Cassell's Vegetarian Cookery. A. G. Payne
nourishment. In France, as a rule, soup is prepared on an altogether different idea. It is a light, thin broth, taken at the commencement of the meal to strengthen the stomach, in order to render it capable of receiving more substantial food to follow. Vegetarian soups are, of course, to be considered from this latter point of view.
We think these few preliminary observations necessary as we have to overcome a very strong English prejudice, which is too apt to despise everything of which the remark can be made—“Ah! but there is very little nourishment in it.” Vegetarian soups, as a rule, and especially the thin ones, must be regarded as a light and pleasant flavouring which, with a small piece of white bread enables the most obstinately delicate stomach to commence a repast that experience has found best adapted to its requirements.
The basis of all soup is stock, and in making stock we, of course, have to depend upon vegetables, fruit, or some kind of farinaceous food. To a certain extent the water in which any kind of vegetable has been boiled may be regarded as stock, especially water that has boiled roots, such as potatoes; or grains, such as rice. It will not, however, be necessary to enter into any general description as to the best method of obtaining nutriment in a liquid form from vegetables and grain, as directions will be given in each recipe, but a few words are necessary on the general subject of flavouring stock. In making ordinary soup we are very much dependent for flavour, if the soup be good, on the meat, the vegetables acting only as accessories. In making stock for vegetarian soups we are chiefly dependent for flavour on the vegetables themselves, and consequently great care must be taken that these flavourings are properly blended. The great difficulty in giving directions in cookery-books, and in understanding them when given, is the insuperable one of avoiding vague expressions. For instance, suppose we read, “Take two onions, one carrot, one turnip, and one head of celery,”—what does this mean? It will be found practically that these directions vary considerably according to the neighbourhood or part of the country in which we live. For instance, so much depends upon where we take our head of celery from. Suppose we bought our head of celery in Bond Street or the Central Arcade in Covent Garden Market on the one hand, or off a barrow in the Mile End Road on the other. Again, onions vary so much in size that we cannot draw any hard-and-fast line between a little pickling onion no bigger than a marble and a Spanish onion as big as a baby’s head. It would be possible to be very precise and say, “Take so many ounces of celery, or so many pounds of carrot,” but practically we cannot turn the kitchen into a chemist’s shop. Cooks, whether told to use celery in heads or ounces, would act on guess-work just the same. What are absolutely essential are two things—common sense and experience.
Again, practically, we must avoid giving too many ingredients. Novices in the art of cooking are, of course, unable to distinguish between those vegetables that are absolutely essential and those added to give a slight extra flavour, but which make very little difference to the soup whether they are added or not. We are often directed to add a few leaves of tarragon, or chervil, or a handful of sorrel. Of course, in a large kitchen, presided over by a Francatelli, these are easily obtainable; but in ordinary private houses, and in most parts of the country, they are not only unobtainable but have never even been heard of at the greengrocer’s shop.
In making soups, as a rule, the four vegetables essential are, onion, celery, carrot and turnip; and we place them in their order of merit. In making vegetarian soup it is very important that we should learn how to blend these without making any one flavour too predominant. This can only be learnt by experience. If we have too much onion the soup tastes rank; too much celery will make it bitter; too much carrot often renders the soup sweet; and the turnip overpowers every other flavour. Again, these vegetables vary so much in strength that were we to peel and weigh them the result would not be uniform, in addition to the fact that not one cook in a thousand would take the trouble to do it. Perhaps the most dangerous vegetable with which we have to deal is turnip. These vary so very much in strength that sometimes even one slice of turnip will be found too strong. In flavouring soups with these vegetables, the first care should be to see that they are thoroughly cleansed. In using celery, too much of the green part should be avoided if you wish to make first-rate soup. In using the onions, if they are old and strong, the core can be removed. In using carrot, if you are going to have any soup where vegetables will be cut up and served in the soup, you should always peel off the outside red part of the carrot and reserve it for this purpose, and only use the inside or yellow part for flavouring purposes if is going to be thrown away or to lose its identity by being rubbed through a wire sieve with other vegetables. With regard to turnip, we can only add one word of caution—not too much. We may here mention, before leaving the subject of ingredients, that leeks and garlic are a substitute for onion, and can also be used in conjunction with it.
As a rule, in vegetarian cookery clear soups are rare, and, of course, from an economical point of view, they are not to be compared with thick soups. Some persons, in making stock, recommend what is termed bran tea. Half a pint of bran is boiled in about three pints of water, and a certain amount of nutriment can be extracted from the bran, which also imparts colour.
For the purpose of colouring clear soups, however, there is nothing in the world to compare with what French cooks call caramel. Caramel is really burnt sugar. There is a considerable art in preparing it, as it is necessary that it should impart colour, and colour only. When prepared in the rough-and-ready manner of burning sugar in a spoon, as is too often practised in English kitchens, this desideratum is never attained, as you are bound to impart sweetness in addition to a burnt flavour. The simplest and by far the most economical method of using caramel is to buy it ready-made. It is sold by all grocers under the name of Parisian Essence. A small bottle, costing about eightpence, will last a year, and saves an infinite loss of time, trouble, and temper.
By far the most economical soups are the thick, where all the ingredients can be rubbed through a wire sieve. Thick soups can be divided into two classes—ordinary brown soup, and white soup. The ordinary brown is the most economical, as in white soups milk is essential, and if the soup is wished to be very good it is necessary to add a little cream.
Soups owe their thickness to two processes. We can thicken the soup by adding flour of various kinds, such as ordinary flour, corn-flour, &c., and soup can also be thickened by having some of the ingredients of which it is composed rubbed through a sieve. This class of soups may be called Purées. For instance, Palestine soup is really a purée of Jerusalem artichokes; ordinary pea soup is a purée of split peas. In making our ordinary vegetarian soups of all kinds, as a rule, all the ingredients should be rubbed through a sieve. The economy of this is obvious on the face of it. In the case of thickening soup by means of some kinds of flour, for richness and flavour there is nothing to equal ordinary flour that has been cooked. This is what Frenchmen call roux.
As white and brown roux are the very backbone of vegetarian cookery a few words of explanation may not be out of place. On referring to the recipe for making white and brown roux, it will be seen that it is simply flour cooked by means of frying it in butter, In white roux each grain of flour is cooked till it is done. In brown roux each grain of flour is cooked till it is done brown. We cannot exaggerate the importance of getting cooks to see the enormous difference between thickening soups or gravy with white or brown roux and simply thickening them with plain butter and flour. The taste of the soup in the two cases is altogether different. The difference is this. Suppose you have just been making some pastry—some good, rich, puff paste—you have got two pies, and, as you probably know, this pastry is simply butter and flour. Place one pie in the oven and bake it till it is a nice rich brown. Now taste the pie-crust. It is probably delicious. Now taste the piece of the pie that has not been baked at all. It is nauseous. The difference is—one is butter and flour that has been cooked, the other is butter and flour that has not been cooked.
One word of warning in conclusion. Cooks should always remember the good old saying—that it is quite possible to have too much of a good thing. They should be particularly warned to bear this in mind in adding herbs, such as ordinary mixed