To Eat is Human; To Digest Divine

It's official: it's been the gloomiest winter on record here in London with washed out, opaque heavy skies hiding any hint that there is, really there is, a sun out there which shines even when we don't see it. It's a leap of faith I know to believe that it's there, but it is. The lacklustre heavens though do more than dampen out all the colour from our lives; they make everything look drab, not that the objects are washed out but the light begins to play tricks with us so we start to see the world through greyed out eyes. Either you fall into the trap of getting all depressed, or you rise up to find inspiration in the most unlikely places.

In the last few weeks I've found myself jumping out of bed with a joy in my step on Saturdays, the day we go to the market to buy our weekly supplies. The naked earth is still nurturing a few delights which are hardy enough to survive the punishing temperatures of this year but mainly the veg that we're getting is grown under glass (or more likely the 20th century update of the poly-tunnel, far less easy on the aesthetic eye, but probably more user friendly). These warmer pockets of paradise dotted around the country are idyllic little oases for what are the hardy summer treasures from the salad family.

Lettuce, whatever the season, just seems to hum with the delights of its Matcha green coat. It's got that sing-along happiness that whatever weather, the sun inside it, is always shining. How can you not feel a spring in your step when your eye vibrates to that verdant and vibrant hue of Nature's call to all that is upbeat in life?

There is though one small problem with lettuce. We humans tend to think of it as an ingredient in a salad. We associate it with those lazy hazy days of summer when there's not a care in the world. We think of it as the backdrop to a summer feast or a quick bite on the go. We take it for granted. But most of all we take for granted that whatever the weather we can treat it just the same.

Sadly, no.

As the French saying (so sensibly regurgitated by Brillat-Savarin in The Physiology of Taste) goes: "To eat is human; to digest divine". In these days when the cold is seeping right done to the very marrow of our existence and the chill of the damp clouds pervades our minds we need all the added warmth we can get. Digestion needs warmth. In the height of summer, the sun oozes through our beings to give the warmth we need to digest, but in winter we need to introduce it in our food. To ingest raw, cold food in the winter is, basically, digestive suicide. Either the food stagnates undigested and unassimilated - and that becomes the breeding ground for disease - or it weakens your body as the internal heat is redirected to the engine room.

So now we know that, we can have the best of both worlds and take the lettuce to a whole new realm. How? Simple: cook it.

Lettuce, like endive, fennel and celery which in the sweltering climes also provide nourishing and cooling effects on our bodies, is delicious now grilled dry before being drizzled with olive oil, mixed into casseroles, or even roasted. But my favourite of all is to make Lettuce and Parmesan Soup just as my mother used to when we were children in Paris. See, those French, they just get how to stay divine all the year round!

As with all soups, the key to this delicacy is a jolly good homemade stock. In a large saucepan put in all the tops and tails of your vegetables (avoiding the flatulent brassicas, please!), some whole peeled garlic cloves, a quartered onion or two, a brace of carrots and, if you can get some, several sticks of celery. Add lots of herbs, dried at this time of year, some peppercorns and top it up with water. The flavour will benefit from being brought to the boil as slowly as you can, and your home will just rejoice with the aromas as it quietly comes to life. When all the vegetables look cooked through the way that they were served for school dinners and the cooking liquid is richly lush, strain the liquid nectar into a large bowl and discard the veg (not the other way round!). You can keep this once cooled in the fridge for a few days.

When you come to make the soup, heat a good large tablespoon of ghee (clarified butter) or failing that butter and olive oil, in the bottom of a heavy-bottomed pan and add a couple of chopped onions and three or four leeks. Put the lid on, turn the heat down low, and let them quietly melt. Meanwhile, cube a couple of potatoes (the ones which go all fluffy when you mash them) and wash the lettuce. Add the potato and a couple of squished cloves of garlic and cook on for a few minutes more, still gentle like the heat from a winter's sun. If you happen to make your own ghee as we do then please don't discard the milk solids that you're left with once you've strained the liquid sunshine into your glass jar. Add them to your soup and see how rich and lush like new grass it becomes.

I like to use one of these big blousey lettuces with all that peony attitude but I guess whatever variety you can come across will work.  You want to cut the hard bitter centre stalk out so that about two thirds of the outer leaves are freed and toss these in the pan.  Put the lid on and let it steam a bit to wilt the leaves before you add the stock; the more you add the runnier the soup will be, it's up to you.  I usually add about a litre and use that to cook the lettuce in; if it's too thick you can always add more later.  I prefer to add the stock cold and then gently bring it up to the boil.  As soon as it's boiling let it bubble for a minute more if necessary to cook the leaves.You may need to do this next step in stages. You need to blend all of the contents of your pot in a processor until it's smooth and silky. You may need an extra large bowl in which to put the soup you've whizzed while you whizz the next batch. When you've done all your whizzing put it all back in your pan on a very low heat.

Coarsely shred the leaves from the centre of your lettuce and add to the soup and season with salt and white pepper, and warm it through until the new cut leaves begin to soften. You'll get this lovely contrast between the smooth eau-de-nil backdrop and the spritely lush little chopped leaves. Lettuce is inherently bitter which is both its charm and its magic: bitterness stimulates your internal organs to wake up and digest. Lettuce is also reputed to help induce sleep and mellowness.

Just before you serve it grate in fresh Parmesan so that some of it sinks and melts and some of it peeks up above the surface like a winking cowslip. It's just delicious served with rye bread cut as soldiers. As you take a mouthful you can feel that glow of warmth of the summer sun which lingers behind the clouds and you can just see the hint of all those from-the-tube colours of the months to come. But best of all, you will digest it and see how happy that makes you.