We're in the Soup!!

I'm not sure what possessed me, to buy that can of collard greens.  I do know that I was not delirious at the time...in the sense that I was imagining a nanosecond anywhere on this galactic plane wherein my family might countenance such a vegetable offering.  Probably it was a moment of spurious rebellion, a spark of pure selfishness.  Normal people ('normal' being a relative term these days) would go for the extra cheese, double scoop the ice cream cone, splurge on the gold watch or the cashmere sweater.   Me, I pick up the odd can of collard greens, slightly spiced, southern-style. 

Now, what do I do with these?!

Hmmm....it isn't exactly lemons, so...we'll make soup!  I love soup.  Soup holds all kinds of metaphorical possibilities, doesn't it?  You can use any ingredients in any combination, season with love if you don't have much else to draw on, and just keep simmering and stirring until you get it right. 

My husband doesn't like soup, on the principle that real food requires a fork.  (I have seen him bypass the fork and use the hands-on approach to a chicken dinner, but will save that for some occasion when I need to rant.)  If I want to make soup, there has to be man food on the table, as well. 

Last week, as my birthday loomed, which one being none of your business, I may have, as they say, succumbed to a selfish desire...and I ate homemade soup almost every day.  So there. 

The first attempt was a passable, vegetable-beef specimen.  Next, I came up with this, all out of my own, red head:

In a heavy pot, melt some butter (how much? we're cooking here - just put some in!)  Add to that some chopped onion (whatever varieties you like), celery, carrot, garlic, and mushrooms.  When all of that has been stirred from time to time and is half soft, add 3/4 cup barley, salt and pepper to taste, some dried thyme, a shake of paprika, and then beef stock and beef broth.  I used Swanson-brand from the paper carton, but you showoff types can put the first steps on hold while you go out and butcher the cow, bake the bones, and make your own stock.  Bring the whole thing to a gentle boil, then turn down the heat so it simmers, covered.   Stir now and then, and taste it when the barley is done and vegetables are tender.  Add a healthy splash of milk or half-and-half.  That's important.  (For the do-it-youselfer, remember to milk the cow before butchering.)  WOW. 

Tonight, I am partaking of this little kicked-up version:
 In your heavy pot (I've never made as much use of my other splurge, a Paula Deen, cast iron Dutch oven with enameled interior, as now!)  do the butter and chopped onion/celery/carrot/garlic thing.  Add salt and pepper, a handful of dried parsley, some thyme (not a handful), a bit of cayenne pepper, a shake of ground ginger.  This time I had chicken broth and beef broth available, so that's what went in with the barley, and when the barley is done, put in that can of collard greens, undrained, and that tail-end of the frozen corn package, and a can of condensed, cream-of-mushroom soup.  (Oh, be quiet:  I didn't have any more fresh mushrooms, or of course they'd have gone in with the first stage).  Heat long enough for the corn to thaw. 

Review:  I am eating this soup ladled with a wooden ladle into a beautiful yellow bowl that I bought for 79 cents from the Salvation Army Thrift Store, and I am in soup heaven.  Soup heaven, if you were wondering, is where soup is born.  I am telling you, the turning  point is the collard greens, "spiced slightly, southern-style" which amounts to several types of pepper, and garlic.  The South will rise again:  I am a believer. 

So, I hope you'll give soup a try.  If you make one of these, I'd love to hear your soup experience.  But if you put those nasty, little, oyster crackers into it, I'll never speak to you again.