How could this velvet bowl hate the camera? And what’s with those bits? Like lucky ocean gems at the table, up close they just look squidly, or naughty, or like a cook’s lost thumb. That’s already more words than I wanted on this soup, which seems destined to stay vivid in memory but die on film. What does this color suggest to you? Tell me all about it – in ten words.

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Oh, bisque.

In person, so lovely

On film, Lobster-Bismol.

We were back in Chicago two weeks ago to dedicate dad’s headstone, and after the service at mom’s we hosted another group, smaller this time, and another identical tray: corned beef, rye bread and pickles, kaiser rolls, cookies and cakes. The kind of spread he loved but we were eating, there in now-just-my-mother’s kitchen, and though we had plenty to feed the crowd I still considered pulling the big red pot from her cabinet and stirring some onion soup. That’s what I see; to another cook full of memories but free of that one, it will be just good soup, but doesn’t that bear repeating? Living with what we have, moving forward, happy to slurp just good soup.

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From December 18, 2008. Original post and comments here

When a person is down – in general, in trouble, or in mourning – friends often say things like “take care of yourself,” and by all means I agree, take care. But how? Some friends say this in summary, a tag line at the door. Wearing winter coats and tying on scarves, they hold you by the arms and look you in the eye. Take care of yourself. Some mean please don’t fall off the edge, others mean stop taking care of others, and the most well-meaning and practical wish you to actually take care of yourself. Physically. As in eat carrots, get sleep, drink more tea.

Good advice, and like most healthy ideas, easier said than done. The unfortunate eating started before my father was even gone, first in a hospital at 3 am, where a meal of M & M’s does not seem like a bad thing. My mom had asked me to find her a Hershey bar – so I wandered noiseless halls for a vending machine, which I found, but without Hershey bars. I studied the candy through the glass – B6, C8, D4 – to decide what substitute would be best. Three Musketeers wasn’t right, Twix too fussy, and Snickers – a bit heavy before sunrise. M & M’s might last us all night, while we watched Dad sleep and snow fall through the dark, one chocolate bite at a time.

By the next evening people filled my mother’s living room, bearing crumb cake and cookies and eager, oversized pies. It was then that I made the ludicrous decision to eat no carbs in that house, no matter what chocolate, rye bread or Bundt cake was put on the counter. It is worth noting that I am generally one with the carbs, and most days I require lots of Saltines, and brown sugar, and oatmeal. But here I was sure that without structure, I’d mindlessly eat through the days and in a week, the fog would lift and I’d regret it. No, I would not comfort myself with the good stuff, and under that dazed plan I found I didn’t even mind the parade of cousins and friends plowing through said good stuff. Annoyed at being shooed out of the kitchen – take care of yourself, don’t do anything! – I contented myself with a pile of breadless corned beef, salty black olives, and sliced cheese.

A few days later we were driving home, and just above the sadness I sensed a small triumph – I had not given in. No cookies, brownies or bread had passed my lips. Aha! Grief meant losing, but not losing control. I stared at winter roads for hours, thinking I miss Dad already. But I will not have to buy new jeans.

Back home, I quickly succumbed to baguettes, then bagel chips, and then biscotti, all brought by friends – until eventually I found myself standing in the kitchen on the phone, nibbling idly at a friend’s turtle brownies while my mother recounted her meeting with the bank. You can make a pretty good dent in a 9 x 13 brownie pan when you’re on the phone, believe you me. This would not do.

I opened the fridge and realized it was empty. Kind friends had delivered all sorts of temptations, but it held no real supplies. A quick trip to the store felt good and routine; filling the shelves felt even better. By the time I was melting butter I knew the answer, and it had nothing to do with jeans. Rules and sadness don’t mix, and being stuffed and served by well-meaning friends, no matter how well, is only part of what you need. In my kitchen, alone with a soft black dog and a blue pot of onions, I could think, and cry, and laugh and dab my eyes over soup. That is doing whatever you need to do, and taking very good care of oneself.

French Onion Cider Soup

2 small onions, thinly sliced
1 Golden Delicious apple – peeled, cored and diced fine
1-2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon flour
16 oz apple cider
1 quart (32 oz) chicken broth
1/2 cup white wine
salt & white pepper
nutmeg

crusty bread
sliced Gruyere (or other Swiss cheese)

In a large pot, melt the butter over medium-low heat and add the onions and diced apples. Stir briefly to combine, then cover to let ingredients steam, about 5-7 minutes, checking and stirring occasionally. Remove cover and stir mixture frequently, until onions are deep golden brown and apples soften completely, almost disappearing.

