The promise of mushroom-barley soup

December 20, 2016 by Beth Shepherd

Eight years ago today, my friend Dee passed away. We’d been friends for 44 years when she died. She is the only person in my life whose friendship spanned so many decades, the only friend who knew me from when I was a grade-schooler through when I was an adult. She knew me when my sister got cancer, when my father had a stroke. We were roommates in college and she saw me through many unhappy relationships and, thankfully, lived long enough to see me finally land in a happy one. Even though we lived on opposite sides of the country, she knew me intimately, what I struggled with, what I loved. I think about this—and her—a lot.

Even though we grew up across the street from each other, our families couldn’t have been more different. Her family was Catholic, mine was Jewish. I had one sibling and she had ten. I will never forget sitting on my front lawn, at age six, watching as one bed after another and yet another was moved into their house. Her parents ran a tight ship, which came as no surprise given her father’s naval background and the necessity with so many children living under one roof. They had chores with rotating schedules, someone always on tap to do the dishes or rake the leaves. My house was loosey-goosey. It’s not that I wasn’t expected to do my share, but I had much more freedom. When we were grown-up, she told me that she always felt envious of all the free time I enjoyed.

From my side of the street, I was envious of the camaraderie. She always had someone to play with, someone to talk to. When my sister got cancer and my dad had a stroke, I was only 12-years-old. I remember going to her house, especially during the holidays, and there was so much going on, so much noise and laughter, so much jostling and joshing, unlike my house where I had to be careful and quiet—half my family was sick, or just find a way to entertain myself. Our formative experiences were the polar opposite.

Which is why—looking back—I am always amazed that as adults, we hit it off so well. We had similar sensibilities and values. We both loved thrift stores, yard sales, and free piles. We both felt refreshed by a walk in the woods, and inspired by a good book. And we both loved to cook.

Of all the food we cooked together, Moosewood’s Mushroom Barley Soup became our signature dish. I can’t remember why. I’m not sure if we we made this recipe more than other Moosewood recipes (and we sure tried a lot of them), or if we liked it best, but over the years it became ours.

The last time I saw Dee, a year before she died, this is the soup she made when we visited her home near Boston. Of all Dee’s endearing traits (and there were many), one that stood out was her uncanny ability to pick just the right gift for those she loved, whether it was something for your birthday or Christmas or a special meal like this one. Her family members, her husband, and those of us lucky enough to have her as a close friend, were all the recipients of her incredible graciousness and thoughtfulness.

I miss my friend. Hers was an irreplaceable friendship. So I keep making our soup. It reminds me of her, and of the beauty and fragility of life and friendship. When I take a sip, warmth fills my belly and my heart. The world feels a little closer. That’s the promise of mushroom-barley soup.

It’s all about the journey,

Beth

If you want to give the recipe a try, you can find it in a blog post I wrote in 2009: Mushroom Barley Soup for the Soul.

The heart of food

December 18, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup.

– Ludwig van Beethoven

Food and love. For me the two go hand in hand. And, no, this isn’t a post about romantic moonlit dinners.

With many of my close friendships and family members, I have a clear memory of a dish, a drink, a meal or a restaurant that comes to mind whenever I think of them. There’s my friend Alice and Thanksgiving (oh that mouth-watering turkey), my college housemates and artichokes (what a big deal they made about me being “an artichoke virgin”), my Aunt Sue and her amazing paella (the woodsy Cape Cod backdrop didn’t hurt either), my father with his pickles and kraut, Big Papa and Shepherd’s Pie (looking forward to setting off the smoke alarm for the eighth year running). And then there’s Dee and Moosewood’s Mushroom Barley Soup.

There is so much wrapped up in that savory bowl of soup. Memories from my college days and my first taste of independence, a time in food history when being a “vegetarian” was still considered trendy, even revolutionary (Moosewood Cookbook really broke new ground), and how the loss of those most close to us remains deeply embedded in our hearts (the last time Dee cooked Mushroom Barley Soup for Big Papa and me was the last time I saw her).

Holidays hold especially keen food memories for most of us: the almond-spritz cookies we made with our mom at Christmas, Easter egg chocolates hiding under backyard bushes, a recipe for eggnog or crown roast that distinguishes your family from any other. We are indeed what we eat…and who we eat it with.

So this Friday, December 20, I’ll be filling my belly with Mushroom Barley Soup. And filling my heart with love for my friend, who passed away five years ago on that day.

Mushroom Barley Soup from the Moosewood Cookbook

Serves 8

Ingredients

1/2 cup uncooked pearl barley
3 tablespoons butter
1/2-1 teaspoon salt
3-4 tablespoons tamari or soy sauce
4 tablespoons dry sherry
6-1/2 cups stock or water
1 medium onion, chopped
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
1 lb fresh mushrooms, sliced
fresh ground black pepper

Preparation
Cook barley in 1-1/2 cups of the stock or water in a large saucepan or Dutch oven. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer until barley is tender (20-30 minutes). Add remaining stock or water, tamari and sherry.

Meanwhile, melt the butter in a skillet. Add the onions and garlic. Sauté for about 5 minutes over medium heat. Add mushrooms, and salt. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until everything is very tender (about 10-12 minutes).

