some soups are born great...
Maybe it was the bubbles in the Freixenet that made me bold—I don't usually beg for recipes when dining out—but today's featured cold soup at Down the Street in Stratford had me sinking to my knees in supplication.
Fresh cucumber with lemon and dill; an exquisite balance of tart, sharp, and sweet; the very definition of summer!
When I asked our waitperson if chef would consider sharing the recipe, she threw me a pitying glance. "Not a chance in hell! He'll take the secret to his grave."
O!
Despair!
(Blame that on an afternoon of Shakespeare—we much enjoyed Twelfth Night.)
So, I am now on a quest. It seems there are many pretenders to the 'Quintessential Cold Cucumber Soup' title but after more than an hour of browsing online recipe archives, none seem quite right. Perhaps a little hands-on research is required. I'll start tomorrow, visit the local farmers' market for the best and freshest ingredients, and then ...
(to be continued)
posted by Cheryl @ 10:00 pm
Home of The Write Spot
1 Comments:
See, now, some people might think that falling to one's knees in supplication calls for suppleness of one's knees but I am not some people. Unless there's more going on in my head than even I know. It's possible. The recipe sounds yummy, though, and I think the chef should share, out of the goodness of his heart. Or for a small amount of cash.
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