Look, I feel a bit silly posting a photograph taken with my cracked and battered phone, feel as though it's a bit of cheat, but this bowl of soup managed to a) use an armload of the kale that seems to be all I've been able to grow this year and b) taste much better (so much better) than the sum of its humble parts that I want to say something about both it and the book it came from immediately. As a testament to just how compelling Tod Davies' writing is and, amazingly, how damned fine her Caldo Verde is, I am, as I sit typing, still in dirt-encrusted gear from the farm so committed am I to this bloody marvellous idea. I really need a shower, but the soup is too good to wait.
Basically, you chop an onion and a couple of cloves of garlic. You peel 4 or 5 potatoes - an all purpose veering-toward-waxy spud like desiree is good as it will retain some shape in the final gorgeous broth - and, along with a couple of generous spoonfuls of olive oil, bung the lot into a saucepan, cover generously with water and boil, then simmer at a lively pace, all together, occasionally giving the potatoes a bit of squish with a big spoon as you walk by. How long? Really, I cannot say. Long enough to have some perfectly tender chunks of potato left, but so that, mostly, what you have is a silken, pale-and-interesting potato broth. Add salt. Add pepper. Take a walk into the garden and nab an armload of kale. Destalk, slice, and dump into saucepan. Up the heat and boil, hard, for 3 minutes. Ladle into shallow bowls, dress with more olive oil and, because the cabbage and potato combination struck me as being Irish Peasant not just Portugese Peasant, I added a large (a-hem) spoonful of sour cream and, just 'cos Spain is next door, a dusting of smoked paprika which, if you'll forgive me Tod, made it even richer.
I'm only a couple of chapters in, but Jam Today Too: The Revolution Will Not Be Catered is shaping up to be a brilliant follow up to what's become one of my very favourite books about food, ever.