Remember my experience with the Chicken Noodle Soup?
After that, I’ve decided to throw in the towel. They’ve worn me down. No more attempts to sell them on all of the awesomeness that is soup.
For this winter only. They may have won this battle … but I’m in it for the war!
Going too far? It is just soup after all.
Does that mean “No soup for you!”? (If you don’t get this, then ask an older, wiser someone.)
Oh, no no no no no no. Nope. And no.
Mainly because I still hadn’t made my most favorite soup of all time … the Split Pea with Ham.
When I was a kid, the Campbell’s split pea was one of my lunch staples in the winter. It disgusted me that it came out of the can in one solid lump, and it was always amazed at how after a few stirs and a couple of minutes in the microwave it would get creamy. But it was oh so tasty. In my memory anyway.
Now? Blech. I can’t remember the last time that I had that, but just writing that paragraph … well … Oooooo.
Frankly, with a Split Pea Soup this easy and tasty – who needs it?
- 1 pound split peas
- 1 medium onion, chopped
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 ham hock (nitrate/nitrite-free) or half a boneless ham or a ham steak
- 6-8 cups water
- 1 teaspoon thyme
- 1 bay leaf
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 5 medium carrots, sliced
- 3 stalks celery, sliced
- Rinse peas and discard any hard pieces.
- In large stock pot, combine peas, onion, garlic, and ham. If you're using actual ham and not the hock, cut it into large chunks.
- Add water. Use less water if you like your pea soup a bit thicker.
- Add thyme, bay leaf and salt.
- Stir to combine.
- Bring to boil over medium heat.
- Cover and cook about an hour. Peas will be soft but still have some shape.
- Remove ham
- Add carrots and celery.
- Uncover and cook another 45 minutes to an hour, until soup is desired consistency.
Just be sure to find a ham hock or a ham that is nitrate/nitrite free. That is one of the non-negotiables in our house. And it would ruin an otherwise perfectly good soup. Not that my kids would know.
The Bread Guy usually tolerates a small bowl of this soup, claiming to love it yet laboring just enough that it’s pretty obvious that love it just too strong an adjective. He didn’t even eat it this time. Big Britches has declared, in no uncertain terms, that he does not do soup. And Mr. Selective can’t get past the way it looks.
And I didn’t even try. Not a bowl. A spoon. Or any intimation that they should sample even the tiniest taste.
But watch out boys … next winter … game on!