This recipe is sort of spring meets fall. It's designed to use fresh spring peas and herbs for a bright fresh flavor. But in my case, instead of fresh pea soup, it's really not-quite-so-fresh pea soup. I had harvested some end of season stragglers and then not gotten around to cooking them immediately. They weren't quite ready to sprout, but were definitely not super fresh. But these were my peas from my garden, so of course I couldn't just give up on them. This recipe turned out to be a great way to revive them. It melds the bright spring flavors of spring pea soup with the autumnal flavors of split pea soup that come from more mature peas.
Fresh pea soup
Adapted from Ina Garten, aka Barefoot Contessa
Ingredients
2 tablespoons butter
2 cups chopped leeks, white and light-green parts only
1 cup chopped onion
4 cups chicken stock
5 cups freshly shelled peas (or 20 ounces of frozen peas)
3 tablespoons fresh tarragon leaves
2 teaspoons salt
Pepper
6 tablespoons crème fraiche
4 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
Method
Melt butter in large saucepan. Add leeks and onion; cook
until softened. Add chicken stock. Cover and bring to a boil. Add peas and cook
until peas are tender. (If your peas are fresh, this might be as few as 10
minutes, or up to 20 if you're working with peas past prime.) Remove from heat. Add tarragon, salt and pepper. Puree the soup in
batches.
Dish soup into serving bowls if serving immediately. Add
about a tablespoon dollop of crème fraiche to each bowl; it will melt into a
pool in the middle. Sprinkle with fresh chives and serve. Serves about 6.
Make-ahead tip: You can prepare the soup through the puree stage and either refrigerate or freeze it. Then reheat and add crème fraiche and chives.
Rating: Really nice bright flavors even without fresh peas, and I'm sure it would be fab if I'd actually had really fresh peas on hand. Definitely repeatable, and definitely better than peas porridge in the pot nine days old, which never sounded like a winner. (Oh, and if you're one of those people who don't like tarragon, the original recipe calls for oodles of mint, which I of course didn't use since I think it's nature's way of trying to kill me.)
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