When mixture is a deep golden brown (bottom of pan will also have browning) turn heat to low, then add flour and 1/2 cup of the apple cider, stirring constantly to form a sticky, combined mixture.

Add chicken broth, white wine and remaining apple cider to the pot, deglazing browned pan and stirring onion-apple mixture into broth. When onions have broken up into the broth, partially cover soup and simmer on low for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown, slightly reduced and thickened. Season with salt, white pepper and nutmeg to taste.

To serve:

Preheat broiler. Place oven-safe soup bowls (2-4, depending on portion size) on a rimmed sheet pan.

Place thick chunks of crusty bread (toasted is even better) in bottom of oven-safe soup bowls. Ladle warm soup over bread to almost, but not quite, fill the bowl. Top with slices of Gruyere cheese, allowing a slight overhang. Slide pan with soup bowls under hot broiler to melt cheese. Watch carefully – cheese will frequently melt, brown and bubble in less than a minute. Remove carefully from oven, and serve.

Soup (minus bread and cheese) serves 2-4 and keeps, refrigerated, for several days.*

* this is a good soup to make ahead, as flavor only deepens the next day. Re-warm soup before assembling the bread and cheese bowls, then ladle and serve as directed.

French Onion Cider Soup

2 small onions, thinly sliced
1 Golden Delicious apple – peeled, cored and diced fine
1-2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon flour
16 oz apple cider
1 quart (32 oz) chicken broth
1/2 cup white wine
salt & white pepper
nutmeg

crusty bread
sliced Gruyere (or other Swiss cheese)

In a large pot, melt the butter over medium-low heat and add the onions and diced apples.  Stir briefly to combine, then cover to let ingredients steam, about 5-7 minutes, checking and stirring occasionally.  Remove cover and stir mixture frequently, until onions are deep golden brown and apples soften completely, almost disappearing.

When mixture is a deep golden brown (bottom of pan will also have browning) turn heat to low, then add flour and 1/2 cup of the apple cider, stirring constantly to form a sticky, combined mixture.

Add chicken broth, white wine and remaining apple cider to the pot, deglazing browned pan and stirring onion-apple mixture into broth.  When onions have broken up into the broth, partially cover soup and simmer on low for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown, slightly reduced and thickened.  Season with salt, white pepper and nutmeg to taste.

To serve:

Preheat broiler. Place oven-safe soup bowls (2-4, depending on portion size) on a rimmed sheet pan.

Place thick chunks of crusty bread (toasted is even better) in bottom of oven-safe soup bowls.  Ladle warm soup over bread to almost, but not quite, fill the bowl.  Top with slices of Gruyere cheese, allowing a slight overhang.  Slide pan with soup bowls under hot broiler to melt cheese.  Watch carefully – cheese will frequently melt, brown and bubble in less than a minute.  Remove carefully from oven, and serve.

Soup (minus bread and cheese) serves 2-4 and keeps, refrigerated, for several days.*

* this is a good soup to make ahead, as flavor only deepens the next day.  Re-warm soup before assembling the bread and cheese bowls, then ladle and serve as directed.

When the first slaps – funeral day, stricken friends, tired eyes – have passed, then comes the harder work of going forward. Some people eat; I cook first, then feed, then eat. That steamy soup? Just right. We’ll make it together in a few days, but first, another look at the character that was my Dad – an onion-soup-bread-dipper if there ever was one. In your kind condolences, many of you asked me to share the eulogy I read at his service, so I am printing it here. And from the bottom of my soup-spooning heart, thanks again for your love and support.

Dad with Josie at Bern’s Steak House, Tampa, Fla. in June 2007 – many steaks, much bearnaise, and one big Shirley Temple.

Read on Dec. 7, 2008

If you knew my Dad, you probably know that he didn’t do anything halfway – as in, he did not have a casual relationship with accounting.  He took eating, movies and loving his family very seriously, and with him, it was all the way or nothing.  Whatever he did he wished to do well, and in turn he was always amazed by what other people could do – break Olympic records, win an Oscar, make a triple play.  He didn’t think he lived a big life, but in fact he lived quite a life, and I’d like to discuss that – I’d like to share a few things that you may or may not know about what my Dad could and could not do.

