Like Mother’s Lentil Soup

We lived in a small mining community and, as with everything else in the 50’s and 60’s, food was simple and pretty plain. Shopping was done at the local parade during the week and on Saturday mornings in the nearest town. There were no supermarkets and no one ate exotic things such as garlic, sweet peppers or herbs. Spices were mixed, ground and went into Christmas cakes!

With all the limitations she had to face, my mother would try to buy the best quality local produce she could afford and cook it well. Years later, when I read Elizabeth David insisting that the first aim in cooking should be to “Faites Simple”, I thought about my mum. Building on the simple things, keeping the basics right and working with and not against the flavours is part of what I began to learn in my mother’s kitchen.

One of the best soups my mum made was lentil soup and I can remember exactly how she made it. I can see the whole thing and remember the smells, too. Of course, our food may have been simple and plain then, but nothing is ever that simple. For example, my dad claimed that he could not eat onions – raw or cooked in any way. He claimed he would suffer badly if he ever ate them. So my mother used to work very hard at disguising the onions she needed to make our food edible.

Her approach was simple but sound. The basic stock for her lentil soup required a ham shank bone, split by the butcher, a couple of carrots, peeled and roughly chopped and an onion, halved. The vegetables were started in a little butter, then the bone was added and the whole thing was covered with water. This was boiled and regularly skimmed while my dad was out at work. She would remove the onion from the finished stock before he came home and I have fond memories of him in the kitchen, sitting in front of a deep plate filled with the ham bone, steam rising from the ivory and pink in a small lake of stock and softened carrots dusted with pepper. He would mop up the liquor with bread and pick off the boiled remains of the ham while telling my mum about his shift at the pit. If I was lucky, I would get the chance to pick some hot remnants from the bone, too.

Next day, with my dad safely away my mum would chop an onion and three carrots very finely and fry them in some butter until soft whilst she washed and picked over the pink lentils in a large wire sieve. She would add these to the onions and then stir them together with a bit of pepper before adding the ham stock. After simmering for an hour she would let the broth cool and gradually put the whole soup through the fine wire sieve, pushing it into a large bowl using a wooden spoon. I remember the feel as you rubbed it through, the smell of hammy soup and the act of scraping the pulp off the bottom of the sieve with a sharp knife. I also remember the ringing noise as my mother would occasionally tap the sieve on the side of the bowl.

By the time my dad came home the whole thing was a perfect, smooth meal with no memory of onion held in its texture but with the onion’s essential qualities holding the whole soup together. Somehow, she always managed to reserve some good bits of ham from the bone and these would be chopped up and stirred into the soup for us to discover as we spooned up this lovely brew.

When my mum died I remember my dad complaining standard of cooking shown by the kindly women neighbours who offered to cook for him. They could not come anywhere near mum’s standard in cooking and their lentil soup was useless. Of course, he always insisted that they omit onions from their recipes - so they had no chance in satisfying his or anyone else’s palates!

For me, now, lentil soup is still a staple family dish but my approach, although bedded in my mother’s commitment to good ingredients, is shaped by a different vision of what is good to eat. Indeed, lentil soup does not need to have a stock of any kind, although when I do make a stock I still use ham bones (a ham shank from the butchers or the bone left over from a supermarket deli counter’s hand carved joint – they will often sell you it for not a lot) and I will simmer and skim this with some carrots, onions, garlic, celery heads and possibly other vegetables, as well as with a few bay leaves and peppercorns!

For the lentil soup, I usually begin with a couple of medium sized onions and a few cloves of garlic finely chopped and fried in some grapeseed oil. I may add two or three carrots quartered lengthways and cut into small wedges and let them soften, too. If the mood takes me I have also added a pepper or a sweet potato to this gently softening concoction. The idea is to add a bit of depth and some sweetness to the soup along with some flavours that will balance the lentils and spices I tend to use. Butternut squash can add a nuttiness along with its sweetness to this dish and I have found that leftover roasted vegetables work well, too.

Once softened, I add a teaspoon of turmeric and another two of cumin plus a half spoonful of ground coriander to the mixture then toss in a couple of bay leaves and a really good grinding of black pepper. Stir this around and let the spices blend with the oil and add half a teaspoon of good ground chilli. Alternatively, add a chopped and deseeded chilli or a small teaspoon of “easy chillies” to give it a punch. Now add the lentils (14 oz). I never pick over or wash these but don’t let me stop you!

Make sure the lentils get properly coated with the oil and spices and let this cook on a lowish heat for a couple of minutes, stirring to keep them from sticking. You can then add 1.5 litres of water or stock and bring it all to the boil before leaving to gently simmer. Once the lentils are soft and breaking apart you can liquidise it (removing the bay leaves first) and add any further seasoning as required. I never add salt and I have never had anybody noticing that it was missing from this dish!

In our house we serve this soup accompanied with curried croutons, cumin fried onions and chopped coriander leaves but you can experiment with these garnishes and add touches of your own touch. The visual as well as the flavour effects are quite wonderful for such little effort!

I remember trying this soup out on my dad a little while before he died (omitting the two toppings, I must confess) and he said that I had come closest to what my mum used to make. An amazing compliment from someone who could not eat onions and claimed that he abhorred garlic.

For the croutons I slice 4-6 slices of bread, 2cm thick, from a grand mange blanc or similar loaf and cut roughly into 2 cm cubes. In a large bowl or 2ltr-plus jug I put in about 3-4 table spoons of oil (e.g. grapeseed or sunflower) and add ½ teaspoon of turmeric, 1 teaspoon each of ground cumin, coriander and garam masala and a ¼ teaspoon of chilli. Mix with a fork then add a couple of splashes of lemon juice. Move the bowl around to coat the sides with the mixture then empty the bread into the bowl and give a good mix until all the spiced oil has been soaked up by the bread. Spread on a baking tray and put at the top of a hot oven. Check regularly after the first 5 minutes and remove when the cubes on the edge are starting to get blackened. Empty into a serving bowl.

For the cumin fried onions I skin and cut a large onion lengthways (top to base) then cut into very thin half circles. In a frying pan or medium sized saucepan heat two spoonfuls of oil and add a teaspoon each of cumin seeds and black mustard seeds. When the mustard seeds start popping add the onion and lower heat to gently soften. Add 2 teaspoons of ground cumin. Crush 2 large cloves of garlic and then (using the same garlic crusher) I crush about 2 cms of fresh peeled ginger onto the cooking onion mixture and keep stirring. I let it brown naturally but you can add a small amount of honey to caramelise. Decant to a serving bowl.

To serve, top each bowl of piping hot soup with a tablespoon of onion, then sprinkle some croutons over the onions and add a large pinch of chopped coriander leaves. Alternatively, serve the soup and let people help themselves to the toppings.

Thanks for the inspiration, mum!