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Golden Beet Soup — For Charlie

9 minutes ago
4 min read

Some recipes carry more than their ingredients.

I first made this golden beet soup at least fifteen years ago. I took a photograph of it and, as one did in those days, posted it on Facebook.

My phone rang almost immediately. It was Charlie Abowd.


Chef Charlie Abowd in his kitchen at Adele's Carson City, Nevada
My friend, the late Charlie Abowd, in his restaurant - Adele's - in Carson City, Nevada

Charlie was the chef and owner of Adele's in Carson City, a James Beard chef, a good friend, and someone who generously mentored and encouraged me. He wanted the recipe for that soup.

I didn't really have one. Yikes. I'd made it the way I often cook—some of this, a little of that, tasting and adjusting as I went. So I sorta told Charlie what I'd done and promised myself I'd write it all down properly. I never did.


Charlie died a couple years ago. And now, every time I make this soup, I think of him.

There is something bittersweet about finally committing the recipe to paper. Charlie never got the carefully measured version he asked me for. But perhaps the recipe itself has become something better in the intervening years. I've made it enough times that it is unquestionably mine now—and the memory of Charlie has become as much a part of it as the golden beets, tarragon and splash of white Bordeaux.

So, considerably later than promised, here it is.

This one's for Charlie.


A Different Kind of Beet Soup


If the words beet soup conjure up something thick, puréed and intensely earthy, this isn't that.


A bowl of golden beets soup on a wood platter with a puff pastry roll

This soup is rustic and brothy. I dice the golden beets rather than grate them, and cut the carrots on a small oblique so they retain their shape and character. I don't purée anything. Part of what I love about the soup is seeing all those jewel-like vegetables in a clear, fragrant golden broth.

Over the years I've wandered away from the recipe that originally inspired it.

I use shallots instead of leeks. Vegetable stock became vegan chicken-style stock, both for its flavor and because it preserves that beautiful golden color. I replaced caraway with celery seed. Fresh thyme and tarragon come from the garden.

And there is always a generous splash of dry white Bordeaux. A Château Ducasse is my favorite and is always in my wine rack.

The result is deceptively simple: sweet, earthy golden beets and carrots, aromatic shallots and celery, garden herbs, and a savory broth with just enough wine and cider vinegar to keep all that root-vegetable sweetness in balance.



A pot of golden beet soup on the stovetop

Golden Beet Soup

Serves 4 to 6

Ingredients


  • 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

  • 4 to 5 large shallots, sliced

  • 1 large celery stalk, sliced

  • 4 garlic cloves, finely minced or grated

  • ½ teaspoon celery seed

  • 1½ pounds golden beets, thoroughly washed and cut into a small dice

  • ½ pound carrots, well washed and cut on a small roll cut

  • 2 teaspoons fine sea salt, plus more to taste

  • Freshly ground black pepper

  • ½ cup dry white Bordeaux, or a good generous splash

  • 6 cups vegan chicken-style stock (I prefer the Better Than Bouillon)

  • Several sprigs fresh thyme

  • Fresh tarragon, chopped, to taste

  • 2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar, plus more to taste

  • OPTIONAL: Fresh beet tops. I slice them up and toss 'em into the hot soup bowls just before serving.



Method


Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy soup pot over medium heat. Add the shallots and celery and cook gently until softened and translucent, without letting them brown.

Add the garlic and celery seed and cook briefly, just until fragrant.

Add the golden beets and carrots. Season with salt and plenty of freshly ground black pepper and cook for several minutes, stirring occasionally, so the vegetables begin to soften and mingle with the aromatics.

Add a generous splash of white Bordeaux. Bring it to a simmer and let it cook for a couple of minutes, scraping up all the flavorful bits from the bottom of the pot.

Pour in the vegan chicken-style stock and add the thyme. Bring just to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer gently until the beets and carrots are tender but still hold their shape, about 25 to 35 minutes.

Add the fresh tarragon toward the end of cooking.

Remove the thyme stems and stir in the apple cider vinegar. Taste the broth carefully and adjust the salt, pepper and vinegar as needed.

And don't purée it.

This is a soup of vegetables and broth, and that's exactly what it should be. The beets and carrots should remain distinct, floating in a clear golden broth fragrant with herbs, wine and celery seed. Here's where I go off script again. If the tops on the beets are pretty decent - not all big, tough and dried out - reserve those. Wash them. Remove the tougher stems. Cut 'em up sorta small-ish. Add them to the bowls of hot soup and give it a bit of a stir to combine.


Recipes and Rambles by Charlie Abowd and Karel Ancona


A Few Notes From My Kitchen


Don't get all caught up in the vegetable prep. Keep it simple and rustic. I scrub the vegetables well under running water. But, I don't peel them. I think this adds to the vibrant color and flavor.

Keep the broth golden. This is one reason I prefer vegan chicken-style stock to a conventional vegetable stock. Some vegetable stocks are quite dark and can overwhelm both the delicate flavor and gorgeous color of the golden beets.

Don't overcook the vegetables. Tender, yes. Collapsing, no. Those individual pieces of golden beet and carrot are part of what makes this soup so appealing. They're al dente.

The wine isn't an afterthought. A dry white Bordeaux contributes acidity as well as flavor and works beautifully with the tarragon. Use something you'd be happy to drink.

Finish by tasting, not measuring. The final cider vinegar is important because golden beets and carrots can both be quite sweet. Two teaspoons is a starting point. Taste the broth. If it seems a little flat or too sweet, another splash of vinegar may be exactly what it needs.

And perhaps that's the real recipe—the one I couldn't quite give Charlie all those years ago.

Cook it. Taste it. Adjust it.

Make it yours.

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