Clean, simple ingredients showcase the sprightliness of a classic sorrel soup. (Skip to recipe.)
When we were children growing up in British Columbia, we gathered wild sorrel growing in the ditches along our country road. Nibbling the mouth-puckeringly sour leaves was a pleasure akin to chewing rhubarb stalks - and a test of our toughness. "Nah - it's not sour at all. Watch me eat this whole leaf." You didn't want to show your weakness by stuffing less leaves into your mouth than your cohorts, or heaven-forbid, to pucker-up while chewing.
When my children were little they always played a game of bringing me a piece of sorrel leaf to eat, telling me it was spinach or a sweet stevia leaf, then waiting - trying to look nonchalant - while I took a nibble. I'd make a great show of taking a big bite, then puckering up and making horrible sounds when I chewed the sour, lemony leaves. They'd roll on the ground, giggling, gleefully triumphant that they'd fooled mommy again.
So, sorrel makes me smile.
And it also makes me smile because I remember the wonderful creamy-tangy flavour of my Oma Bose's sorrel soup. I can't ask her any more how she made it, but I think I've come close. She may have made it with bacon, and I have too sometimes. She also may have stirred a bit of sour cream in at the end, but the sorrel adds a lovely kind of tang by itself. This simple creamy version seems right to me.
The German word for sorrel is Sauerampfer, but our family called it Sauer-rampel. I'm not sure if that's some kind of dialectal variation, or just our own weird distortion of the word. Either way, it is an easy herb to grow, and like lovage, will take care of itself and provide you with one of the first green shoots to poke its tips from the ground in the spring. Throw a handful of sliced sorrel leaves into a salad to add bursts of lemony brightness.
Ever since I've had a garden, I've always had a patch of sorrel growing in an undisturbed corner. French Sorrel is the best variety for flavourful tender leaves, and if you can buy a started plant or get a piece from a friend, it is quicker than starting it from seed. It's quite a respectful plant - coming back year after year, not growing wildly out of control. If I keep pinching out the flowering stalks, it rewards me with tart leaves to jazz-up summer salads or to make my Oma's lovely sorrel soup, all summer long.
And it gifts me with a reason to smile every time I walk by it.
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Kitchen Frau Notes: Homemade chicken stock is the best in soups, but a good quality purchased stock will work here, too.
Creamy Sorrel Soup
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 2 onions, diced (about 2 cups/500ml)
- 1 cup (240ml) diced celery
- ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- ¼ teaspoon ground white pepper
- 1 lb (450gms) potatoes, peeled and diced (2 generous cups, diced)
- 4 cups good quality chicken stock
- 1 bay leaf
- 2 tablespoons sweet rice flour (or all purpose flour)
- ½ cup (120ml) light cream
- 4 cups (4 oz/115gms) chopped sorrel leaves
- a dollop of sour cream to serve (optional)
Heat the butter in a large, heavy bottomed saucepan. Add the diced onions, celery, salt, and pepper, and saute until soft and translucent, 5 to 10 minutes.
While the vegetables are sauteing, peel the potatoes and dice them into ½ inch (1cm) cubes.
Add the potatoes, chicken stock, and bay leaf to the onions. Bring to a boil, then turn the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.
Whisk together the rice flour and cream until there are no lumps (or shake it vigorously in a small jar, if using regular flour).
Whisk the flour slurry into the soup. Bring just to a boil. Trim the stems from the sorrel leaves and discard them. Chop the leaves coarsely and add the sorrel to the soup. Heat just until the first bubbles start appearing. The sorrel leaves will turn from bright green to olive green immediately upon hitting the soup - it's a fun transformation to watch. Taste and add more salt and pepper if it needs it.
Serve with a dollop of sour cream or a few crumbles of bacon, if desired.
Serves 6.
Guten Appetit!
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monika case
Margaret, Oma did not use chicken broth, bay leaf or celery. She would get a highly smoked piece of sausage (cut it into fairly large chunks) and add it to the sauted onions, add water and then simmer that for about 2 hours. Add the potatoes and cook til they were done. Season with salt and pepper, then add the sauerhampfer and simmer only for seconds til wilted. Always served with sour cream. Really enjoy your blog. Love Monika PS I am going to try adding the bay leaf next time
Margaret
Wonderful to know - I should have talked to you first, Aunt Monika! I just remember Oma making the soup for us when she stayed with us, and the taste has remained in my memory. It was SO delicious. I've tried making it different ways to get it right, and you know - that smoked sausage will make it absolutely irresistible. I'm going to try it that way next time. Did she add any cream, or was the creaminess from the sour cream stirred in, in our bowls. Also, did Oma thicken it slightly, of was it just from the potatoes cooking down a bit? Food brings back so many memories, and I always think of her when I make it. 🙂
Stephanie
Margaret, this is perfect! We had a sorrel plant that is growing like gangbusters in the garden and we've been talking about making soup with it . . . Now, we can make yours!
Margaret
Thanks, Stephanie! You gotta love that sorrel, eh? It is a hardy herb, and I love a bit of it cut into salads too. Feels so great to be getting fresh stuff from the garden again.