Soups
“Oh, Arthur knew,” she said. “He wouldna admit it, to be sure—not even to himself. But he knew. We’d sit across the board from each other at supper, and I’d ask, ‘Will ye have a bit more o’ the cullen skink, my dear?’ or ‘A sup of ale, my own?’ And him watching me, with those eyes like boiled eggs, and he’d say no, he didna feel himself with an appetite just then. And he’d push his plate back, and later I’d hear him in the kitchen, secret-like, gobbling his food standing by the hutch, thinking himself safe, because he ate no food that came from my hand.”
—Outlander, chapter 25, “Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to Live”
This luscious smoked-fish soup is named for its hometown of Cullen in northeastern Scotland, on the shores of the Moray Firth. The word “skink” comes from the German schinke, meaning shin. While the textbook skink is a soup made from a shin of beef, Highland fisherfolk adapted the recipe to use the regional ingredients they had in plenty, such as smoked haddock and leeks.
More substantial than a soup but not as thick as a chowder, serve with a crusty loaf of bread or Mrs. Bug’s Buttermilk Drop Biscuits for a filling lunch. Add a salad to that, and you’ve got dinner.
Serves 6
Ingredients
1 pound (450 grams) finnan haddie (see Note) or any skinless, cold-smoked white fish such as haddock, cod, or halibut
1 bay leaf
2 medium leeks (white parts only), sliced thin
2 tablespoons butter
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
2 medium potatoes, peeled and diced (see Knife Skills)
3 cups whole milk
3 scallions (white and light-green parts only), sliced thin on the diagonal
In a medium saucepan, cover the fish (cut to fit if necessary) and the bay leaf with 3 cups cold water. Bring to a low boil over medium heat and cook gently until just tender, about 5 minutes. Remove the bay leaf and fish to a plate. Strain the cooking liquid and reserve it for later, along with the bay leaf. Debone the fish, flake with a fork, and set aside.
Rinse the chopped leeks thoroughly in a bowl of cold water. Scoop them out with a slotted spoon or your hands, leaving the silt and sand behind. Shake dry in a clean dishcloth or salad spinner.
In a saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the leeks and a pinch of salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the potatoes, as well as the reserved cooking liquid and bay leaf. Simmer over medium-low heat until the potatoes are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.
Remove about 1 cup of the leek and potato mixture with a slotted spoon and set aside. Discard the bay leaf.
Add the milk and half of the fish to the pot. Heat over medium flame until hot, then puree with an immersion blender or countertop blender. Alternatively, you can mash the solids with the back of a fork to puree. Keep warm, but do not allow to boil.
Season to taste and serve, dividing reserved fish and leek and potato mixture among bowls, garnished with the scallions.
Keep leftovers in the fridge up to 3 days. Do not freeze.
Note
• Although any cold-smoked white fish will make a delicious bowl of soup, an authentic cullen skink requires finnan haddie, which is haddock caught off the Moray Firth and lightly cold-smoked using green wood and peat. Order it from a local specialty fish shop or online.
“We’ll be having supper here by the field,” he told them. “Let’s be fetching a bit of wood for a fire, Tom and Willie, and Mrs. Willie, if ye’d be so kind as to bring your big kettle? Aye, that’s good, one of the men will help ye to bring it down. You, Kincaid—” He turned to one of the younger men, and waved off in the direction of the small cluster of cottages under the trees. “Go and tell everyone—it’s potatoes for supper!”
And so, with the assistance of Jenny, ten pails of milk from the dairy shed, three chickens caught from the coop, and four dozen large leeks from the kailyard, I presided over the preparation of cock-a-leekie soup and roasted potatoes for the laird and tenants of Lallybroch.
—Dragonfly in Amber, chapter 32, “Field of Dreams”
Quintessentially Scottish, though most likely medieval French in origin, cock-a-leekie is a popular soup served throughout the winter in Scotland, and a common addition to the table on St. Andrew’s Day (November 30), Hogmanay (December 31), and Burns Night (January 25).
The ingredients and instructions below, including the prunes, come almost straight from a mid-eighteenth-century cookbook, and are proof that when simple dishes with a few ingredients are prepared well, they can outshine the most complex nouvelle cuisine.
Serves 6 or more
Ingredients
1 (3- to 4-pound or 1.3 to 1.8 kilograms) whole chicken
4 large leeks (white and light-green parts only), cut into 1-inch pieces
6 fresh parsley sprigs
6 whole peppercorns
2 whole cloves
6 whole prunes
2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus additional
½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper (see Notes)
Method
Cut the wings from the chicken and refrigerate or freeze for another purpose. Tie the legs together so that the chicken holds its shape in the pot. In a stockpot, cover the chicken with up to 3 quarts of cold water and bring to a boil on high heat.
