nourishment that can be compressed into a small space. It is,
however, a great mistake to think that because we take a large amount
of nourishment we are necessarily nourished. There is a limit, though
what that limit is no one can say, beyond which soup becomes
absolutely injurious. A quarter of a pound of Liebig's Extract of Meat
dissolved in half a pint of water is obviously an over-dose of what is
considered 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
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