Playing Favorites: tomato soup from scratch, the French way

I used my last onion when I made the soup two nights ago

It is my understanding that in some places in our beloved embattled country, cold weather is setting in. Winter is on the doorstep, knocking at the door.

That's nice but where I live, as per usual for November, it is relentless Indian Summer.

In my Zip code, today and tomorrow it will be eighty degrees again, with zero cloud cover and endless insanely blue sky and blindingly bright you'll-put-your-eye-out sunshine.

(I like rainy days, so connect the dots and yes, you are correct in assuming that I'm a trifle grumpy about it and yes I know that's silly but step off.)

However, I digress so let's get the point.

The point is -- actually there are two points, the first being, as established above, I know that for many of my cherished readers, it is soup weather. The second is, I have searched this blog and have found that, to my great surprise, I have not yet shared with you my homemade tomato soup recipe.

I'm sincerely hoping that I did not obtain this recipe from one of you because if I did I would give credit where it is due, but I don't remember where I got it.

It was fairly recently -- like, maybe last year or the year before -- that I added this recipe to my repertoire, and in fact I had sort of forgotten about it until Audrey reminded me a week or two ago that she makes it regularly and likes to have it on hand because it is so good, she could eat it every day.

Many years ago, while on a visit to Canada where my sister then lived, I was schooled by my nieces on how to make tomato soup from scratch. For years, theirs was my go-to recipe.

It involved preparing a medium-thick bechamel (white sauce) from flour, butter, and milk, then adding pureed tomatoes and seasonings.

It's fabulous but the recipe I'm about to share with you is possibly tastier, and probably healthier.

Here's what you do:

Into a medium saucepan dump one large can of Cento San Marzano peeled tomatoes, half a stick of butter, two cups of chicken stock, and one onion cut into chunks.

(You can use non-San Marzano tomatoes but it will not be the same.)

(You can also use water instead of chicken broth but it will not be as good.)

Allow the mixture to come to a full boil, then turn it down to your lowest setting and cover the pan.

Feel free walk away for forty-five minutes or so; it does not have to be stirred or watched.

At the end of that time, carefully pour the hot mixture into your blender and -- carefully! -- liquefy it.

(Don't put the whole cover on the blender to do this; twist out the knob in the middle of the lid and loosely cover the opening with a paper towel or dish cloth.)

Pour the soup back into the pan. Season to taste. You are there.

This is (I am told) the French way to make tomato soup. It's also the freshest and easiest way.

One thing to be aware of is that it is a slightly thicker tomato soup than you may be used to. If that bothers you, I guess the thing to do would be to add a little more chicken stock.

The only thing I do is make grilled cheese sandwiches with rustic bread and sharp cheddar, ladle out the soup, and dig in.

Sorry I don't have a picture of a bowl of this wonderful soup, with the grilled cheese sammy alongside.

We ate it all.

(Luckily it is not eighty degrees outside at suppertime. And since we've had no need for our furnace yet, it's chilly enough in the house to truly enjoy a bowl of hot soup.)

In the event that you, like me, occasionally hanker for a bowl of piping hot, comforting tomato soup, I hope you will make this, and let me know what you think!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Labor Days of love

Stephanie is an early September baby

I promised to take you all the way back to our Labor Day celebrations at the start of September, and as I am a pirate of my word, here we go.

Our Labor Day gathering is made extra-special by the fact that it occurs within a few days of our Stephanie's birthday.

So each year, she and Joel and the youngsters travel from North Carolina to our house on the Sunday night.

They always get in late because he is a pastor and they have Sunday evening services, and at the conclusion of those, they have a nearly three-hour trip.

So when we get home from our own Sunday evening services, at about 7:30, I begin preparing dishes for the next day.

Cereal tastes better when dispensed like this

One of the first things I do is fill my cereal dispenser -- a gift from Andrew and Brittany on my birthday a few years ago -- with the cereals my Tar Heel grandkids like to have for breakfast.

I lay in a half-gallon of apple juice -- their morning beverage of choice -- and they know that whatever is left, they get to take home.

After their breakfast, the kids invariably head outside and jump into the pool for their last swim of the season. This year the water was a trifle chillier than usual, but being kids, they played like crazy anyway.

This time our main-meal menu was standard: hot dogs and hamburgers cooked by TG on the grill, barbecue baked beans, macaroni and cheese, fresh-made slaw. That type of thing.

What I did differently this year was the birthday cake.

Normally we have a store-bought true birthday cake, slathered in buttercream, with huge icing flowers and an appropriate sentiment written on top.

TG was still on the injured list

That's what my family seem to want, and look forward to, and expect.

But this year I decided to make the ice cream sandwich cake because everyone loves it so much.

It's the one where you put a layer of ice cream sandwiches in the bottom of a baking dish, then a layer of whipped topping, then caramel sauce and hot fudge sauce and maybe some candy or cookie pieces atop that, then another layer of sandwiches, the rest of the whipped topping, then more candy or cookie pieces on top.

The thing I wanted to get right, however, was the Happy Birthday sentiment that would define the confection as Stephanie's birthday cake.

I went online and searched for candy letters and so forth ... and didn't find anything I liked.

Until I saw this:

Straight Outta 1980

The decoration came with a stick that was intended for propping the sign up in the middle of the cake.

But one purchaser of the piece, in their review, showed a picture of doing it the way I ended up doing it: laying the words down on top of the cake and making a frame of gummy worms, then surrounding the whole thing with Oreo crumbs.

It was horribly messy to make, and there are still Oreo crumbs in the bottom of my pull-out freezer drawer.

But wow. The kids loved it -- what am I saying? Everyone loved it -- and I think Stephanie liked the topper.

At least it wasn't like any other birthday cake we've ever had. All things being equal, go for unique.

Henry joined us, driving down from Greenville that morning.

He will turn 90 on August 4, 2022. I think you can see in his eyes how much he misses my mother.

Henry soldiers on without Mom

But he was in good spirits and happy to see us all, and he always enjoys our cookout meals, especially TG's hamburgers and my baked beans, which he loves and looks forward to.

TG was still recovering from his bicycle accident, so everyone got to oooh and aaah over his stitches and scabs.

To look at him now, two months later, you'd never know anything happened.

After the meal, and cake, Henry headed for home. He likes to be in for the night no later than six, as he was conditioned that way by Mom, who always insisted on leaving our house for home no later than four o'clock.

Then there were presents as is customary at birthday parties, and everyone enjoyed watching Stephanie pull the tissue paper out of the gift bags and discover what was inside.

TG and I gave her a pair of shoes she'd asked for. One of the girls gave her what they jokingly call a "white girl fall" coffee mug with pumpkins on it.

She's a coffee drinker

We laughed a lot and visited some more until it was time for Stephanie's family to head for home and school the next day, and for the others to follow suit.

We are nothing if not predictable but there's nothing wrong with that. And there's a lot right with it.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

Schooled and retooled

The wise owl perches on the open book beneath the floodlight

Now that it's November, I think it's high time I told you about the big trip we took in September.

We set out on the sixteenth, at about eight fifteen in the morning.

This beautiful glass collage was an anonymous gift to the school

The first leg of our journey was from the Midlands of South Carolina, where we live, to Northwest Ohio -- specifically, Rossford --  where TG was born and bred.

Our purpose was to attend TG's fiftieth high school reunion -- delayed one year.

These heavy doors leading into the auditorium are original, as are the banisters and floor

He is a member of the Rossford High School Class of 1970.

We drove all day, stopping around Cincinnati for a late lunch/early dinner, and eventually got settled in our hotel in Perrysburg, Ohio, which blends seamlessly into Rossford.

Beautiful inside and out, and inside looking out

The next morning, TG attended the first event of the three-day reunion: eighteen holes of golf.

Left to my own devices, after coffee and the usual morning rituals, I got ready and went shopping (one of his classmates had picked TG up for golf, so I had the car).

The new gym was built to resemble the old field house

Having taken note the night before of the location of TJ Maxx and other stores where I like to hunt for bargains, I spent a pleasant few hours in the shops.

Yes; there were purchases. When it comes to shopping at least, I know full well what I'm doing.

Go Bulldogs! Go forth and be cake.

That evening, we made our way to TG's alma mater, where we were to meet up with others attending the reunion for a tour of the school and a group picture on the front steps.

This proved interesting because within the last few years, the school has undergone a seventy-five-million-dollar remodel and construction of a new section.

The stunning flower arrangements were appropriately festive

The part I liked best was that the architects of the remodel are known for their skill at prizing and preserving the old, and integrating it with the new.

As in, they left the 100-year-old Collegiate Gothic style facade -- designed by Toledo architects M.M. and M.D. Stophlet in the early 1920s -- and built the new around it.

TG led the group in prayer and made a few timely remarks

They even improved on the facade by cleaning it and repairing broken elements, such as part of a bespectacled owl that sits atop the spine of an open book high above the main entrance.