Rinse the chopped leeks thoroughly in a bowl of cold water and then scoop them out with your hands or a slotted spoon, leaving the silt and sand behind. Shake dry in a clean dishcloth or salad spinner.
Also make a bouquet garni. Wrap the parsley, peppercorns, and cloves in a square of cheesecloth and tie with string, or enclose the items in a large tea ball.
Once the chicken has come to a boil, reduce to a simmer over medium-low heat. Skim the surface of the stock with a slotted spoon to remove impurities and fat. Add half of the leeks and the bouquet garni and continue to cook, uncovered, at a slow simmer, for 2 hours. Do not stir.
Remove the chicken from the pot to cool on a plate. Discard the bouquet garni. Skim the surface of the soup before adding the remaining leeks, prunes, salt, and pepper to the pot. Simmer until the leeks and prunes are tender, 30 to 45 minutes. Shred the leg and thigh meat and add to the pot 5 minutes before serving. Reserve the breast meat for another purpose (see Notes).
Season to taste and serve with a fresh loaf of Brown Buns at Beauly.
Store leftovers in the fridge up to 3 days.
Notes
• Early recipes call for Jamaican long pepper, a spicier, more aromatic cousin of our common peppercorn. That, or other varieties of long pepper, which can be found in specialty shops or online, will add an extra layer of depth to this simple dish.
• Make chicken salad from the breast meat and serve it with the soup for a delicious dinner. Alternatively, it makes great chicken fried rice.
• Save the bones and boil them in more cold water for an hour to make a remouillage, a weaker, second stock that is used to make soups and sauces. Our dog slurps it up with his dry dog food for dinner.
“Bolt the door? What d’ye think I’m going to do? Do I look the sort of man would take advantage of a woman who’s not only wounded and boiling wi’ fever, but drunk as well?” he demanded. He stood up, nonetheless.
“I am not drunk,” I said indignantly. “You can’t get drunk on turtle soup!” Nonetheless, I was conscious that the glowing warmth in my stomach seemed to have migrated somewhat lower, taking up residence between my thighs, and there was undeniably a slight lightness of head not strictly attributable to fever.
“You can if ye’ve been drinking turtle soup as made by Aloysius O’Shaughnessy Murphy,” he said. “By the smell of it, he’s put at least a full bottle o’ the sherry in it. A verra intemperate race, the Irish.”
—Voyager, chapter 56, “Turtle Soup”
Once a popular English delicacy enjoyed only by the wealthy, early versions of turtle soup were commonly made with sea turtles, such as the hawksbill, pulled aboard by the crew of the Artemis. New Orleans and Philadelphia both gave birth to their own regional turtle soup recipes that were as iconic in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as gumbo and cheese steak are today.
This original version of mock-turtle soup, first created in the mid-eighteenth century by the English as a cheaper imitation accessible to the masses, uses meaty oxtail, a mixture of traditional turtle soup ingredients, and a few modern secrets to a make a rich, dark, and substantial dish that is the perfect showcase first course for your next Outlandish gathering.
Serves 6 or more
Ingredients
3 pounds (1.3 kilograms) lean oxtail, cut into 2-inch lengths
1 tablespoon kosher salt, plus additional
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper, plus additional
4 bay leaves
4 fresh thyme sprigs
6 whole allspice berries (optional)
12 whole cloves
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 bottle (750 ml) dry sherry
2 quarts Brown Chicken or Beef Stock
1 large onion, chopped (see Knife Skills)
4 medium celery stalks, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
1 medium green pepper, chopped
1 garlic head, cloves peeled and quartered
¼ cup vegetable oil
⅓ cup flour
2 tablespoons Vietnamese or Thai fish sauce
3 tablespoons cornstarch or tapioca starch
6 medium Roma tomatoes, cored, seeded, and diced
2 tablespoons lemon juice
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
4 large hard-boiled eggs, chopped
Scallions (white and light-green parts only), sliced thin
Method
Season the oxtail pieces with salt and pepper.
Make a bouquet garni. Wrap the bay leaves, thyme, allspice, and (if desired) cloves into a square of cheesecloth and tie with string, or enclose the items in a large tea ball.
In a large frying pan over medium-high heat, bring the butter and olive oil to a bubble but don’t let it darken. Brown the oxtail pieces on both sides in batches, 4 to 5 minutes per side. Remove the meat from the pot and discard the fat.
Deglaze the pan with ½ cup of sherry, scraping up the brown bits from the bottom of the pan. Boil 30 seconds, then add the oxtail, bouquet garni, whole onion, and stock. Bring to a boil over high flame, reduce the heat and simmer, without stirring, but skimming the surface of fat and scum occasionally, until the meat is tender, 3 hours.
Strain the stock, discarding the onion and bouquet garni. You should have about 6 cups of stock. Set the oxtail pieces on a plate until cool enough to handle, and shred the meat while still warm, discarding the fat and gristle.
Combine the onion, celery, carrot, green peppers, and garlic in a food processor and pulse 6 to 8 times, until finely chopped but not mush. If you don’t have a food processor, mince the vegetables as finely as possible.
Wash the stockpot and return to medium flame. Heat the vegetable oil until it shimmers and gradually add the flour, stirring constantly to form a smooth paste. Continue to stir, scraping the bottom and the corners of the pot regularly to avoid burning the flour, until the roux is deep golden-brown, 10 to 15 minutes.
Immediately add the vegetable mixture and cook until tender, about 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Increase flame to medium-high, deglaze the pan with ½ cup of sherry, and boil for 30 seconds. Add the strained stock, shredded meat, and fish sauce, bring to a boil over high, then reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Stir the cornstarch into 1 cup of sherry and add to the soup, stirring to combine. Add the tomatoes, lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and nutmeg and simmer over medium heat until slightly thickened, 5 to 7 more minutes.
To serve, garnish with the chopped egg and scallions. Pass the remaining sherry at the table for your guests to add to their bowls as desired.
Keep leftovers in the fridge up to 3 days.
Notes
• Make things easier for yourself and divide the labor over two days; make the oxtail broth in advance, then finish the soup the day you plan to serve it.
• Those oxtail bones still have life in them! After you’ve stripped them of their meat, cool and refrigerate or freeze for later use in another, weaker but still nutritious, stock.
• The roux should darken evenly, with the occasional dark-brown speck in the mixture. Black specks mean the flour is burned and the roux is garbage. Begin again at lower heat.
• The fish sauce deepens the flavor of the oxtail broth but won’t make it taste fishy—it’s an umami thing—trust me.
To distract myself from the cold trickles running down my neck, I began a mental inventory of the pantry. What could I make for dinner, once I arrived?
Something quick, I thought, shivering, and something hot. Stew would take too long; so would soup. If there was squirrel or rabbit, we might have it fried, rolled in egg and cornmeal batter. Or if not that, perhaps brose with a little bacon for flavoring, and a couple of scrambled eggs with green onions.
—Drums of Autumn, chapter 23, “The Skull Beneath the Skin”
Brose is a fast and filling parcooked porridge. For hundreds of years it was made by covering grain, such as oat or barley meal, with boiling water and allowing it to stand for a short time before being consumed. Kail brose used the nutrient-rich liquor in which fatty salt-beef and greens had been boiled instead of plain water.
This twenty-first-century version adds Claire’s bacon and uses beef or chicken stock to make a hearty and nutritious soup that comes together in under 30 minutes. Serve with Pumpkin Seed and Herb Oatcakes for a modern lunch with ancient roots in the Highlands.
Serves 4 to 6
Ingredients
4 slices thick-cut bacon, cut crosswise in ¼-inch strips
½ to ¾ cup coarsely ground rolled oats (see Grinding Grains, Nuts, and Seeds)
2 quarts White Beef or Chicken Stock
1 large bunch kale, stemmed and shredded
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Method
In a large saucepan, crisp the bacon over medium heat. When browned, pour off all but 1 teaspoon of fat, leaving the bacon in the pan. Add the oats and stir for 1 minute to toast. Add the stock, increase the flame to high, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer 5 minutes. Add the kale and simmer until tender, 10 more minutes.
Season with salt and pepper and serve.
Store leftovers in the fridge up to 5 days.
Notes
• The more oats you use, the thicker your brose will be.
• Omit the bacon and switch to Vegetable Stock to make this soup vegan.
• Switch it up and substitute coarsely ground barley for the oats.
“How is it, man?” he said quietly.
Jamie moved his head on the pillow, dismissive of discomfort. “I’ll do.”
“That’s good.” To my surprise, Roger grasped Jamie’s shoulder in a brief gesture of comfort. I’d never seen him do that before, and once more I wondered just what had passed between them on the mountain.
“Marsali’s bringing up some beef tea—or rather, buffalo tea—for him,” Roger said, frowning slightly as he looked at me. “Maybe you’d best be having some, too.”
“Good idea,” I said. I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
Only when I sat down did I realize that I had been on my feet since the early morning. Pain outlined every bone in my feet and legs, and I could feel the ache where I had broken my left tibia, a few years before. Duty called, though.
