillion cube/equivilant.

When barley and lentils are just tender, add the frozen dumplings to the soup and lower heat to simmer.

Stir together the yogurt with the flour. Add a ladle of the simmering soup to the yogurt-flour mix and stir well, then add another ladle of the soup, stirring well.

Add this yogurt-flour-soup mix to the soup, and stir through. Cook about 5 minutes; he dumplings should be almost cooked through. Salt and pepper to taste.

Stir in the green onions, fresh herbs, and dried mint, and ladle into bowls, each garnished with a lemon wedge (or squeeze the lemon into each serving in the kitchen instead).