On Autumn Leaves

I've just returned from a morning excursion to the local park after completing a mission to gather autumn leaves and other such paraphernalia for a craft project of my eldest son's. We'll be using the bits and pieces we collected as stamps, to make leaf-prints and the like. Autumn here in Sydney has only just started to really announce itself visually; the trees which line most of the city streets of my city (plane trees, for those keeping track) have finally acquiesced to the tilt of the Earth on its axis and now present a confusion of green and flame and red and purple and olive and gold and orange and more. The effect is best at a distance, as each leaf is more or less monochrome and is only truly spectacular when viewed as part of the whole. It's chilly, nearly cold, at least by Sydney standards, and red noses and dead leaves have me thinking of my childhood in Wyoming, where autumn creeps in only about six weeks after summer starts.




It's a harsh existence, life in the high altitude deserts of southwestern Wyoming. The place is completely geographically and culturally isolated, the wind blows incessantly until it becomes a part of your very existence (No one in Wyoming packs a picnic without considering what they are going to use to keep everything from blowing away.), winter accounts for at least half the year, tumbleweed is the dominate wildlife species, dust is the major form of precipitation, and drinking and shooting are (is) the dominate recreational activities. Oh, and the whole state – and it's one of the big ones – is an absolute culinary wasteland.

There is nothing interesting or exotic about the foods on offer in my home town. I remember a high school classmate of mine thinking it was odd that I ate eggplant. In general the only foods available at local restaurants are American Diner fare, steaks, steaks, or steaks. The only “foreign” food is Mexican, though that's not even Mexican, but Tex-Mex – a particular brand of Americanized Mexican food which bears little resemblance to th real thing. It's the sort where rice and beans come with everything, completely smothered by a raft of molten cheese. Want Thai? Indian? French, for the love of god? Not a chance. You can get Chinese, if you don't mind eating something devoid of authenticity, flavor, and interest. Everything is soooo glossy.

This is not to say that I didn't enjoy my meals when I was growing up. I remember quite looking forward to dinner most nights and ate at least as well as the average American kid. There was nothing spectacular, really, but it was all tasty enough. One of my favorite meal memories from my childhood is of the simplest meals. It was another autumn morning, many years ago, spent trodding on leaves – aspen this time – with my father, preparing the back yard for the imminent winter. We took a break from the cold for lunch: soup and sandwiches. More precisely, tomato soup from a can and grilled cheese sandwiches. I was just short of a teenager and ate accordingly; I kept my poor Dad standing at the stove, spatula in hand, churning out sandwiches in an attempt to keep up with my appetite. While I can admit that the glow of memory tends to exaggerate, a conservative estimate would say I consumed half a dozen sandwiches between bowls of soup.



The memory is a happy one. Timely as well, as my two boys will be wanting lunch shortly. For them, it's a tomato soup and grilled cheese. For Daddy, the same, though an adult version:

Roast Tomato, Garlic, Chili, and Chive Soup
with a Toasted Sourdough and Gruyère Sandwich

I am not the first person to try and “fancy up” this classic lunch combo. One of my favorite versions is Thomas Keller's in the French Laundry Cookbook: a consommé and a dainty little sandwich. Mine is no where near as elaborate. In fact, it is one of the easiest soups you can make. Most of the cooking is done in the oven, with a short warm in the pan to finish the meal. The result is a creamy-textured soup with a smoky-chili bite. This should make two generous bowls.

1 k tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, not peeled
1 long red chili
1 eshallot, not peeled, cut in half
1 Tbsp tomato paste
2 Tbsp cream
2 tsp chopped chives

Preheat your oven to 180ºC. Place the tomatoes, garlic, chili, and eshallot (cut surface down) onto a tray lined with baking paper. Roast until the tomatoes are soft and have split, and the garlic is soft. Try not to let the skins of anything color up too much, as this will leave little black flecks in your soup (not the end of the world; a presentation issue really). Cool slightly.

Peel the garlic and the eshallot and then transfer all the coked ingredients to a blender and process until very smooth. Transfer to a small pot and place on medium heat. When the soup comes to a simmer, stir in the tomato paste, mixing well. Simmer for a moment or two more. Taste and season. Stir in the cream and serve, garnishing with the chopped chives (and a grilled cheese sandwich!).

One note: When adding he chili to the blender, start with the bottom half, keeping the top aside. Blend, taste for heat and add more if you like. Remember that the seeds (mostly in the top half) will be hotter than the rest of the chili, so either discard them or use them sparingly. You want a soup that has a bit of chili warmth, not a curry.

Toasted Sandwich

2 slices good quality sourdough, buttered
2 slices Gruyère or other similar swiss-style cheese

The secret to a good toasted sandwich is low, even heat. Stretching out the cooking time allows the cheese in the middle time to melt and the bread to go deeply golden without burning. Resist the urge to ramp up the heat, you have to gently coax this sandwich along. I have a café-style sandwich press which I swear by. It's my favorite kitchen appliance – not only is it great for sandwiches (always the perfect temperature), but it makes great croûtons and cheese crisps and quesadillas and more. I recommend one.

Assemble the sandwich with lots of cracked pepper in the middle and cook it gently in a frypan on low heat, turning only once, until the cheese is molten and the bread crisp and golden. Serve immediately.