“Well, time and tide wait for no maggot,” I said, struggling back to my feet. “Best get on with it.”
—The Fiery Cross, chapter 92, “I Get By with a Little Help from My Friends”
A common eighteenth- and nineteenth-century restorative, there are as many recipes for beef tea as there are old wives’ tales claiming instant rejuvenation from just one cup.
In this version, beef is steeped low and slow in a bain-marie, or hot-water bath. The result is what the French call l’essence de boeuf, or beef essence—concentrated and distilled liquid beef.
Makes about 1 cup
Ingredients
1 pound (450 grams) bottom round steak, about 1 inch thick
2 fresh thyme sprigs (optional)
Salt to taste
Roll the steak around the thyme sprigs (if using) and place in a pint-size jar with a lid. Add ½ cup cold water and screw the lid on fingertight.
Roll up a 12-inch square piece of aluminum foil into a tight cigar. Twist into a ring just slightly smaller than the diameter of your jar, wrapping the ends around each other to secure.
Arrange the jar in a tall saucepan or stockpot on top of the aluminum ring so that the bottom of the jar does not touch the bottom of the pan. Add enough cold water to the pot to come up to about 2 inches below the top of the jar.
Bring the water to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce flame to medium-low, cover the pot, and slowly steep the meat for 2 to 4 hours. Strain, pressing firmly on the meat to extract all the liquid. Season with salt.
Serve hot or cold.
Store in the refrigerator up to 3 days.
Notes
• If you don’t have a pot and lid tall enough to cover your jar, create an aluminum foil tent to keep the heat in.
• Traditional recipes say to toss the beef, as all its nourishment has been steeped away, but it shreds beautifully, and with added seasonings, it makes a tasty filling instead of cheese for Diana Gabaldon’s Cheese Enchiladas.
Cream of Nontoxic Mushroom Soup
“Girl Scout handbook,” Brianna said. She glanced at the men, but no one was near enough to hear. Her mouth twitched, and she looked away from the body, holding out her open hand. “Never eat any strange mushroom,” she quoted. “There are many poisonous varieties, and distinguishing one from another is a job for an expert. Roger found these, growing in a ring by that log over there.”
Moist, fleshy caps, a pale brown with white warty spots, the open gills and slender stems so pale as to look almost phosphorescent in the spruce shadows. They had a pleasant, earthy look to them that belied their deadliness.
“Panther toadstools,” I said, half to myself, and picked one gingerly from her palm. “Agaricus pantherinus—or that’s what they will be called, once somebody gets round to naming them properly. Pantherinus, because they kill so swiftly—like a striking cat.”
I could see the gooseflesh ripple on Brianna’s forearm, raising the soft, red-gold hairs. She tilted her hand and spilled the rest of the deadly fungus on the ground.
—A Breath of Snow and Ashes, chapter 2, “Dutch Cabin”
A decadent adaptation of a classic cream soup from Auguste Escoffier, an important chef, restaurateur, and food writer who greatly influenced the development of modern French cuisine in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Instead of a roux, this recipe uses a gluten-free liaison of egg yolks and cream to thicken the soup slightly just before serving.
Serves 6
Ingredients
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound (450 grams) fresh wild mushrooms, such as chanterelles, morels, or porcini, diced (see Knife Skills)
2 large shallots, diced
1 medium celery stalk, diced
1 garlic clove, grated or minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus additional
½ teaspoon ground white pepper, plus additional
¼ cup brandy
4 cups Vegetable Stock
½ cup whipping cream
2 large egg yolks
Method
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over medium flame. When bubbling, add the mushrooms, shallots, celery, garlic, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms are soft and their water has evaporated, 8 to 12 minutes.
Deglaze with the brandy and reduce until almost dry, about 3 minutes. Puree in a food processor until smooth. Return to the pan, add the stock, and bring to a boil over medium-high flame. Reduce the heat and simmer 30 minutes.
Gently beat the cream and yolks together in a medium bowl. Stir in a ladle of mushroom soup to temper the yolks, then pour everything back into the pot and heat gently. Do not allow to boil. Adjust seasonings if necessary.
Serve with Bannocks at Carfax Close spread with butter and cheese.
Store leftovers in the fridge up to 5 days. Do not freeze.
Notes
• Portobello mushrooms are my favorite substitute outside the wild-mushroom seasons of spring and fall. Remove the stems from the portobellos and use a spoon to scrape away and discard the gills to avoid a dark gray, unappetizing-looking soup.
• No food processor? Use an immersion blender to puree the soup after you’ve added the stock but before you add the liaison.
• Freeze this soup prior to adding the yolks and cream.
