BENEDETTA\’S LENTILS–SO GOOD THAT THEY COULD CONVERT A CARNIVORE

PODCASTBENEDETTA’S LENTILS 0:00 / 0:00 Benedetta's Lentils Benedetta, my grandmother, made the best lentil soup, food that warmed body and soul on many a cold winter evening. She’d send it home with us in a Mason jar, frequently accompanied by a delicious loaf of bread. As hard as I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to replicate that bread—crusty on the outside, sweet and chewy on the inside. However, I believe I’m getting close on the lentil soup. A few years back, when Benedetta was around 103 years old and could still hear telephone conversations, I called her and asked for the lenticche recipe. This is what she told me, more or less. First you get a heavy pot. Pour just enough olive oil in it to cover the bottom. Don’t use that virgin extra virgin-virgin stuff. Use oil with a little kick, like the dark green Spanish variety. Any kind of lentils are fine, green, or brown. The tiny orange ones tend to disintegrate. Check the lentils for stones then throw one or two cups into a bowl of water. Scrub and dice a whole bunch of carrots, maybe five or six. Leave the peel on. Go ahead. It won’t kill you. Dice, don’t mince. You want some slightly crunchy texture in the soup. Don’t use those already peeled mini carrots. There’s something not right about them. Heat up the olive oil. Wash three or four stalks of celery. Keep those leaves at the top. Chop them up, leaves and all, to the same size as the carrots. Cut up a good-sized yellow onion. Place all the vegetables into the heated oil. Mince a couple of big cloves of garlic. Don’t be shy. If you want knock your socks off lentil soup, put in three cloves. If you’re visiting the dentist or spending intimate Face-To-Face time with anyone the next day, restrain yourself to two cloves. (However, if you happen to have vampire problems, go for the three cloves.) Throw in the minced garlic. Grind in some fresh pepper. Toss a few pinches of salt into the mix. Start a kettle of water about now. At this point, hit the simmering vegetables with a couple shots of hot sauce—like Texas Pete or Tabasco. Benedetta never did this, but my guess is that if she were still alive and hadn’t died at 106, she would encourage me to add the heat. Next, when the vegetables looked sufficiently simmered—yellowing but NOT browned—slide in chopped fresh tomatoes, maybe one or two medium ones. Or three. Live big. Here again, I diverge from Benedetta, pour in two glogs of white wine. A glog is that little sound you hear when you briefly tip a full wine bottle and pour a gloggy amount into a glass or pot. I know you know what I mean. Don’t be rolling your eyes. How is everything looking? Is it soup-ish yet? If so, drain those lentils then stir them into the pot of simmering vegetables. Remember, when I told you to put the kettle on a couple of paragraphs ago? Well, now is the time to pour that hot water over the lentils, to just a little more than covering. You can add a little water as you go. For more flavor, add a big glop of Better than Bouillon, organic roasted chicken base. Back to the lentils. Let them simmer for a while, making sure there is always enough liquid to cover them. Honestly, I don’t know how long they should cook. Maybe twenty minutes?  Keep testing. Now, some people are Lentil Geniuses. They can predict the right amount of rice or pasta and throw it into the pot at exactly the right time in this cooking process. Benedetta was a Lentil Genius, but she did not pass on those genes to me, but I am getting better at guessing. When you think the soup is about a half hour from ready, add rice or pasta. My preference is pasta, specifically a type called acini de pepe. I throw in a cup of pasta when I’m preparing two cups of lentils. Make sure that you add enough liquid to keep your soup plenty soupy. Do not overcook the pasta. If you do, you will be sad because your soup will turn into lentil cement. Now it’s time to spoon up a lovely bowl for yourself.  Grate some Asiago cheese on the steaming soup. Spread butter over warm bread and begin your feast.  Oh, and don’t forget a glass of wine. Or, in my case, Orangina in a wine glass which makes me feel very grown up. Buon Appetito! (Photo by Jen Fariello)Deborah Prum’s fiction has appeared in The Virginia Quarterly Review, Across the Margin, Streetlight and other outlets. Her essays air on NPR member stations and have appeared in The Washington Post, Ladies Home Journal and Southern Living, as well as many other places. Check out her WEBSITE. Check out her DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING SERVICES. Check out her PAINTINGS.  APPLE PODCAST SPOTIFY PODCAST