RSS Feed

Beetroot And Dill Soup

Posted on

“Busy, busy, busy, is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.”

If I was a true Bokononist, that’s what I would whisper in these recent few weeks.

I also suffered from sleep deprivation which made me fall asleep in random places (like a bus) and situations. And that made me think of ‘My Own Idaho’, my favourite Gus Van Sand film. As it happens, the main character suffers from narcolepsy, so he wakes up in different locations and times.

It’s one of those films which might not be perfect, but some kind of magic happened and this mesmerizing, captivating creation appeared. The cast is just perfect. River Phoenix is a legend, his talent shone through in this film. It is such a shame we are not able to see how his career could develop. But he left an unforgettable mark in the history of cinema.

‘My Private Idaho’ to me is the best Van Sant’s film. It’s so beautifully shot and sad, poignant and heart breaking, that once you watch it, the images will never leave you.

b5cxu8t1_nhl7oj

Private_Idaho

 Here’s something unexpected with it, I am pretty sure hustlers would love it.

Beetroot and Dill Soup:

3-4 beetroots

2 medium potatoes

1l vegetable stock

1 bay leaf

1 cup of soaked overnight and cooked cannellini beans (or rinsed tinned ones)

juice of 1 lemon

1 cup fresh dill

1/2 cup sour or soya cream

salt

pepper

1. Start by warming up the stock. Peel beetroots and potatoes, wash the and cut them into cubes.

2. Add vegetables to the stock with bay leaf, salt and pepper. Simmer until beetroot and potatoes get soft. Add lemon juice and cannellini beans. Simmer for another 5 minutes. Take the soup of the heat, add cream of your choice, dill, season to taste.

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

beetroot and dill soup

 

Advertisements

About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: