Gypsy Soup
Put on your finest scarves and bring your crystal ball—it’s gypsy soup for dinner. The original recipe comes from Mollie Katzen and her classic Moosewood Cookbook (the first cookbook, alongside Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso’s New Basics, that I ever owned). I don’t really cook from Moosewood anymore. A few years ago I was telling my friend M. about the sweet potato and kale soup I’d made, and she said “Oh, like gypsy soup.” Gypsy what? I didn’t remember the recipe at all. But when I went home and pulled out my copy, there it was, on a page with stains splattered across it, calling to mind the gypsy that I was at age 22.
In Katzen’s headnotes for the recipe, she urges you to experiment. All you need, she says, is a combination of orange and green vegetables. Except her recipe doesn’t involve actual greens. I had to read it three times before I decided that her green must be the bell pepper listed in the ingredients. To me, “bell pepper” always means red. Or any color but green. Moosewood was written in a different era, a gentler time when green bell peppers were not held in widespread contempt.
In fact, the more I read the Gypsy Soup recipe, the more I realized that my version has deviated widely from the original. Mine isn’t even vegetarian. But gypsies are free spirits. They can’t be pinned down. They have to roam where their hearts lead them. Just ask Stevie Nicks. So let’s say that the core elements of gypsy soup are sweet potatoes, chickpeas, and some kind of green vegetable, and leave it at that.