Split Pea Soup, Round And Whole And Filling

Medically reviewed by Christiana George Updated Date: June 8, 2023

Chris and I split a can of clam chowder the other day. You know, the readymade stuff. I’d forgotten how convenient it was to prepare. You just slap it into a pot and let it come to a boil, and then it’s ready. I’d also forgotten how much I liked it. I hope you’re not shaking your head, shuddering at all the preservatives and chemicals we consumed. Seriously, when you’re in the need for a quick soup fix, canned clam chowder always hits the spot.

And with that, soup season officially began.

After the clam chowder, I immediately found myself craving split pea soup, which I didn’t realize involved tossing a part of a pig into a pot to simmer alongside green split peas and other ingredients. There’s something elusively tantalizing about the smell of smoked meat—it feels round. Round and whole and filling. I think it strikes an instinctual cord in me, the part that huddles as close to a fire as possible until the flames practically lick my hands. No, maybe not that close. I’m a tiny bit afraid of fire.

This soup is a mishmash of legume and vegetables, too. You know what they do? They soften, and sort of melt. The immersion blender finishes the job. The result reminds me of baby food. Green pea puree or something along those lines. Soupy mush in that rare not-quite-yellow, not-quite-green color. Winsome description, I know. But the flavor! I’m not so sure a baby would be able to handle such a taste explosion; it would be too much to process.

I hope you make a huge pot of this soup on a chilly day. You might want to open a couple windows, you’ll be so warmed to the soul.

SPLIT PEA SOUP

Adapted from Bon Appétit

Serves 6

Ingredients:

2 Tbsp butter
1 medium onion
2 cloves garlic
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped peeled carrots
1-1/2 lbs. smoked pork hocks
2 tsp dried marjoram
1 tsp dried oregano
2 cups green split peas
6 cups water

Directions:

Melt butter in heavy large pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add onion, garlic, celery, and carrots. Sauté until vegetables begin to soften, about 8 minutes. Add pork, marjoram, and oregano; stir 1 minute. Add peas, then water, and bring to boil.

Reduce heat to medium-low. Partially cover pot; simmer soup until pork and vegetables are tender peas are falling apart, stirring often, about 1 hour and 10 minutes.

When ready, remove hocks. Using an immersion blender or regular blender (being careful not to overfill it), puree the soup. Cut pork off bones, dice it, and return to soup. Season with salt and pepper.

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Gin Thyme Lemonade

Beverages

Christiana George

Updated Date:
June 8, 2023

To understand my feelings about alcohol, I need to tell you a story.

One 4th of July when I was in college, I went to an Independence Day party thrown by a bunch of frat guy friends. There were hamburgers, there were hot dogs, there were chicken wings and other barbecue-ish food items. The only things missing were beer and dessert.

In the middle of the party, one of the guys made an announcement.

“They’re bringing the cake!” he said.

“The cake?!” I squealed. “Yes! All right! Awesome! That is great to hear!”

“No,” (he rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe he didn’t, but he probably did inwardly.) “the keg,” he corrected.

A cheer went up in the room. I felt crestfallen.

Chris finds this story oh-so-amusing, and to this day, makes fun of me for it. But you know what? I’m not ashamed to admit it: I’d choose cake over liquor any day. I’m just that kind of woman. (What kind of woman, you ask? The kind that dreams about petting dogs, no joke. Chris thinks I’m repressing something.)

That being said, you will notice that today’s post features a very awesome alcoholic beverage. With the amazing weather we’ve been having—and the fact that Chris and I celebrated our move-to-New-York anniversary recently (thanks for the comments, guys!)—it seemed that kind of day. The kick-off-your-shoes-and-expose-your-very-pale-feet kind of day.

And anyway, I’ve evolved. I actually enjoy alcohol now. Although I have to admit, I’m a girly drink type of person. I’ll have none of that neat-scotch, thanks, but give me something fruity, ideally something that masks much of the taste of the alcohol, and I am down. I mean, let’s face it, I’m presenting you spiked lemonade. It doesn’t get more gentle than that. But it’s good stuff, and the subtle hint of thyme makes it doubly lovely. And even though it’s kind of early in the season for lemonade, I can definitely see it making its debut at your first barbecue of the year. It’ll be a smash hit, I promise, just don’t serve it to the kiddies (or alternatively, don’t add the gin).

Another confession: I made this lemonade with Meyer lemons, so I suppose it’s really a gin thyme Meyer lemonade. I had a bunch lying around that were starting to shrivel, so I decided to juice them. (I’ve also been on a grapefruit juicing spree lately—Greyhounds!) I encourage you to try this drink with Meyer lemon juice sometime. Think extra floral notes!

Anyway, I’m starting to feel really red around my ears (the unfortunate side effect of being Asian I’m afraid), so I’m going to stop now and go finish my drink. Cheers, and have a great weekend everybody.

GIN THYME LEMONADE

Adapted from Martha Stewart
Serves 4 (makes about 8 cups)

Feel free to omit the alcohol.

Ingredients:

1-1/3 to 1-1/2 cups sugar (according to your sweetness preference)
5 cups cold water
1 small bunch of thyme (10 to 15 sprigs or so)
2 cups lemon juice
1 cup gin

Directions:

In a medium saucepan, bring the sugar, 1 cup of water, and thyme to a boil, and stir until the sugar melts completely. Turn off the stove and add the remaining 4 cups of water, lemon juice, and gin. Stir, then refrigerate. Serve cold, preferably with ice.