* He could not dance – he always forgot to move his lower half – but he could imitate Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing, which embarrassed us but entertained our friends.  All of our friends, from grade school to college, loved to hang around the family room at 3211 Wilmette Avenue, just to chat with Murray.

* He could not ride a horse but he could draw a horse, and this odd, single artistic skill made him proud.  He was an Albany Park kid who didn’t know a saddle from a hoof, but he drew perfect forelegs, manes and tails on napkins, on post-its, and sometimes, on ledger paper.

* He could not bat like his hero, Ernie Banks, but he could bowl a fiercely perfect strike, as he and my brother often did at father-and-son tournaments.  I couldn’t bowl to save my life and just watched – but it was at those tournaments that they both taught me how to keep score.

* He could not sing – we actually begged him not to sing – but he liked to tell us how as a lovestruck young man, he’d walk past my mom’s apartment building at night and sing up to the windows, a song from My Fair Lady, “On The Street Where You Live.”

* He could not cook – he couldn’t even butter toast – but he could find any Italian hole-in the-wall, sniff out the best pot-stickers and always, always tell you about the best thing on the menu.

* He could argue with his late business partner, Leonard, for hours, but if my sister said she felt like eating bratwursts – in Wisconsin – he’d say, “okay.  Let’s go for a ride.”

* he couldn’t find his socks, but could spot an error in any tax return
* he couldn’t frost a cake, but remembered the birthday of everyone he’d ever known.
* he couldn’t pick out a shirt, but he could choose a dinner place – while still eating breakfast.

* He could not do tumbling – the only class he ever failed – but he could swing a grandchild high up in the air.  He could squeeze them and throw them over his shoulder and play on the floor.  Becoming Papa to Josie, Elliott, Jennifer and Garrett made him someone different.  It made him flexible.

He was like a rock in more ways than one – he could be cautious, questioning and stubborn, but he could adapt, and when he was asked to, more than once, he did.  He had so many sides, some of them surprising – he was a big guy who was all tender heart, a man who cried at our weddings and bear-hugged our kids.  He was generous, loyal, in some situations helpless and in others supremely competent. But even with all those shades, nobody would ever call dad a free spirit.  He didn’t think of himself as a righteous man but as a responsible man, moving through life, working hard at family, working hard at working, working hard to be a good friend. What he had the most of was heart, a great big heart, and all he ever really wanted was to tell stories, and share laughs and have a good time, and for everybody else to have a good time, no matter what.

My dad, Murray Joel Pollack, was both a character and a man of character.  He had a special appetite for life, and I know that at one time or another, it touched each and every one of your lives, as it did each and every day of mine.  I think that’s how he’d like to be remembered, and as I hear the outpouring around me of love for my Dad, it’s easy to say that he will.   Of course he did my tax return for me all my life, and if he did yours, too, you’ll know that when your return arrives in the mail you receive a cover letter on Reicin Pollack stationery, all business, and signed Murray J Pollack, CPA. I must have been one of the lucky ones, because mine were always signed “Love, Dad.”

printable version

It’s really Arroz con Pollo, but the girl says “the soup is buena” – and I am so making that soup.

These are not my parents.

These are banana breads. Though sometimes – I think I am part banana bread.

Today, our visitors will make their way back to Chicagoland, where they will most likely have even worse weather than we’ve enjoyed here. I really used to be a good hardy Chicagoan, and used to the idea that you have solid winter from November through oh, say, April. Not anymore.

Now I’m a cardigan-toting wuss who needs comforting baked goods.

We’ve actually had a true winter in Kansas this year.

So their five-day visit required a lot of banana bread.

And cooking.

And eating.

Celebrating of birthdays.

Breakfasting. Waffling. Buttering.

I know what you’re thinking. You are thinking, “um…are you a family of inhaling aardvarks?” or, “how can one family require so many meals?” or even possibly, “are your parents okay?”

Ah, but you don’t know my family. Yes, they’re okay – just full, and tired, and currently experiencing airport delays. They will have time to nap.

We now know the kitchen works as hard as it should. The guest room and towels and shower are now properly broken in. We’re ready for anything (including feeding an army).

Be our guest!