Seattlest Gets Jealous, Makes Soup
Seattlest isn’t prone to heartburn, but every time we leave Crow, Lower Queen Anne’s sexy, shadowy jewel box of a restaurant, we feel a little twinge. And no amount of Pepcid will help, because really, it’s just plain, ugly jealousy. We want what Lower Queen Anne has. Though this city isn’t short on restaurants or wildlife, we think it’s only fair that Seattle have a Crow in every neighborhood.
It doesn’t hurt that we have a weakness for Crow’s industrial-chic look, a converted warehouse space that’s open but warm, dark but glowy. We love the tall ceiling, the reds and oranges, the cozy booths, the unfinished floors. We can’t resist the sleek wood of the food bar with its front-row view of the open, stainless steel kitchen, its blue gas flames and the quiet flurry of chef’s whites. We don’t even mind that the food bar’s stools are a little cramped; it just makes for a better view of our neighbors’ plates. And although the menu is short and ever-changing, we always have trouble choosing—the best kind of trouble, we think. There’s a salad of fennel, celery, and frisée, green and white and winter all over, topped with flaky shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano and criss-crossed with four fat white anchovies. There’s a selection of Salumi’s cured meats, goat cheese grilled in a cloak of radicchio, or seared black cod with a skillet-crisped coat, a buttery interior, and a hash of Brussels sprouts with bacon and chestnuts. And recently, our Lower Queen Anne envy reached new and decisive heights over a bowl of Crow’s winter squash soup with pear and vanilla bean. Pale gold, frothy with cream and flecked with vanilla, it was astoundingly aromatic, earthy but delicate, soft, seductive—and utterly galvanizing. Seattlest may not be able to move in next door, but we can damn well get out the pots and pans and try building a little Crow ourselves, from the soup up.
And that’s just what we did. We’re pretty pleased with ourselves, and we think you might be too. In fact, for everyday, at-home, on-the-couch, mug-and-spoon eating, we actually prefer our knock-off over its predecessor, blasphemy and all. According to our server, Crow’s winter squash soup uses acorn and butternut squashes, but we’ve included only the latter, since we prefer the butternut’s bigger, brighter flavor. We’ve also used a lighter hand with the dairy, opting for a modest shot of half-and-half instead of cream, and we’ve softened the vanilla to a subtle hint, boosting the squash and pear to the fore with a hit of cider. Though it won’t keep us from Crow for long, it’ll be awfully delicious on our Thanksgiving table, and it might even make the neighbors jealous.
Butternut Squash Soup with Pear, Cider, and Vanilla Bean
3 Tbs olive oil
1 2-lb butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1-inch pieces (4 generous cups)
2 firm-ripe pears, peeled, cored, and cut into 1-inch pieces (about 2 cups)
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 cup apple cider
4 cups good-quality chicken broth
½ tsp salt
½ cup half-and-half
1 vanilla bean, about 7 inches long
Fresh chives, finely chopped, for garnish
Heat the oil in a Dutch oven or small stockpot over medium-low heat. Add the squash, pears, and onion, stir to coat with oil, and cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally, for 10-15 minutes, until the onion is soft and transparent and the pears are starting to fall apart.
Add the cider, and bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat. Add the broth, reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer the mixture, partially covered, for about 30 minutes, until the squash is tender.
Working in batches, carefully puree the mixture in a food processor or blender. Return the soup to the pot, and season it with salt. Continue to cook the soup over medium-low heat, uncovered, until it has reduced to about ½ to 1/3 of its original volume. Stir occasionally. The final consistency is up to you; when it reaches a thickness that seems right—not too thin, not too thick—it’s ready.
While the soup is reducing, put the half-and-half in a small saucepan. Cut the vanilla bean lengthwise into two long strips. Using the back of your knife, scrape the tiny black seeds out of the bean. Scoop the seeds and the bean halves into the pan with the half-and-half, and put the pan over low heat. Warm the half-and-half until it is steaming, but not boiling. Remove it from the heat, remove and discard the vanilla bean halves, and whisk to break up any clumps of seeds in the half-and-half. Set aside.
When the soup has reduced to its desired thickness, stir in the half-and-half, taking care to not leave any little black seeds behind in the saucepan. Taste, and adjust seasoning as necessary. Serve, garnished with chives.
Yield: 4-5 servings