On that hot and bright September evening as we gathered, TG and his classmates mingled on the very steps and walked through the very doors that they had used when students there over fifty years ago.

Sweet TG gave me these cookies a few minutes later

Once inside the cool interior, the terrazzo floors, polished wooden handrails, and church-inspired solid oak doors to the auditorium are also original to the building.

TG said it was exactly the same. I marveled at that, looking back and forth from the gleaming floors and doors to the gaggle of senior citizens who had milled around that area every school day as America's youth during the long-ago Johnson and Nixon administrations.

There were 140 in the graduating class. Click to embiggen.

We toured the auditorium kitted out now with state-of-the-art theater lighting and sound for concerts and dramatic presentations. We saw the new gymnasium that was designed in a retro fashion to resemble the old field house (now torn down) where TG played basketball throughout high school. 

Gone but not forgotten

It was all so fascinating and we were having a great time, but we left early. We had plans to meet TG's sister Ruth and brother Ron, plus our brother-in-law John and sister-in-law Marcia, for dinner at Blue Pacific Grill.

If you have not yet had an opportunity to dine at a Blue Pacific Grill, I can highly recommend it. It's an unusual concept but it totally works. We had a wonderful time eating and visiting.

Let's play ball

After another good night's sleep, it was Saturday. I chose to spend it reading and enjoying the peace and calm of our comfortable accommodations. 

Also, to enjoy with my coffee, there was an assortment of fresh bagels; at my urging, TG had made an early morning run to Barry Bagels down the street.

Watson the emotional support dog was down with the party

(When I travel, I always bring my own coffee -- my French press and my canister of Cafe La Llave espresso grind and my favorite mug. I use the mug to boil my water in the in-room microwave before pouring it over the grounds and waiting five minutes for the freshest cup of coffee in any town.)

TG with Steve F., his friend since early childhood

(That, along with my pillow, ensures that no matter where we roam, I can recreate the feeling of being at home. Sending TG out for local munchies only adds to the overall pseudo-domestic delirium.)

Seeing that I was settled in for a relaxing morning, TG left to visit his former coach, Joseph "Joe" Stalma, in the assisted living facility where he resides.

I made them pose up more formally

Coach Stalma led the Bulldogs to a 25-0 season during TG's senior year, when they went to the State Tournament and lost in the final game, coming in second to a larger school with (TG says) a better team. 

They still talk about it. It was a big deal.

TG with old friend Diane. We would be guests at her house the next day.

Mr. Stalma did not exactly recognize TG but he is a cordial gentleman and they had a nice visit. He is one of TG's heroes and a legend in Rossford, and most likely it's the last time TG will see him, so I was glad he made the effort.

So much of what is meaningful in life has to do with simply showing up. Showing up and saying what is in your heart. 

She beat him in an election for Student Council President in their senior year

That evening, we made our way to All Saints Catholic Church, around the corner from the house where TG and his parents and siblings lived from 1957 on, and where his sister now lives.

The organizers of the reunion had rented the gymnasium there and had a scrumptious meal catered.

TG and Diane with another classmate

Everything was decorated beautifully; they're hard to see but there were black pipe-cleaner R's (for Rossford) in the top of the flower arrangements, much like a homecoming corsage. So charming.

Candles twinkled and everyone was chatting and laughing as if fifty-one years had not gone by since they processed to the strains of Pomp and Circumstance.

These four were together from kindergarten all the way through to high school graduation

There was a table set up with a place laid to represent those classmates who have passed away. A poster board with their pictures reminded everyone that life is short and for some, even shorter.

TG, who back in the day served as class president, kicked off the evening with a prayer and some remarks about why we were there. He told about seeing Coach Stalma that very morning. 

TG with one of his lifelong best friends, Steve H.

Then we had dinner and lots of great conversation, and for dessert there was a cute bulldog cake as well as some bakery-style cookies.

I wanted to get as many pictures of TG with his old friends as I could, so after the meal I concentrated on that.

And IIII-eeeee-IIII will always love you

We stayed late to help clean up, as did many others.

We were so tired that night that once we were back at our hotel and turned out the light, we were asleep within seconds. Or at least I was.

I was with the best-looking guy in the room, both then and now

The next day was Sunday and the final day of the reunion. At one o'clock there was a picnic at the home of one of the classmates.

Diane is a semi-retired teacher who lives in a farmhouse that is well over a century old, on a three-acre property with a pond.

My new friend Tricia, whose husband (RHS Class of '70) was once Rossford's youngest-ever mayor.

