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I cradled the
fleshy root in my hand. It was about the size of a baseball without
the weight and encased in tough, whitish-green layers of skin that
extended to a short leafy stalk. It was alien to me, looking like
a pale overgrown radish. Mama Schweizer deftly chopped the stalk off
and started to peel the rough skin into even shreds with a paring
knife. She held it tenderly, yet skillfully and unmercifully. The
exposed flesh of the root gave off a pungent earthy odor and it was
soon reduced to what looked like a small greenish, pared potato.
Mama Schweizer’s hands were worn and arthritic
but cleanly manicured. Despite increasing pain from the degenerative
condition, she made costumes for the high school play every year.
Last summer she and her close friend, a Roman Catholic nun we affectionately
called “Sister,” had made filmy scarves for us out of
the leftover material from Allentown High’s production of
“Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.”
We were starting preparations for kohlrabi soup,
descended from her mother-in-law’s famous kohlrabi soup. “The
family kohlrabi soup that everybody came home for all the time...
everyone wanted a bowl of kohlrabi soup when they came in…”
recalled Mama Schweizer. But her mother-in-law would never share
her recipes, especially not her cherished kohlrabi soup. So Mama
Schweizer was on her own.
Mama based her recipe largely on a Hungarian recipe
for kohlrabi soup called Kalarabeleves. This recipe called
for
| "After
years and dozens of versions, Mama’s mother-in-law finally
admitted one choice detail of her cherished recipe." |
bacon, which she omitted, but it was a good start.
After remembering carrots and onion in her mother-in-law’s
soup, she worked them into her recipe. “I started working
on it and come back to her and I’d ask her, you know, ‘How
does this taste?’” After years and dozens of versions,
Mama’s mother-in-law finally admitted one choice detail of
her cherished recipe. The secret to the flavor was in the roux—juices
from the soup, butter, and flour. In order to make it correctly,
it must be browned.
“But it’s never as good as Mom’s,
right?” She directed the question towards Mr. Schweizer, who
was passing through with a slice of fresh blueberry pie on his way
to the living room.
“It’s not
the same,” he quickly answered. “It’s different.”
Mama Schweizer added
to me, "But it's Americanized. Hers is German, it's European
and mine is American.”
Mama Schweizer
usually makes kohlrabi soup in the summer so we can use fresh kohlrabi
and parsley
"Mama
Schweizer added to me, 'But it's Americanized. Hers is German,
it's European and mine is American." |
from the garden,
but sometimes the soup was the result of yesterday’s boiled
chicken. Waste is still a sin in her kitchen. Kohlrabi can also
be found at the farmer’s market, nestled somewhere between
leeks and cabbage. The name kohlrabi comes from the German kohl
for cabbage out of the Latin caulis for cabbage combined with rapa
for turnip. Kohlrabi is part of the crucifer family named for its
members’ characteristic cross-shaped blossoms.
The ingredients
for kohlrabi soup are nothing out of the ordinary.
Butter
1 large onion, halved and chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 large carrot, grated
1 tablespoon parsley, chopped
3 ½ cups chicken broth
1 pound kohlrabi with leaves (2 to 3 large bulbs)
1 tablespoon flour
1 ½ teaspoons lemon juice
Dash of pepper to taste
Step One
Sauté the chopped onion with a tablespoon of butter for about
a minute. Next, add minced garlic, carrots, celery and parsley,
and cover the mixture for five minutes. Add one cup of chicken broth
to the mixture and cover, simmering for ten minutes. Mama Schweizer
happily concedes to the modern convenience of creaming the contents
in an electric blender, a luxury that her mother-in-law never utilized.
Step Two
Trim, peel, and dice the kohlrabi bulbs. Wash the kohlrabi leaves
and blanch in boiling water until a brilliant green, about one minute,
then rinse in cold running water. Drain and finely chop. Boil the
kohlrabi pieces and vegetables in the rest of the chicken broth
until tender, about 15 minutes.
Step Three
To make
the roux, brown the butter. Cook the roux, stirring constantly for
two minutes. Stir this mixture back into the rest of the soup. Cook
until the soup thickens, about ten minutes. Add the lemon juice
and pepper to taste and serve hot.
The first time
I tasted the soup was in the winter when Ann and I pirated glasses
of Chablis near the wood
|
“'The
first time I tasted the soup was in the winter when Ann and
I pirated glasses of Chablis near the wood stove in the living
room." |
stove in the
living room. We brought it back to school preserved in frozen chunks
from the batches her mother made in the spring when the garden yielded
baskets of fresh ingredients. I grew accustomed to the slower pace
and the summer breeze scented with lavender and the faint tang of
manure from the farm down the road. Ann and I spent afternoons in
the lazy hammock with
the cats. In the next few years, we would faithfully return home
to pick fresh peas, green beans, tomatoes, and blackberries in exchange
for a generous share of the bounty, and a generous portion of kohlrabi
soup.
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