Socks and the weather - Gloria continues

Billington's Cove had seasons, it was just that commonly recognized indications of them arrived when they chose.  So it was that Mr. Apotienne, on a late-spring holiday, knew to bring his all-weather coat, his golf umbrella with the faded advertising tv logo and more than one pair of shoes that could survive a soaking from rogue waves or sodden paths.  He also brought balled pairs of black woolen socks, new and old, which nearly needed their own suitcase, their number so great.  While there was a cleaners and laundry service in Billington's Cove, and he held no illusion that every item of clothing he dropped off there was not at least scrutinized, examined with forensic care and, most likely, tried on, he knew he could keep himself in dry socks almost indefinitely, which gave him some sense of autonomy and comfort.   Plus the fisherman's outfittery did sell wool socks.

Inland from the Cove, even as near as ten miles, seasons and crops were more predictable.  In strawberry season Gloria could count on sweet berries, a plentitude of which she froze for a surprising December treat dressed in Christmas red.  It wasn't Camelot - well, certainly not along the coast where there would be no point to rules or edicts about matters which could not be predicted, let alone controlled or legislated.  The warmer (though not uncomfortably hot) inland fields and valleys did yield crops that fell way outside agricultural norms.  Families out for a weekend drive would comment on the fact of ripe, fresh blueberries or raspberries long after their time was past, shake their heads in grateful wonder and fill up the car, their fingertips stained, with thanks to the fruit stand's generous sample policy.

Mrs. Fergus, whose name was Belinda and who gave a roaring stink eye to anyone calling her Mrs. Fergus or Mrs. Anything, was content with the best of both worlds or climate zones.  Her bees and honey flourished inland as, it seemed, did every living thing, and her heart did a welcome home dance when she was at the coast, sifting through her van contents for clothing of the proper weight for whatever the old gods of the sea had decreed that day.  She had, as had the entire population of Billington's Cove and environs, noticed The Reading Man and, being attuned to weather for her own reasons, noticed how he seemed to know before the others what appropriate attire would be for a day or day-part.  Belinda, as subtly and inconspicuously as possible,  watched him  seem to commune with the sky, take barometric readings with nasal inhalations while scouting the horizon, which is not the showy behavior it sounds but purely organic acts, the way a flower may turn to face the sun.

Other realms - the art of Ronald Companoca

Original art by Ronald Companoca

Fergus meets the fish - Gloria Part 10

Gloria, as many of us, was given at times to exaggeration either of word or, more likely, of action.  The episode of the fish-smacking took on its own weight and atmosphere as the story circulated about town.  It was an early morning, Fergus just arriving with the egg delivery and a admiration for his own, as he thought of them, manly gifts that nearly swelled his head, metaphorically, to the size of a barrage balloon.  His smirking remarks were so galling that Gloria grabbed the nearest, non-fatal object and gave him a swift, startling whack across the face.  Since the bandied-about story named the fishy weapon as a small cod, that is what all have called it since.  Gloria quickly switched to another supplier of eggs and, as a bonus, dairy products but Fergus dragged his tale of mistreatment about the region like a broken limb, eliciting sympathy by the dozens from his less particular customers and loiterers.

 

Photo, courtesy of this site, a swelled head model indeed.

Because Gloria was not one to trouble herself about what people were saying, for the next several weeks she kept a a fresh, flailing-quality specimen nearby should anyone want to try their luck with a leering aside or bold proposition, to see if history would repeat itself. It seems all knew her well enough not to take the chance. So it was that when The Reading Man arrived in Billington's Cove, the first citizen he encountered told of how eccentric, volatile Gloria - the abridged version in which Fergus was cast as the injured party - swung a mean fish and he'd best keep his head down at the tea shop. Or risk the consequences.  And of course it was that same day that Mr. Apotienne, who intended to read quietly to himself as he enjoyed Gloria's kitchen arts, felt the phantom jabbing that caused him to begin reading aloud, catching Gloria's ear, putting an end to the fish-as-weapon era, though in the minds of townsfolk it had been more of a life-long inclination than a short-lived fit of pique.

It was said though not proven that when married, Fergus endured other dope-slaps, particularly when riding in a car driven by his wife he would take it upon himself to comment that he thought she drove on the wrong streets.  A contrarian from an unbroken, undistinguished lineage of people who seemed to grab the wrong end of the stick, Fergus had, wrong-headedly, decided that he knew all the shortest, quickest routes through nearby communities, his plan mostly involving rolling stops at stop signs, not slowing down for speed bumps, of which there were few, or potholes, of which there were many.  So when Mrs. Fergus, as he chose to call her, took sensible routes over roads with left-turn lanes and drivers who paid attention, Fergus felt called upon to point out her failure to comply with his instructions.  It was the day after he told her she parked in the wrong spot, identifiable only by him, that she left him and his chickens and gargantuan lack of self-awareness and moved a short distance inland to where a friend kept bees and had started a business of artisanal honey.  Mrs. Fergus never looked back. 

Make it at home - wild mushroom soup, a la Gloria, Episode 9, more or less

Gloria, who has the ability to know just exactly how a recipe will taste, found this to her liking. Of course, she makes bigger batches.

Wild Mushroom Soup with Sherry & Thyme

RATE IT

read reviews [8]

Serves six.

Yields about 5-1/2 cups.

• To learn more, read:
  Simple Soups for Fall
• by Jill Hough
  from Fine Cooking
  Issue 74

If you like, a drizzle of white truffle oil just before serving makes this soup especially fragrant and luxurious. For the mushrooms, try a mix of half chanterelles or cremini and half shiitakes.

more about:

• wild mushrooms
• dry sherry
• onions
• black peppercorns
• thyme
• kosher salt
• chicken broth
• half-and-half
• soy sauce
• garlic
• butter

• 2 Tbs. unsalted butter
• 2 Tbs. olive oil
• 1 medium onion, cut into medium dice (to yield about 1-1/2 cups)
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 3/4 lb. fresh wild mushrooms, wiped clean, trimmed (stems removed from shiitakes), and thinly sliced (to yield about 4-1/2 cups)
• 2 Tbs. plus 1 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 4 cups homemade or low-salt chicken or vegetable broth
• 1/4 cup half-and-half
• 3 Tbs. dry sherry
• 1 Tbs. soy sauce

Melt the butter and olive oil in a 5-qt. or larger stockpot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until it's beginning to brown (resist the urge to stir too often), about 4 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Add the mushrooms, 2 Tbs. of the thyme, and 1/2 tsp. each salt and pepper; cook until the mushrooms become limp, 2 to 4 minutes.
Add the broth, scraping up any browned bits in the pot with a wooden spoon. Bring to a boil over high heat, reduce the heat to maintain a simmer,
and cook until the mushrooms are tender, 7 to 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly. Transfer about half of the soup to a stand blender and process until smooth. Return the mixture to the pot and stir in the half-and-half, sherry, and soy sauce. Add more salt and pepper to taste, if needed, and reheat. Garnish each serving with a small pinch of the remaining 1 tsp. thyme.

nutrition information (per serving):
Size : based on six servings; Calories (kcal): 160; Fat (g): 11; Fat Calories (kcal): 90; Saturated Fat (g): 4; Protein (g): 5; Monounsaturated Fat (g): 5; Carbohydrates (g): 14; Polyunsaturated Fat (g): 1; Sodium (mg): 370; Cholesterol (mg): 15; Fiber (g): 2;

Photo: Scott Phillips

• user reviews

• made it?

• RATE IT!

by jpachino, 11/4/2012So good. To lower the fat and salt, I used reduced sodium chicken broth and plain greek yogurt instead of half and half. I also used some dried as well as fresh wild mushrooms, and it didn't affect the flavor at all. I will definitely use this again!

 

by eselque, 11/15/2010This was great. I used a combination of chanterelles, shiitake, and crimini mushrooms, and oloroso sherry. Next time, maybe I'll try a fino or a manzanilla, although the oloroso was very good.

 

by Jason123, 9/14/2010Ahhh...I love this soup and have been making it for years. I can't believe that I haven't reviewed it until now. I think that the soy and sherry really set this soup apart from the other mushroom soups. It even tastes great with just button mushrooms and milk instead of half and half.

 

by bayviewchef, 2/26/2010The soup is delicious. I did not have thyme so I substituted tarragon instead and it was perfect. I have made this a few time for guests who also loved it. We have beautiful sterling silver demitasse cups that I served the soup in as a starter. It also freezes perfectly.

 

by Verdura, 1/12/2010Absolutely hands-down, the BEST mushroom soup recipe! I have gotten rave reviews and had to pass out the recipe to everyone who had tasted this delicious course (as well as encourage subscriptions to your magazine). The sherry, thyme, and soy sauce are the secret ingredients that make this a Fine Cooking knockout! Thanks!