Her outbuildings include a massive party barn (where she had set up tables but where we did not gather, because the weather was so beautiful that we wanted to sit outside) stuffed with nostalgia -- antique signs and sports-related objects and all kinds of Rossford High School memorabilia.

She even has the pay phone that hung in the old field house when they were all in school and for many years after.

The pond is a beautiful and useful feature of Diane's property

(Her late father-in-law was a lifelong friend of my late father-in-law. Grandpa Weber taught math at Rossford Junior High and coached track for Rossford High School for thirty years. Her father-in-law was a teacher too, and for a time served as the principal of Rossford Junior High.)

TG when he ran track for Rossford ... that's his dad, far right, track coach

There is also a second structure that houses her daughter's wedding planner business.

They have enough decorations and staff to accommodate up to seven weddings per weekend. Let that sink in.

This water feels good! Elementary, my dear Watson.

Diane revealed that her pond is her water supply; pipes bring the water from the pond to the house where it is purified via a system in the basement. No water bill! Rain and snow provide replenishment.

She stocks the pond with a number of tilapia every spring. The fish eat the algae and grow bigger. In the fall, when the tilapia begin to be uncomfortable in the colder water, she invites friends over to fish.

Watty sits obediently beside his master. Behind Diane is her daughter's wedding planning business,

I think that all of the above makes Diane a board-certified clever clogs. Her home is homey and comfy yet beautiful and classy.

As our Audrey is fond of saying: It's a whole vibe.

Never underestimate an old guy on a bicycle. TG and this one swapped bike injury stories.

After several hours of eating and reminiscing beneath the welcoming tree in Diane's back yard, most folks left but TG and I stayed. We walked to the back of the property where there are several fruit trees plus a railroad track. We walked back towards the house and sat some more.

We were having such a good time sitting under that shade tree, talking to our hostess and another remaining guest, in the perfect weather -- about sixty-eight degrees, with a breeze and maybe thirty-five percent humidity -- that we didn't want to leave.

There was memorabilia galore in Diane's party barn

But eventually, reluctantly, just short of moving in with Diane, we did say our goodbyes, with many sincere sentiments exchanged upon parting, and hopes to see one another again before fifty more years go by.

The next morning we made our way to St. Louis, Missouri, about a seven-hour drive.

Nothing says nostalgic academia like a battered varsity letter jacket

St. Louis is currently classified as one of the most violent crime-ridden cities in America, if not THE most.

So, no offense, we really were not there to tour St. Louis -- which is a massively sprawling metropolitan area -- with the exception of one place and one thing we had traveled there to see.

Badges hang from a that-was-then tree in Diane's party barn

And that place was Bellefontaine (say bell fountain) Cemetery, and that thing was the grave of conservative talk show host Rush Limbaugh.

We already knew that his stone had been placed several months ago, following his passing in February.

The old field house pay phone. Call your mother.

I had called the cemetery and talked to a lady who assured me that no disrespect has been shown to the grave.

But the morning of our day in St. Louis was rainy and chilly, with rain predicted to taper off to cloudy but non-rainy conditions, so we had some time to kill before going to the cemetery.

Gateway to the West ... on a dreary day

We drove downtown and there, between Busch Stadium, where the Cardinals play, and the famous arch, we found a souvenir shop and bought tshirts for the kids at home who were caring for our pets -- Rizzo bunked at Erica's, Audrey going by our house every day to take care of Sweetness.

The rain did stop around noon, although as promised, the clouds remained as thick as ever.

Rush Hudson Limbaugh III ... a true patriot

It was dry enough for us to make our way to the cemetery and enjoy driving/walking, using our map to find Rush's grave and other famous graves, including the resting place of Sara Teasdale, one of my favorite poets.

The place where Rush was laid to rest is breathtaking. In fact it would be difficult to imagine a more perfect place for him. Lush, green, meticulously manicured, set apart just a bit but not too much.

The reverse-side sentiments are true as well. Click to embiggen.

His classic pedimented stone reflects who he was: a great American patriot. As it should be.

We lingered there for about twenty minutes, taking pictures and absorbing the peace of that place.

TG paid his respects to one of his heroes

Several hours later we got on the road for Evansville, Indiana, where we spent the night so as to make the trip home the next day that much shorter.

We slept well and headed for South Carolina and home not anxiously, but enjoying the final lap of the journey. We arrived at our doorstep at about eight o'clock in the evening.

Rizzo was there to greet us, Erica having brought him back that afternoon. His sweet eager face and madly wagging tail were a welcome sight.

It was good to be home, knowing that we'd accomplished all we'd set out to do, and then some.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday