Leaf Soup
Sunday, June 20, 2010
I missed my grandma today.
It actually started this past Thursday. I've been reading lots of Michael Pollan lately in addition to hanging out with Mennonites and reading Simply in Season like a novel. Plus, I always turn into a rabbit in springtime, and find myself craving anything leafy and green.
So I've been trying to eat more locally. Unfortunately, by the time I started thinking about all of this, all of the CSAs I could find were full.
(Laziness, thy name is Peitricia Mae. Although, it is difficult to think about summertime fruits and veggies when there is still snow on the ground.)
Undeterred, I said to myself, Self, you have no excuse. Every Thursday in summer there's a farmer's market right on the street that runs alongside your workplace. For the past two years, you have passed all of these produce stands and all you have bought is the odd bunch of basil or mint or your weekly bouquet of wildflowers.
You have yet to take advantage of the fact that local farmers are bringing their wares literally to your door. Nevermind that Thursday night is grocery night, so essentially you are choosing to not purchase your lettuce from the farm-next-door and instead heading out mere hours later to purchase inferior versions of the same products that have been shipped in refrigerated trailers from California.
And so, self chastened, I've come home bearing bagsful of the most lovely garden treats. Strawberries (picked this morning!). Snap peas (they taste like the garden!). Eggs (hand-gathered by the lady who took my money). Spinach (totally food of the gods!).
This week I found new potatoes, beets, dill, and green onions on top of it all. And all you Mennos know what that means - sommer borscht.
Mmmm. I made it tonight and it was soooo good. And, like all food worth its salt, it reminded me of times past. My mom used to make it. We called it "leaf soup" and begged for as much of the green stuff as we could get. My grandmas both made it, each making it a bit differently - my Grandma E with ham as often as not, and my Grandma Peitasch with her farmer sausage in such tiny bits it was almost ground.
But what it really made me remember was Grandma Peitasch's "packets." Every year, she would take a mountain of greens, dill, and green onions from her garden and individually wrap them into small cylinders. She sold them for something like 25 cents, and they went like hotcakes at her garage sales.
I always had a few in my freezer. When I got married, I knew how to cook pretty much nothing. We lived on Noodles and Sauce, tater tots, and sommer borscht (two pre-made packets per pot). Whenever I got invited to a potluck, I brought sommer borscht because it was the only thing I could make.
(Oh yes - I'm probably the only person to bring soup to a day out at the cabin.)
And every time I made it, I thought of my grandma. Including today, when I'm long past the "packet in my freezer" stage and moving swiftly to the "I found these at the farmer's market and holy smokes I'll bet this would make the most amazing soup" stage.
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