In this edition of Food Pilgrim we set out to offer a couple of ideas to brighten up that pot of chicken soup you might be making for an ailing friend or family member this winter, while also amping up the vitamin C in the meal. Then we got sidetracked, as usual, in our research. I love finding little known food facts that speak to the evolution of edible culture…
Remember those slightly slimy capital letters floating in a bowl of canned vegetable soup beside the perfectly cubed carrots? I always thought alphabet pasta was a 1950s gimmick to get kids to the table to see what they could spell with a spoon. But in looking deeper into the origins of this culinary come-on, I discovered that possibly the first mention in print of alphabet pasta came more than hundred years before I first sat in my booster chair in front of a bowl of edible letters.
According to Vox writer Phil Edwards, a publication called the Tri-Weekly Standard of Raleigh, North Carolina, described this new invention in 1867:
“The latest culinary novelty is alphabetical soup. Instead of the usual cylindric and star shaped morsels of macaroni which have hitherto given body to our broth, the letters of the alphabet have been substituted. These letters of pasta preserve their forms in passing through the pot.”
Only later did alphabet soup become an idiom in the New Deal era of the 1930s, when FDR began creating dozens of federal programs and agencies to combat the devastations of the Great Depression. Referred to with a host of acronyms, that form of alphabet soup is still very much with us.
Donna Campbell’s sister, Susan Campbell, (neither sibling related to the canned soup company), recently served a sensational soup that put me on this journey. Susan’s soup, I reckoned, must have been made from the missing punctuation for all those floating letters. The pasta she used, I learned, is called by the general name pastina, and is not so easy to find anymore, except in gourmet stores.
Maybe you already know this teeny round pasta, which, when cooked al dente, offers the mouthfeel of salmon roe or caviar without the salt. It’s a texture similar to the little round balls—BB-sized--that you are compelled to chew a bit before downing a sweet mouthful of tapioca. (Tapioca, to me, is also a comfort food from my alphabet soup days.)
Using the smallest pastina instead of rice or flat noodles for the chicken soup is not the only novelty in this delicious soup. Susan learned to make it from the genuine Italian mother of a long-ago boyfriend. “Best thing I got from that relationship,” Susan says today. End of sentence, period. The soup’s other distinguishing feature, we agreed, is the dominant flavor of lemon.
The recipes online for pastina soup are legion, and whether you make your own broth or use boxed broth, it seems quickest to use leftover chicken. The traditional Italian recipe calls for diced carrots, onion, and celery—all cooked with the chicken bits until the veggies are done. Notably, you cook and strain the pastina separately—only enough for what you are serving that day. You place a portion of the cooked pasta in each bowl, then ladle in the chicken, vegetables, and broth. Then season to taste with salt and pepper.
The idea is not to overwhelm the dish with veggies or chicken but include them almost like little surprises swimming with the pasta dots. Note: there is no garlic in the version Susan makes, which maximizes the power and purity of the lemon. In each bowl, Susan throws in in a sprinkling of lemon zest, a good squeeze from the lemon itself, a tablespoon of grated parmigiana on top of that, and a garnish of fresh, chopped parsley. Or if you prefer, you can use fresh basil or oregano. The final Zuppa should seem rustic, rich, and lemony, period.
Another way of amping up chicken soup with citrus when the sniffles knock you down is to go for Sopa de Lima. This Yucatan concoction uses rice rather than pasta and includes ample garlic and lime squeezes, Mexican oregano, green chiles, and bite-sized avocado—the last added as served. If your throat is hurting, a tortilla strip topping might not be wise. Some recipes also call for a dash of cinnamon, allspice, and a bay leaf or two. Play with it.
We order green chiles every September from Hatch, New Mexico. Some end up roasted whole and peeled for stuffing with cheese, fruit, and pine nuts, and others are chopped and frozen, the latter treatment being a handy soup ingredient. Or you can use thinly sliced rounds of fresh Jalapeno or Asian chiles, according to availability and your tolerance for heat. But the heat is the cure for me. And adding a little grated Manchego or Monterey Jack to the top of this soup ain’t bad either.
We’ve had a run of warm November days here in the middle of North Carolina, but we know the cold is coming, and with the cold often comes that other kind of cold—the common one that calls for tissues, an extra blanket, bedrest, and soup. Be ready.
I love reading about soup! Thank you for lots of good ideas.
Alphabet noodles always makes me think about the Martha Speaks series of children's books by Susan Meddaugh. Also became a PBS series though I prefer the books. Martha the dog can speak when she eats alphabet soup. Gets her into all sorts of adventures and predicaments. Children's picture book quite fun to read with the under 5 set.