Creamy Roasted Tomato Basil Soup

Summer continues. The heat is merciless this year — ninety-five degrees on Long Island, the kind of heat that makes the house hum with air conditioning and the garden wilt with resignation. Marvin's tomato plants are untended this summer. He planted them in May, out of habit or muscle memory, but he has not watered them since, and the tomatoes are small and stressed, and I have been watering them in the evenings because I cannot let the tomatoes die, because the tomatoes are Marvin's and letting them die would be an admission I am not ready to make.

I took Ethan and Sophie to the beach. Noah was too young — four months, too small for sand and surf. But Ethan is five and Sophie is three and they are the appropriate age for ocean waves and Bubbe's egg salad sandwiches and the particular joy of grandchildren who do not know that anything in the world is wrong. They don't know about their grandfather's disease. David and Jennifer have not told them, and I have not told them, because five and three are ages that should not contain the word Alzheimer's. Five and three should contain sandcastles and egg salad and the ocean, which is big and noisy and does not care about disease.

Ethan built a sandcastle. Sophie destroyed it. Ethan cried. I rebuilt it. This is a metaphor for everything, but I did not tell Ethan it was a metaphor because he is five and does not need metaphors. He needs a sandcastle and a grandmother who will rebuild it, and I am that grandmother, and I will rebuild every sandcastle, every time, because rebuilding is what I do.

At home, Marvin had a good afternoon. When we returned, sandy and sunburned, he looked at Ethan and said, "How was the beach, kiddo?" He remembered we were at the beach. He remembered Ethan. He used the word "kiddo," which is his word for all the grandchildren, his one-size-fits-all term of endearment, and the word came out right, aimed at the right child, and the afternoon was good. A good afternoon. I am collecting good afternoons the way other people collect stamps or coins. Each one is valuable. Each one goes in the collection. The collection is what I will have when the afternoons are gone.

I grilled Marvin's tomatoes for dinner — the small, stressed ones from his garden, sliced and drizzled with olive oil and salt. They were not his best tomatoes. They were not the tomatoes of previous summers, when he tended the garden with the precision of an accountant balancing nature's books. But they were his tomatoes, from his plants, grown in his soil, and they tasted like summer and like Marvin and like the garden he is slowly leaving. I ate them. I tasted everything.

Those small, stressed tomatoes from Marvin’s garden deserved more than a side dish — they deserved to become something. So I roasted them the next evening, low heat, olive oil, salt, and let the oven do what the summer sun couldn’t quite finish. The result was this soup: deeply savory, a little sweet, the kind of thing that makes a kitchen smell like everything is still okay. I make it whenever I need to feel like I am doing something with what I have been given, which lately is quite a lot of tomatoes and quite a lot of feeling.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 50 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 lbs ripe tomatoes (garden tomatoes, Roma, or cherry), halved
1 medium yellow onion, quartered
1 whole head of garlic, top 1/4 inch sliced off to expose cloves
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
3 cups low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/3 cup fresh basil leaves, loosely packed, plus more for garnish
1 teaspoon sugar (optional, to balance acidity)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 400°F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment or foil. Arrange the halved tomatoes cut-side up, the quartered onion, and the garlic head (cut-side up) on the sheet. Drizzle everything generously with olive oil and season with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using.
Roast the vegetables. Roast for 40 to 45 minutes, until the tomatoes are deeply caramelized at the edges and the onion is soft and golden. The garlic should be completely tender and golden inside. Remove from oven and let cool for 5 to 10 minutes.
Release the garlic. Squeeze the roasted garlic cloves out of their papery skins directly onto the baking sheet. Discard the skins.
Simmer. Transfer all roasted vegetables and any accumulated juices from the baking sheet into a large heavy-bottomed pot. Add the broth. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat and cook uncovered for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, to let the flavors meld.
Blend. Remove the pot from heat. Add the fresh basil leaves. Use an immersion blender to puree the soup directly in the pot until completely smooth. Alternatively, transfer in batches to a countertop blender, venting the lid to allow steam to escape, and blend until silky.
Finish and season. Return the pot to low heat. Stir in the heavy cream and butter until the butter is melted and the soup is velvety. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. If the tomatoes were quite acidic, stir in up to 1 teaspoon of sugar to round out the flavor.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and garnish with fresh basil leaves and a light drizzle of olive oil. Pairs beautifully with crusty bread or a simple grilled cheese.

Nutrition (per serving)

Creamy Roasted Tomato Basil Soup — From the Garden He’s Still Tending