Add the sauté with all its liquid to the cooked barley. Add fresh ground black pepper to taste and simmer, partially covered, for another 20 minutes. Serve with a slice of hearty bread.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Warm your heart with more foodie posts. Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Comfort food: A bowl of soup to honor the memory of a friend

December 20, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

Today marks the third anniversary of my friend Dee’s passing, and tonight Joel and I will sit down to enjoy a bowl Moosewood Mushroom Barley Soup in her memory, just as we did last year and the year before that. Making this soup—which Dee and I enjoyed together on many occasions–is my way of honoring our friendship, a friendship which spanned four decades. For me, keeping up this tradition is a source of comfort.

I miss Dee and think about her a lot. In the three years since she died, there have been many days when I’ve wished I could call and hear the sound of her voice, and when I wrestle with challenges that life sends my way, I sometimes wonder what words of wisdom she might have shared.

Living life without loss isn’t possible–I know that. Granted, some encounter more than others, but loss is something we all must face: loss of those we care about, loss of dreams, even the loss of our own abilities as we age. So the more important question is how do we comfort ourselves? Prayer, meditation, time spent alone or in the company of family and friends, getting away from it all, solace from being in nature or getting lost in the hum of urban life, working out, doing yoga, gardening, walking the dog. Each of us has our own unique way of seeking comfort.

And then there’s comfort food. Whenever I hear those two words rich, hearty fare springs to mind: Mac ‘n cheese, meatloaf, mashed potatoes or apple pie and a bowl of ice cream, or a bowl of steamy soup.

Everything about Moosewood’s Mushroom Barley Soup reminds me of Dee, from the earthy smell of mushrooms which conjures up memories of playing in the woods behind our houses, just across the street from each other– to sharing a meal at Moosewood Restaurant whenever we could scrape up enough change, as Cornell undergraduate students, living in a house together in Ithaca, New York.

But mostly my heart remembers the many times Dee and I made this soup for each other: she for me, me for her, and occasionally side by side. So today I toast to you, my friend—the friendship we had, and everything you brought to the table.

Remember Me

Do not shed tears when I have gone
but smile instead because I have lived.

Do not shut your eyes and pray to God that I’ll come back
but open your eyes and see all that I have left behind.

I know your heart will be empty because you cannot see me
but still I want you to be full of the love we shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live only for yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of what happened
between us yesterday.

You can remember me and grieve that I have gone
or you can cherish my memory and let it live on.

You can cry and lose yourself become distraught
and turn your back on the world
or you can do what I want – smile, wipe away the tears,
learn to love again and go on.

~David Harkins, British poet

Mushroom Barley Soup from the Moosewood Cookbook

Serves 8

Ingredients

Add the sauté with all its liquid to the cooked barley. Add fresh ground black pepper to taste and simmer, partially covered, for another 20 minutes. Serve with a slice of hearty bread.

Searching for more comfort? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday.

Friends for life

June 1, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

Some of my earliest memories revolve around my friend Dee. I was six years old, living in a small town in upstate New York, when her family moved in across the street. My sister and I watched as they carried bed after bed across the lawn into their house. We were a family of four and they were family of 13, so we stared in amazement.

As young children, we were good friends. I remember building snow forts in the winter and riding bikes around the neighborhood in the summer. We played dress-up and went to each other’s birthday parties.

Dee and I were close for 44 years. We drifted apart for a time during high school, though we did have overlapping circles of friends. My senior year at Cornell University, after I returned from a semester studying in Amsterdam, we rented a house together. Our friendship as adults stood solidly from that point on.

My favorite memories are of meals we cooked together with ingredients from our local farmer’s market. Recipes from the Moosewood Cookbook, like Mushroom and Barley Soup. To this day, enjoying good food and making a meal to share, is a way I connect best with those I care about and an expression of love. Dee and I would sit at the table at our rented house on College Avenue and talk for hours. I learned so much from her and, over the years, could always count on her sage and to-the-point wisdom.

After college, I moved first to California and then Washington State. Dee moved to Vermont, then Maine, followed by Minnesota when she got married, and finally to Massachusetts. We kept in touch through letters and occasional phone calls. It was comforting to have a friend who understood me and knew my family history. Hearing her voice always centered and soothed me. She reminded me of what was truly important in life. Dedication to those you care about, deep friendships, and being true to oneself.

This weekend, Dee’s friend Kate was in town for work and we had an opportunity to catch up. Dee and Kate met in college. In fact, it was during my stint overseas that Dee transferred to Cornell and sublet my apartment. I spent time with Kate too, but she was Dee’s friend. Over the past thirty years, Dee helped us keep tabs on each other. She was the glue between her friends. She remembered the details in our lives and stayed connected with us, no matter the miles or years that came between us.

I really enjoyed the time spent with Kate, kindred spirits and a shared friendship with Dee. We might not have reconnected in this way, if not for the December memorial in York, Maine. Dee died a few days before Christmas after a decade-long struggle with breast cancer. Kate and I were both at the service, the first time in 27 years we’d seen each other in person.

I feel so blessed to have known Dee. Her friendship was one of the greatest gifts of my life. I am, without a doubt, a better person for having known her. I feel a profound sense of loss that she is no longer in the world.

So it was a great honor, though bittersweet, to have Kate here in Washington. She was able to meet Big Papa and visit the Urban Cabin. We gathered the makings for dinner at our neighborhood farmer’s market and enjoyed a good meal and even better conversation, on our deck. We laughed. We cried. We reminisced. Together, we shared the simplest pleasures in life, which was the essence of our friendship with Dee, and the memories we will always keep close to our hearts.