Soothing Soup

Since we bought this house, a former presbytery in a little French village, winter weekends have been some of my favourite times.

In summer, the diary can get quite packed with holidays, houseguests, and visits to friends and family. By the time the days start getting noticeably shorter in late September, I’m always ready for a spell of reclusive domesticity, until required to be sociable again for the Christmas season. Ed loves to spend the entire weekend in his library, and often doesn’t leave the house from Friday evening to Monday morning. Not quite sure what he does, really, but my suspicion is that reading about boats and vampires (not usually together) accounts for a good deal of the time.

Meanwhile, my time is divided between the garden and the kitchen. To me, gardens have a special charm in the autumn. I love pottering about the leaf-strewn beds doing a spot of pruning or tidying, or filling up the bird-feeders, and it’s a good way to get a bit of fresh air without being too far from the fireplace if the damp chill gets too uncomfortable. This year I’ve been preparing a steep bank for planting with some ground-cover plants. I’ve managed to produce quite a few from cuttings, which will make it all the more satisfying – if they survive, that is.

I have just finished sweeping up the dead leaves, which have been packed into the newly-constructed “silo” (posh word for 4 bamboo canes and a bit of chickenwire) and heaped up round the roots of the young shrubs to keep the worst of the frost at bay. The construction of the leaf-mold silo was moderately entertaining in itself. Le Patron prodded at the ground with a cane in what I can only describe as a seriously girly fashion, provoking one of those “oh, for heaven’s sake, let me do it” moments we know so well. When it came to cutting the roll of chicken wire, he decided my secateurs were not the appropriate implement and strode off to the garage in search of something more industrial. My legendary patience struck again here, I’m afraid, and by the time he came back, wielding giant bolt cutters, I’d almost finished.

Pretty, but sadly not edible

All this outdoor activity makes for a healthy appetite (although Ed finds he can conjure one up without it). That’s another thing I like about the onset of autumn: the change from fresh and light summer food to the warming calories and comforting steamy aromas of winter. Weekend lunches assume a greater importance in the cold weather. A few bits of prosciutto and a bowl of salad will no longer suffice: It’s soup time!

French onion soup, a great luxury with its crusty croutons laden with gruyere; Scotch broth, with home-made lamb stock and soft pearl barley; many variations on the theme of minestrone…  The list goes on, but my personal favourite is pumpkin soup (yes, I know, MORE pumpkin, but it is the season, after all). The recipes I’ve tried include all sorts of extra ingredients such as pork belly, potato, various sorts of cheese and cream, but over the years I have ruthlessly eliminated almost all of these intruders, leaving a velvety, aromatic velouté that tastes of, well, pumpkin.

Pumpkin Soup

serves 4

ingredients

1 kg wedge of pumpkin, weight including skin but not seeds

olive oil

sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper

1 med onion, chopped

1 litre good vegetable stock

¼ tsp freshly-grated nutmeg

1 bay leaf

preparation

• Heat the oven to 220°C. Cut the pumpkin into chunks. Place in a roasting dish, brush lightly with olive oil and sprinkle with sea salt. Roast until soft and browning at the edges – 30 to 40 minutes.
• Heat 2 tbsp olive oil in a deep pan and fry the onion gently for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until starting to caramelize.
• Add the stock, scraping the bottom of the pan, and bring to a simmer.
• Allow the pumpkin to cool, remove the skin and cut the flesh into chunks. Add to the stock, together with the nutmeg, and bay leaf. Add a little pepper, but no more salt yet.
• Simmer for 15 minutes. Remove the bay leaf and blend the soup until very smooth. Check the seasoning, and add a little hot water if the soup is too thick.

I think all this needs is a chunk of fresh bread (preferably white, dare I say it), but it looks prettier garnished with a few herbs or a dollop of yoghurt.

It also freezes very well.