I never make the right amount of soup. Either I make so little that there are no leftovers, or I make so much that my fridge gets filled with mason jar after mason jar of the same damn stuff. I’ll have soup for lunch a couple times, but that hardly makes a dent. Soon, several pints of perfectly good soup have gone bad. Food has been wasted. Tragedy has struck.

But sometimes, like today, when I’m staring down a 5-day old supply of butternut squash soup,  I remember that soup can be an ingredient. Heck, an entire generation of housewives depended on cans of Campbell’s for making sauces and casseroles.

Creamy, puréed soups can be made into surprisingly good soufflés. But I think just about any soup can make awesome couscous. (Well, except maybe a noodle soup. Then you’ve got semolina-on-semolina action. It might be a little weird.)

Ingredients

• 1 pint (16 oz) soup
• 1 to 1 1/3 cups couscous or whole wheat couscous (use less if your soup is thick, more if it’s thin)
• salt, to taste
• pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, parmesan cheese, other tasty bits

1. Heat soup until it starts to boil. If it’s a cream soup, you don’t want it boiling long at all.
2. Kill the heat and add the couscous. Stir it in quickly just to even it out.
3. Cover tightly (the steam is what’s doing a lot of the work here) and leave for 5-10 minutes.
4. Uncover, fluff, and flavor. Unless your soup was overpoweringly salty, you’ll want to at least add more salt.

Eat the couscous as is, use it to make some sort of delicious couscous salad, or do what I do: drizzle on cream and eat it with a spoon.

I know how this looks. But trust me. It’s goddamn delicious.

Take a dark, non-hoppy beer, and top it with thick homemade whipped cream. I bet it’d be even better with a framboise.

J.K. Rowling may have said that she imagined butterbeer to taste “like less-sickly butterscotch,” but as far as I’m concerned this is what Harry chugged in The Three Broomsticks.

What goes with fava bean puree?

Omelettes. Manchego cheese. Pita bread.

Also, everything.

To make the yummy green paste that you can spread on just about anything:

Ingredients

• fava beans
• olive oil
• salt

1. Remove beans from pods.
2. Place beans in a pot and add enough water to cover. Bring to a boil.
3. Cook until skins burst open. Drain and cover with cold water to prevent overcooking.
4. Squeeze beans out of skins. They should slip out easily. Do it under cold running water to keep everything from getting too slimy.
5. Purée beans in a food processor. Add oil to reach desired consistency, and enough salt to make it taste great. You can add garlic or herbs too, but it’s easy to overpower the favas’ delicate flavor, so don’t go overboard.
6. Stash it in the fridge, and use it to smear on toast and sandwiches, stir into creamy sauces, fill omelettes or crêpes, make risotto…

My aunt and uncle gave me a bunch of tasty limes from their tree. Despite my best efforts to use them all up, one can only drink so many gin and tonics. Enter sherbet!

I’m happy with how this experiment turned out. The lime and honey flavors are nice and mild, so you can really taste the richness of the cream. It’d be great to serve alongside another delicately flavored dessert.

Ingredients

• juice of 2 limes (about ¼ cup)
• zest of 2 limes, grated or chopped very finely
• 1 tablespoon honey
• ¾ cup sugar
• 2 cups heavy cream
• 1¾ cup milk
• teensy pinch of salt

1. Mix that shit up.
2. Throw it in an ice cream churner.
3. Freeze.
4. Devour with pie or sugar cookies.

Tangy, savory, and just-spicy-enough, stroganoff is a great rainy-day comfort food. Every time I make seitan (there’s a good recipe here if you need it) I end up making stroganoff with the leftovers, and I think tonight’s iteration is the best yet.

Using good, hot paprika makes all the difference.

Ingredients

• ½ lb seitan, sliced into ¼-inch strips
• 1 T hot paprika
• 3 T vegetable oil
• ¼ lb mushrooms, thinly sliced
• 1 C broth
• 2 T sherry vinegar
• 4 oz cream cheese
• 1-3 T heavy cream
• salt, to taste
• ½ lb pasta, cooked

1. Toss the seitan in the paprika, so that each piece is coated.
2. Heat oil in a large skillet. Add seitan and sauté for a few minutes, until the first side is cooked. Flip and cook the other side.
3. Remove seitan from pan and add mushrooms. Cook until tender.
4. Remove mushrooms from pan. Add broth and vinegar, and bring to a simmer.
5. Turn off heat and add cream cheese. Stir to dissolve — it’s going to look weird and curdled for a few minutes, but it will eventually melt into the sauce.
6. Add cooked seitan and mushrooms, and heavy cream to pan. Add salt as needed, and serve over noodles. Top with more heavy cream if desired.

Is it cold and damp out? Are you wiped out? Need a drink? Something to make you feel alive again?