 

by rshiring, 11/28/2009This soup was a hit at my Thanksgiving dinner this year! The flavors were great and the texture was perfect. The next time I make this I will try omitting the half and half for a healthier version.

 

by Amy, 1/21/2008It wasn't as thick or as creamy as I expected it to be, but the flavor was excellent.

 

by kaloeb, 11/1/2007This soup is absolutely wonderful. When I served it to friends, one of them said he'd "like to swim in it." I didn't change anything in the recipe and the light drizzle of truffle oil really was a great way to finish it off.

The ocean in his pocket - Gloria continues

Seascape by JMW Turner

During one of his waistline-preserving walks, Mr. Apotienne wondered how any of the explorers, any of the immigrants, ever came to settle the country's mid-section, his mind fusing in cellular memory with  hardy antecedants who first arrived at these or similar shallow-bayed coastlines.   Never having lived anywhere from which he could not reach an ocean in less than half a day's drive, he felt his throat tighten as though clogged with dust bowl topsoil.  In his mind's eye that vastness that stretched to the horizon was not white-capped salt water but the prairie, for which he knew himself accutely unsuited.  He would have made poor company on a wagon train, whimpering his grief as others tried to sleep, not as much afraid of what might surround them as from a homesickness that he knew would never diminish.  From his capacious coat he extracted a postcard, a seascape oil by Turner from the Tate, found tucked within his current volume of borrowed oratory.  I carry the ocean in my pocket, he thought, or it finds me, insistent as the tattooed name of a long-ago love.

As he mused almost to the point of brooding about being landlocked, exiled from the shore, especially this shore, Gloria chopped wild mushrooms for a late afternoon soup, a flavorful and warming choice, she though.  Something out of the ordinary.  Had she formed the plan earlier, she could have mentioned it to The Reading Man, or set before him the tent-fold placard announcement.  She'd considered the mushrooms for a quiche but could smell and taste the creamy sherry and thyme base which a previous patron had said she would like to swim in.  Perhaps she would hold some back for tomorrow and offer it to The Reading Man.  It would only improve with a few hours' chance for the flavors to blend.  And it felt important for him to try some. She was not familiar with the belief that the best spells are not ones we concoct but those which are dropped by fairy hands into willing hearts and minds.

On poetry and Manhattan

Red Manhattan by John Held Jr.

E. B. White and Cat Power on the Literary Jukebox.

Gloria, who knows nothing yet of The Day the Books Got Bossy

Because of these

The Reading Man had no intention of ending up wearing these with a hockey jersey rather than his  more flattering, possibly retro flannels, challis shirt of a tiny and masculine subdued print and his deep-pocketed but fitting appropriately at the shoulders all-weather coat.

On days when it stormed, Mr. Apotienne (aka TRM) longed to occupy his bentwood chair (or occasionally the substituted pressback companion) until it might be late enough and dark enough that he could offer to walk Gloria home.   Though he had never played golf in his life, he saw the utility and appeal of a golf umbrella, room for two without overstepping, almost impervious to on-shore gusts.  He also knew himself well enough to understand that a day of walking skipped because of the weather was the thin edge of the wedge to sloth, and could mooning about and sighing be far behind?  He thought it trite to consider the stormy days bracing, yet they were just that.  So good for clearing a muddled head.  He hoped they worked some magic on his arteries as well.  Mr. Apotienne was by no definition a solely indoor and easy pursuits sort of fellow.  He was imaginative about fixing things and building simple, time-resistant furniture.  Beginning in childhood, life had revealed itself to him through the land, the seasons, the birds and beasts, what would grow and what would not and a gradually acquired ability to read the sky.

What prompted him to bring much of his Noel Coward collection as a portion of holiday reading he could not say.  As he ambled, or, more accurately,  shuffled, back bent, peering along his shelves before packing, the familiar spines seemed to, well, shimmer, standing apart from other titles in a way that made them alluring and right.  Once he had stacked the volumes on the floor, his commitment to them declared, no other books called attention to themselves in any way.  He was on his own for the rest of his choices.  Nor could he explain - and it is important to know that Mr. Apotienne was loathe to explain any of his behavior or thought process ever to anyone - why he pocketed the paperback with three plays including Blithe Spirit when he set out that first morning for a light repast.  He knew there must have been a sharp jab with an imaginary pointy stick that caused him to begin reading out loud while waiting for his first - oh, the heaven of it - plate of Gloria's breakfast pastries to be set before him.  He examined himself for bruises or punctures when he returned to his cottage and found none.  Which did not mean the jabbing hadn't happened.