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Created by Chef Thomas
A pale, velvet-smooth celeriac soup that tastes of celery and hazelnuts and the kind of January evening where nobody needs to be anywhere else.
Celeriac arrives at the market looking like it has no intention of being eaten. Mud-caked, knobbly, the sort of thing you'd walk past if nobody had told you what was inside. But peel it back, and the flesh is pale as ivory and smells of celery and hazelnuts and damp earth, all at once. It is one of winter's quiet best.
This is a January soup. February at a push. It needs the cold outside to make sense, the kind of evening when the windows fog over and the kitchen smells of butter and something slow on the hob. The celeriac does most of the work. A single potato gives the soup body without getting in the way. Good stock, a pour of cream, and a squeeze of lemon at the end to stop the whole thing from being too inward-looking. That's it.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: celeriac, hazelnuts, cream, rain. It still holds. The toasted hazelnuts scattered on top are not a garnish. They're a conversation between two things that already know each other. The crunch against the silk. The warm, roasted nuttiness against the cool, pale earthiness of the soup. Right food, right evening.
There are few better feelings than putting a warm bowl of this in front of someone on a dark night. We're only making dinner. But sometimes dinner is all you need.
Quantity
1 large (about 800g)
peeled and roughly chopped
Quantity
1 medium
peeled and roughly chopped
Quantity
1 medium
sliced
Quantity
2 cloves
sliced
Quantity
40g
Quantity
750ml
Quantity
100ml
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a handful
roughly chopped
Quantity
a few drops
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| celeriacpeeled and roughly chopped | 1 large (about 800g) |
| potatopeeled and roughly chopped | 1 medium |
| onionsliced | 1 medium |
| garlicsliced | 2 cloves |
| unsalted butter | 40g |
| chicken or vegetable stock | 750ml |
| double cream | 100ml |
| lemon juice | 1 tablespoon |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| white pepper | to taste |
| hazelnutsroughly chopped | a handful |
| hazelnut oil or extra virgin olive oil (optional) | a few drops |
Celeriac is not beautiful. Accept this. It looks like something you'd find at the bottom of a garden shed. Take a sharp knife and cut away the skin in thick slices, working from top to bottom. Don't try to follow the contours or you'll be here all evening. Rough chunks, about the size of a walnut. The potato gets the same treatment. Both go into a bowl of cold water with a squeeze of lemon if you're not cooking them straightaway, because celeriac browns like an apple the moment the air gets to it.
Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed pan over a low heat. Add the sliced onion and a good pinch of salt. Let it cook gently for eight to ten minutes, stirring now and then, until it's soft and translucent and smells sweet. Add the garlic for the last minute or two. You don't want colour on anything here. This is a pale soup and it wants to stay that way.
Drain the celeriac and potato and add them to the pan. Stir everything together and let it cook in the butter for a few minutes. This isn't about browning. It's about the vegetables getting acquainted, the butter coating everything, the kitchen starting to smell of celery and earth and something quietly nutty. Pour in the stock. It should just cover the vegetables. If it doesn't quite, add a splash of water. Bring to a gentle simmer, put a lid on slightly ajar, and leave it alone for twenty-five minutes or so, until everything yields without resistance to the point of a knife.
Take the pan off the heat and blend until completely smooth. A stick blender does this well enough, though a countertop blender gives you a finer, more velvety result if you have the patience for it. You're after something almost like cream in texture: no graininess, no lumps, nothing that catches on the tongue. If it feels too thick, thin it with a little more stock. It should coat the back of a spoon and slip off slowly.
While the soup simmers, scatter the chopped hazelnuts in a dry frying pan over a medium heat. Shake the pan every thirty seconds or so. Trust your nose. The moment they smell warm and toasty and the colour has turned a shade deeper, they're done. Tip them onto a plate immediately. A hot pan will carry on cooking them after you think you've stopped, and the line between toasted and burnt is a short one.
Return the blended soup to a gentle heat. Stir in the cream and the lemon juice. The lemon isn't there to make it taste of lemon. It's there to lift the earthiness, to stop the soup from being one note. Season with salt and white pepper. Taste it. Then taste it again. Ladle into warm bowls. Scatter the toasted hazelnuts over the top. A few drops of hazelnut oil if you have it, or good olive oil if you don't. Serve it to someone who needs a quiet evening.
1 serving (about 450g)
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