First things first: thank you so, so much for all of your amazing solo-eating suggestions, and cooking-for-one book suggestions! I’m overwhelmed by your comments and emails…and dinner ideas. Where to begin? Grilled cheese, pasta with bacon, scrambled eggs for dinner…Yes, please. The majority of the advice I’ve gotten from family, friends, and you all here is that time continues on whether you like it or not. It just does. And through that, things get easier. I’m trusting you on this one.
I just finished re-reading The Hours a few nights ago. Have you read it? I think Michael Cunningham captures the intricacies of character, relationships and moments really beautifully. Towards the end of the novel, I found myself rereading this passage over and over:
“We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep–it’s as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease, or if we’re fortunate, by time itself. There’s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.”
To me, this paragraph–in so few words–speaks to the human condition more than anything I’ve ever read. It’s hard. We lose friends and relationships and have difficulty finding our calling or our life’s passion. But then there are evenings when you look around the table at friends you haven’t seen for ten years and smile, or you bite into the perfectly crisp apple–or those mornings when a hot shower feels like a gift from the Gods. Those are the simple, ordinary moments that give us a gleam that hope is justified. So along with all of your fabulous meal suggestions, I’m going to seek out these moments like nothing else right now–the hours that give a glint (or a full on beam) of hope and light. And spring, sunshine in San Francisco, and asparagus in the markets helps, too. So onward, shall we?
It was a rather indulgent Easter week, so at the market yesterday I made a point to stock up on lots of kale, spinach, an unusually expensive artichoke (what the heck, Whole Foods?!) and some beautiful asparagus. At home, I consulted a new cookbook sent to me by the good folks at Southern Living for something interesting to do with the asparagus. The book is called Farmer’s Market Cookbook: a Fresh Look at Local Flavor, and it details seasonal, ingredient, market-driven recipes. I turned to the spring chapter and was struck by the simplicity of this soup: asparagus, broth, onion, lemon, thyme, milk, a little butter and sour cream. Spring in a bowl. I think you’ll like it.
Only make this soup when you can find really fresh, tender asparagus–nothing good about stringy asparagus soup. I adapted this recipe to make it lighter and wholly vegetarian, and added a bit more flavor with garlic, more lemon, and a dash of black pepper.
Adapted from: Southern Living Farmer’s Market Cookbook
Snap off and discard tough ends of asparagus. Cut asparagus into 2-inch pieces. Combine asparagus with broth, onion, garlic, and 1/2 tsp. thyme in a large saucepan over medium-high heat; bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer 10 minutes. Process asparagus mixture in batches using an immersion blender or food processor until smooth. Return to pan.
Whisk flour and milk together in a small bowl until smooth. Add slowly to asparagus mixture, whisking until blended. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Reduce heat and simmer, continuing to stir for another five minutes. Remove from heat; stir in butter, salt, 1/4 tsp. lemon zest, and remaining 1/4 tsp. thyme.
Combine sour cream, lemon juice, and remaining 1/4 tsp. lemon zest. Top each serving with about 2 tsp. of sour cream mixture. Garnish with thyme sprig.