(Or: out of beer, and the only thing in your liquor cabinet is rum?)

It’s time for hot buttered rum. This is how I’ve been making mine since I had a great one at Smuggler’s Cove and threw out my previous recipe.

Ingredients

• ¼ C (also 4 T or 2 oz) rum that you rather like
• ½ t ground mulling spices (mine is a mix of ginger, cinnamon, and cloves)
• 1 t brown sugar
• ½ C boiling water
• up to 1 t butter

1. Combine rum, spices, sugar, and water or juice in a small mug, and stir until spices and sugar have dissolved.
2. Ask yourself how much butter you’re really willing to drink, and cut off a sliver of butter the appropriate size. Float the butter on top of the liquid (as in, just let it sit on top) for theatrical effect, or stir it in as it melts if you prefer to hide your gluttony.
3. Garnish with a wee sprinkle of spices. Throw in a cinnamon stick if you’re feeling festive.

Yesterday wasn’t exactly what most people would call an exciting day, but there were three events that I’m sure will change my life for good. They all happened in The Castro (which will forever be my favorite neighborhood in the city, despite my not being a gay man).

1.
Jamie showed me, and I then purchased, the teeniest circular knitting needles I’ve ever seen. I will never (EVER) have to break out a set of porcupine-like double pointed needles to knit a sweater again. Do you know how many sweaters projects I’ve abandoned just because I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sleeves? Never again.

2.
While Sam and I were looking for a place to eat lunch, we walked by Anchor Oyster Bar. I mentioned that after reading a very persuasive article on vegans eating oysters, I’d thought about trying them. His face lit up and he marched us into the restaurant.

I’ve never had oysters before, and aside from some occasional chicken broth, a small piece of fish, and exactly two bites of turkey, I haven’t eaten any animals since becoming a vegetarian eleven years ago. So oysters are sort of a big deal.

A big delicious deal. I had two of the little guys — the first one was on the house since I was an oyster virgin — and they were completely unlike what I expected. They weren’t rubbery or fishy, just flavorful and oh-so-delicate. Though I don’t think I could have much more than two in a single sitting.

3.
For lunch, I had a vegetarian chili cheeseburger at Harvey’s. It was less of a revelation than the oysters, but not by much.

You can’t possibly know how excited I am to have fresh turnips ready for harvest again! I wrote this recipe for a Green String newsletter last winter, but it’s so dang good I wanted to share it again.

This buttery, tasty dish will make a turnip-lover out of anyone. Serve with brown rice and steamed turnip greens for a healthy, satisfying meal. Serves 4

Ingredients

• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 4 medium turnips, quartered and sliced ¼-inch thick
• 1 teaspoon coarse salt
• ½ teaspoon high-quality paprika (try smoked)

1. Melt butter with olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat.
2. Add turnips, paprika, and salt, and stir to coat.
3. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until turnips are tender but not mushy (about 5-10 minutes).

When the cucumber glut and the tomato glut coincide, AND there’s a heat wave — it’s time to make gazpacho.

Makes enough for a small army

Ingredients

• 3 medium-large cucumbers, peeled and diced
• 6 pounds heirloom tomatoes
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• more salt than you think you need
• pepper, to taste
• 3 T white wine vinegar
• 9 T olive oil

1. Toss the diced cucumbers with salt and set to drain in a colander for 20 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, prepare the tomatoes: remove skins by blanching for 30 seconds to 1 minute, then place in cold water. Skins will rub off. Cut out dense core, and puree in food processor, blender, or food mill.
3. Rinse cucumbers and dry with towel or in small batches in a salad spinner.
4. Combine tomato, cucumber, garlic, salt, and pepper in a large bowl.
5. Whisk together oil and vinegar, and stir into the soup.
6. Chill for a couple hours in the fridge.

While I was chastising myself for having planted so dang many cucumbers, my aunt sent me this recipe. I’ve only made one batch so far, but we ate a whole a jar in the first day. Good thing we’ve got so many cucumbers.

Makes 12 pints

Ingredients

• thinly sliced cucumbers to pack 12 pint jars
• 1 bag ice
• ¾ C kosher salt
• 7½ C apple cider vinegar (I ran out, so it was 5 C cider vinegar and 2½ C white distilled vinegar — perfectly fine)
• 7½ C sugar
• 2¼ t turmeric
• 1 T whole mustard seed
• 1 T celery seed

1. Combine the sliced cucumbers, ice, and salt in a large container. Mix well and let stand for at least 3 hours. (This will give you crisp pickles!)
2. In a large pot, combine remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil and stir to dissolve sugar.
3. Drain, but do not rinse, the cucumbers. Distribute evenly between 12 pint jars.
4. Pour hot liquid into jars, allowing ½-inch headspace.
5. Process jars 10 minutes.