Garbure from the bottom of my heart
It's still February-put the soup pot on!
February is still cold, whatever the sunny and mild days promise; the minute you are in the shadow of a cold stone wall, it’s chilly. And that calls for soup. And more soup. And there is no better way to warm up than a bowl of hot, vegetable-forward Garbure, crowned with some salty charcuterie goodness and eaten with some crusty toasted pain de campagne drizzled with a glossy smear of duck fat. Although hearty enough for a simple supper, this is the regional dish that precedes many a meal in the Landes and Bearn and Basque areas of Southwest France.
Garbure. Listen.
Just the guttural growl of the word, tells me that this is not a smooth and silky cream velouté from the north, nor a light and nourishing provencal bouillion. This is, instead, an old Gascon crockery tureen full of root vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and turnips, always the frilly greens of the Savoy cabbage, and beans, white beans, that will add a sweet starchiness to the long-simmering broth. Garbure might be laced with charcuterie shards—some Jambon de Bayonne, a chunk of rolled salt-cured pork belly called ventrèche, and almost always duck confit to flavor the pot.
In fact, the first time I read about making garbure, I was encouraged to gently stir the pot with a solitary leg of duck confit. Just enough to give its salty ducky flavor to the broth. Since then, I have eaten (and made) garbure in dozens of different ways. But the critical and essential elements remain the same—a tender savoy cabbage (napa cabbage is a good substitute if need be) and a handful of large white beans. The same white beans used in cassoulet—tarbais, lingots or coco—are all grown in the very Southwest of Southwest France—the Landes, the Bearn, and the Basque regions. My pal Steve Sando will have something you can use at Rancho Gordo Heirloom Beans. You need some small pieces of cured and slightly salty meat—ventrèche, ham hock or ham, and that infamous duck leg…or other pieces of confit duck or goose.
Eating out
The year my good friend Elaine decided to move to the Basque country, we went exploring. Every little nook and cranny cafe had a lunch special, and no matter what you ordered, it would be preceded by a tureen of steaming garbure brought to each table. Much like pasta is a ubiquitous first course in Italy, soup is a given in Southwest France. Often a simple vegetable potage, blended or passed through a sieve and eaten as the starter to a meal, a first layer of goodness to proceed plates of charcuterie, dishes of vegetables, platters of meat, and baskets of frites. Soup always comes before the entrée (or entry), which is the starter, so when the soup is loaded with a winter palate of vegetables and cured meats, you must steel yourself for the next copious rounds of hearty farm food to come. By the sixth restaurant that served us an unasked-for bowl of garbure, I know I would add this to my personal culinary lexicon of regional Gascon food.
Imagine walking into a cafe’s dining room full of working men- painters, plumbers, mechanics, hunched over steaming bowls of soup. The obligatory “Bonjour messieurs” muttered under my breath brought a returning chorus of “Bon Appetit, Madame!” The alarming taxidermy decor confirms this as a favored hunters' haunt; the menu scrawled on the blackboard by the bar reflects the seasonal trend toward braised wild boar boudin noir with pomme de terre purée. But first… garbure for everyone.
From garbure start to crème brulée or riz au lait finish, those memorable mid-day meals hold a special place in my culinary heart. All I have to do to relive those memories is to cook a pot of garbure this weekend. It’d be appropriate to play some music by the Gascon/Basque-ish group Xarnege. Like the Garbure I dream of, the music of Xarnage is where cultures meet. Have a listen to Xarnege
Xarnege, or Sharnègo, is a Gascon word which refers to villages on the Gascony and Basque border in which people express themselves in both Basque and Gascon. And so the musical project of Xarnege is a blending and includes many of the abundant elements common to both cultures.
Xarnege is a meeting place not a mixture. A crossroads not a fence, a look to the future from the roots, not an inert museum. A place where you share and continue the nocturnal journey with your sack full of music.
Not difficult, garbure is a soup made of winter stores. Potatoes? Throw them in. Turnips? Why not? Fat carrots, an onion, and a thick leek—all the winter vegetables that have been in cold storage since their harvest. Just peel and cut into large rough chunks. Place in a deep soup pot or marmite and cover with good-tasting water until everything is just submerged. Next, add thyme, a few celery leaves or lovage, a couple of garlic cloves, and some whole black peppercorns. I add a whole dried piment d’Espelette—#becausebasquelandia. (Note: be careful not to add much salt early on; the meat will lend its salt to the broth as it cooks.) Cover and simmer for an hour or longer until the beans are tender, all the vegetables are cooked, and the cabbage is meltingly sweet.
When I wrote my book Cassoulet: a French Obsession, I included a simple garbure recipe, since the ingredients are similar and perhaps not as intimidating. And in my kitchen, sometimes, garbure results from a bowl full of beans left over from making cassoulet, an extra bit of confit, and some spare charcuterie. That is the spirit of a good garbure. Are you feeding a crowd? Then start with a whole large cabbage and two cups of dried beans. Just a smallish pot for you and a couple of friends? Then cook accordingly, and make sure you have enough for an extra day. It freezes well enough.
None of the ingredients are so complicated or exotic. While you might not make kilos of duck confit like I do every year, or have some homemade charcuterie dangling from a butcher’s rack, you can substitute a few slices of thick-cut, dried-cured ham or some chunks of storebought salami. And as there is no real substitute for the flavor of duck, if necessary, you could just leave it out and keep your garbure pork-centric.
Recipe: Garbure
From Cassoulet: A French Obsession. Order here.
INGREDIENTS:
250 g (14 oz) ventrèche or pancetta cut into large chunks, about 3 cm (1 in) wide
2 leeks- cleaned and cut into knuckle-size pieces
2 carrots- peeled and cut into big chunks
2 onions- peeled and coarsely chopped
2 turnips- peeled and quartered
4 garlic cloves- peeled and chopped
coarse sea salt & whole black peppercorns
4 large potatoes- peeled and cubed
1 savoy cabbage- cored, halved, and cut into strips
1 whole piment d’Espelette or a generous pinch of dried piment.
confit de canard-1 leg or a couple of wings, with some duck fat
bread- pain de campagne or other rustic loaf; 1 thick slice per serving
100 g (4 oz) dried white beans-soaked a few hours or overnight
1 bouquet garni- made of several bay leaves, celery or lovage leaves, parsley stalks, and fresh or dried thyme, tied with string
1. Place the ventrèche, leeks, carrots, onions, turnips, garlic, and beans in a lidded soup pot and cover with 2-3 liters (2-3 quarts) of fresh water. Add the bouquet garni, a spoonful of salt, the piment, and a dozen peppercorns.
2. Cover, place over high heat, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for about 1 hour.
3. Add the potatoes and cabbage; cook for 45 minutes more.
4. Add the confit de canard and a little of the duck fat and continue cooking for 10 minutes.
5. Toast the bread, if you like, and place each slice in a wide bowl or soup plate. Remove the ventrèche and confit from the soup and serve on a hot plate. Ladle the soup over the bread and pass the meat at the table. Alternately, you can place all the bread in a wide oven-proof bowl; ladle the soup and vegetables over it, sprinkle it with a hard grating cheese place in a hot oven until brown. Serve immediately.
* Fresh pork belly that has been salted for about 2 hours before using; alternately, you can use just fresh pork belly, cured bacon, ham hock, or ends of the ham.
A lovely post Kate, I love the idea of stirring the garbure with duck confit, that brilliantly subtle.
That looks like the perfect soup for the season, Kate! Thank you for sharing the recipe.