Lentil Soup with Ham

The space between Christmas and New Year. The calendar's intermission. The week when time doesn't function properly and meals happen when they happen and you eat leftover turkey standing at the counter at three in the afternoon because who's watching and who cares. Helen and I have perfected this week over thirty-seven years: we read, we eat leftovers, we walk the dog, we do nothing with the intensity of people who've earned it.

I made turkey hash on Monday. Leftover turkey, diced potatoes, onion, fried in the cast-iron skillet until everything is crispy and golden. Fried egg on top. Hot sauce. The breakfast of kings, or at least the breakfast of a sixty-four-year-old retired teacher in Vermont who has eaten every possible permutation of leftover turkey and has concluded that hash is the best one.

New Year's Eve: we made it to 10:15 PM, which is a new record and which I attribute to the eggnog, which Helen spiked more generously this year than last. We clinked glasses at ten. We said "Happy New Year" at ten. We were asleep by ten-thirty. The actual new year arrived while we were unconscious, which is how I prefer my transitions — quietly, without fanfare, while I'm somewhere else.

January 1st: black-eyed peas. The tradition adopted from Helen's colleague Doris, maintained because the beans are good and ritual is comforting and luck is something you take where you find it. Ham hock, onion, garlic, bay leaf, slow cooker all day. The house smelled like hope, or at least like ham, which in January is the same thing.

2017 is over. A good year. Lucy was born. Helen fully retired. The blog grew. The garden grew. The grandchildren grew — all six of them, growing in every direction at a speed that makes me wonder if time is accelerating or I'm just paying closer attention. Teddy is reading Narnia. Anna is ruling pre-K. James is walking into everything. Ben is talking nonstop. Lucy is crawling toward the exits. They are, all of them, exactly who they should be.

2018 starts now. I'm still sixty-four — sixty-five in three weeks. The blog is approaching two years. The maples will need tapping in March. The garden will need turning in April. The world will need feeding, as it always does, and I'll be here, in the kitchen, at the stove, doing what I can. It's not much. It's enough. It's always enough.

Happy New Year. The beans are on. The fire is going. We begin again.

The black-eyed peas were Doris’s tradition first, and now they’re ours — but the idea behind them, legumes and ham and a long slow simmer while the world resets itself, works just as well with lentils, which is what I had on hand the year we couldn’t find dried black-eyed peas at the co-op before closing time on December 31st. The slow cooker does the work while you do nothing, which is exactly right for January 1st. Set it before the first cup of coffee, and by the time you’ve walked the dog and stoked the fire, the house smells like everything’s going to be fine.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 7–8 hours (low) | Total Time: 8 hours 15 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 lb green or brown lentils, rinsed and picked over
1 meaty ham hock (about 1 to 1 1/2 lbs)
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced into coins
3 stalks celery, sliced
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
6 cups low-sodium chicken broth
2 cups water
2 bay leaves
1 tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1/4 tsp black pepper
Salt to taste (add after cooking — the ham hock brings its own)
Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving
Crusty bread, for serving

Instructions

Load the slow cooker. Add the rinsed lentils, ham hock, onion, garlic, carrots, celery, diced tomatoes, chicken broth, and water to a 6-quart slow cooker. Stir to combine.
Season and set. Add the bay leaves, thyme, smoked paprika, and black pepper. Stir once more, nestle the ham hock down into the liquid, and cover. Cook on LOW for 7 to 8 hours or HIGH for 4 to 5 hours, until the lentils are completely tender and the meat is falling off the bone.
Pull the ham. Carefully lift the ham hock out of the slow cooker and set it on a cutting board. Remove and discard the skin, bone, and any large pieces of fat. Shred or chop the meat into bite-sized pieces and stir it back into the soup.
Finish and adjust. Remove and discard the bay leaves. Taste the soup and add salt as needed — start with 1/4 tsp and go from there, since the ham varies in saltiness. If the soup is thicker than you like, stir in a splash of hot water or broth to loosen it.
Serve. Ladle into deep bowls, scatter fresh parsley over the top, and set a good piece of crusty bread alongside. This soup keeps well in the refrigerator for five days and freezes beautifully for up to three months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lentil Soup with Ham — The New Year’s Bowl That Smells Like Hope