Valentine's Day. Single. Twenty-four. The chair across the table is still empty and the balcony still seats one.
But this year, unlike last year, the loneliness has an edge of anticipation. Not for anyone specific — I haven't met anyone, I'm not dating. But the pandemic is receding, vaccines are rolling out, and the world is opening back up. Somewhere in the opening-back-up, there's a person I haven't met yet. I know this the way I know dough is ready — not by logic, but by feel.
Made Valentine's dinner for Mom and Dad, as is tradition. Seared filet mignon with a red wine reduction, roasted asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, and a chocolate soufflé (my second attempt — the first one collapsed, which is what soufflés do when they don't respect your ambition). The soufflé rose. Mom gasped. Dad ate his before I could take a photo. "What was that?" he said. I said, "Chocolate soufflé." He said, "Make it again." Entered the canon.
At the brewery, spring planning is in full gear. Helen's Wheat goes on the board in April. Kinnickinnic Pilsner — the new one — test batch next month. Marcus is talking about expanding the patio for summer, anticipating a post-vaccine boom. People will want to be outside, together, drinking beer. He's probably right. Milwaukee after a pandemic is going to be a party.
The Polish food series Part 3 — "The Grandmothers" — is finished. Ten thousand words. The longest piece I've written. Seven women's stories woven together with the thread of food and persistence. Mrs. Wojcik is the anchor. Mrs. Grabowski is the heart. Babcia is the ghost who holds it all together.
Submitted to Milwaukee Eats. Claire called and said, "Jake, this is publishable beyond us. Have you thought about pitching this to a national outlet?" I hadn't. But now I am. The grandmothers' story deserves the biggest audience it can get. They held the recipes for fifty years so that people like me could carry them forward. The least I can do is make sure the world knows.
Made a simple thing this week: tomato soup. Not from a can — from scratch. Roasted tomatoes, onion, garlic, basil, a splash of cream. Served with Babcia's bread, toasted, with butter. Comfort food for a cold February. The kind of meal that doesn't need a story or a platform or ninety thousand followers. Just a bowl, a spoon, and the quiet knowledge that you are warm and fed and alive.
After a week of finishing a ten-thousand-word piece, watching a chocolate soufflé rise against all odds, and starting to let myself believe the world might open back up — I didn’t want anything complicated. The tomato soup I made that Friday wasn’t a project or a platform moment; it was just warmth in a bowl, served with Babcia’s bread toasted golden and buttered thick. Six ingredients. That’s all it took to feel like enough.
Six Ingredient Basil Tomato Soup
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 pounds ripe roma tomatoes, halved
- 1 medium yellow onion, roughly chopped
- 4 cloves garlic, peeled
- 1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, plus more for serving
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1/4 cup heavy cream
- Salt and black pepper, to taste
Instructions
- Roast the vegetables. Preheat oven to 400°F. Arrange tomato halves, onion, and garlic on a rimmed baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and season generously with salt and pepper. Roast for 30 minutes, until tomatoes are caramelized and slightly collapsed.
- Blend. Transfer roasted vegetables and any pan juices to a blender. Add basil leaves. Blend on high until very smooth, about 60 seconds. Work in batches if needed, and use caution with the hot liquid.
- Finish the soup. Pour the blended soup into a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Stir in the heavy cream and warm through, about 5 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Serve. Ladle into bowls and garnish with a fresh basil leaf or a small drizzle of cream. Serve immediately with crusty toasted bread and butter.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 148 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 210mg
About the cook who shared this
Jake Kowalski
Week 256 of Jake’s 30-year story
· Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Jake is a twenty-nine-year-old brewery worker, newlywed, and proud Polish-American from Milwaukee's Bay View neighborhood. He didn't start cooking until his grandmother Babcia Helen passed away and left behind a stack of grease-stained recipe cards. Now he makes pierogi from scratch, smokes meats on a balcony smoker his landlord pretends not to notice, and writes for guys who want to cook good food but don't know a roux from a rub.