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Created by Chef Thomas
Cauliflower simmered slowly in milk with a grating of nutmeg, blended to something pale and silky, the sort of soup that makes a cold Tuesday evening feel like it was the plan all along.
January. The kitchen is cold until the hob has been on for ten minutes. There's a cauliflower on the counter, bought from the market on Saturday with no particular plan, the way the best meals start. It has sat there patiently for two days, waiting for the right evening. Tonight is the right evening.
This is a soup of almost nothing. Cauliflower, milk, butter, a whisper of nutmeg. No stock cube heroics, no cream by the carton. The cauliflower does the work. Simmered gently in milk until it falls apart, then blended smooth into something so pale and quiet it barely looks like food at all. But the taste is deep, that sweet, slightly mineral quality that good cauliflower has when you don't drown it in cheese or spice. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract, and this one only has a few words.
I've made this more times than I can count. The notebook entry just says: cauliflower, milk, nutmeg, Wednesday. That was enough to bring it back. The kitchen smelled clean and warm, the bowl was hot, and I sat at the table and ate it with bread and butter and didn't want anything else. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate in front of someone, and this soup, for all its simplicity, does what the most elaborate dishes sometimes can't. It makes the evening feel looked after.
Quantity
1 large
leaves and core removed, broken into florets
Quantity
30g
Quantity
1 medium
finely sliced
Quantity
1 clove
flattened with the side of a knife
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
250ml
Quantity
for grating
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a splash
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| cauliflowerleaves and core removed, broken into florets | 1 large |
| unsalted butter | 30g |
| onionfinely sliced | 1 medium |
| garlicflattened with the side of a knife | 1 clove |
| whole milk | 500ml |
| vegetable or light chicken stock | 250ml |
| whole nutmeg | for grating |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| white pepper | to taste |
| double cream (optional) | a splash |
| good olive oil or extra butter (optional) | for serving |
Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over a low heat. Add the sliced onion and the garlic clove and cook gently, stirring now and then, until the onion has gone soft and translucent. Ten minutes, maybe a little more. You don't want any colour here. None at all. The point of this soup is its paleness, its quietness. If the onion starts to catch, turn the heat down and add a splash of water.
Add the cauliflower florets to the pan and stir them through the buttery onion. Let them sit in the warmth for a couple of minutes. They won't colour, and that's fine. You're just introducing them to the butter, letting them relax.
Pour in the milk and the stock. The liquid should just cover the cauliflower. If it doesn't, add a splash more milk. Bring it to a gentle simmer, not a boil. Milk boils over with a determination that will ruin your afternoon. Keep the heat low, the surface barely trembling, and let it cook for twenty to twenty-five minutes until the cauliflower is completely tender. A floret should collapse when you press it against the side of the pan with a wooden spoon.
Take the pan off the heat. Fish out the garlic clove if you can find it (it doesn't matter if you can't, it'll blend in). Use a stick blender to blitz the soup until it's completely smooth. This takes longer than you think. Keep going until the texture is like silk, no graininess, no lumps. If it's too thick, add a little more milk. If too thin, let it simmer uncovered for a few more minutes to tighten up.
Return the soup to a low heat. Grate in a little nutmeg, just a few passes across a fine grater. The nutmeg should be there like a memory, not a presence. Season with salt and white pepper. Taste it. Then taste it again. Stir in a splash of cream if you want it richer, though it doesn't need much. Ladle into warm bowls and finish with a thread of good olive oil or a small knob of butter melting on the surface. Serve with bread you'd be happy eating on its own.
1 serving (about 350g)
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