I don’t surprise easily, but sometimes people surprise me.
Sometimes the surprise might be big, like a last-minute, your-bags-are-packed-for-you vacation.
Sometimes the surprise might be small, like someone remembering to turn on the bedside lamp for their wife who is afraid of the dark and of stubbing her toes.
Sometimes the surprise might be medium, like someone’s husband eating something and calling it delicious when it involves spinach, particularly cooked spinach.
I had not one, but TWO of these surprises this past week! I’m betting you can guess which ones, ’cause you’re clever. That’s why I love you. (In case you’re one of my less clever friends {don’t worry, I’m not talking to YOU, just the other one} the answer is NOT a surprise vacation.)
Carl did remember to leave the lamp on for me when he beat me to bed due to his much more streamlined bedtime beauty routine, and I have been meaning to try Italian Wedding Soup for ages, since every time we go to the Olive Garden restaurant, my husband orders their Italian wedding “zuppa” l and takes full advantage of the bottomless-bowl option despite the floating spinach present.
See, that was totally a segue-way because both topics have something to do with my husband. Kinda.
The thing is, Italian wedding soup has sausage in it.
Not many of you knew me as a child, and those who did certainly weren’t around when I was around sausage, or you probably wouldn’t have remained my friend. I was (and still am) a cheerful, optimistic, bubbly, slightly ridiculous girl with a horrible dark side that emerges in the presence of sausage.
Hello, my name is Anna and sausage makes me mad.
Certainly, it doesn’t help that, in my childhood, sausage (rookwurst, to be precise) usually showed up next to boerenkoel, aka “kale hash”, or mashed potatoes and cooked kale all mixed together into one greenish pile. A traditional Dutch dish, this disaster on a plate has, much to my amazement, many fans who will claim I have just not had the “good” kind, or it was poorly prepared. My sweet mother is many things, but a bad cook is not one of them. I can assure you, if I did not like her boerenkoel, I will not like any. I could not eat as much Miracle Whip in the rest of my life as I did on those fateful nights – the real miracle in that whip is it’s ability to totally mask other flavours.
We reached a point in my teenage years where my dear Dad actually stopped growing kale in his thriving garden, and my mom stopped preparing sausage on a night when I would be home for dinner. She tried making me a separate meal first (she should be a saint), but the sausage smell that greeted my entrance was enough to completely throw off my mood for hours.
The only possible explanation I can think of is some sort of chemical in the sausage or something that was released in the cooking that affected my brain in a way nothing had before or has since. Sausage simply makes me mad, without reason.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering how we ever got to the point that I’m cooking sausage in my own home, willingly, and then eating it and declaring the recipe great enough to share with you and add to my trusty online archive!
Well, it all started with our homemade Sausage Rolls, which were the first sausage rolls I could both smell and eat without rage. These rolls introduced me to mild Italian sausage, lightly seasoned, slightly sweeter, and totally edible. I won’t go so far as to say it’s my favourite meat, or even in my Top 5, but it sure does make my hubby happy, and that’s gotta count for something.
I used it next in a Shrimp and Sausage Pasta with Cream Sauce that we devoured, which Carl could not stop eating and raving about, and which I did not get a picture of. So sorry. I shifted the sausage his way, he shifted a few extra shrimp my way, and he declared we could eat sausage weekly. I twitched a little, and resorted to jokes about men and their sausages. I’m mature like that.
But, since I had some sausage left anyway from the pasta recipe, and my new Canadian Living had just arrived in the mail with a super basic Italian Wedding-esque soup, and soup makes me happy, he got his wish for one more week. This soup could not be easier, and it is packed with healthy goodness. It’s quick, light, and totally satisfying, and I will definitely be buying sausage again to make it, even if the smell does still make my eyeballs wiggle, my inner ears tingle, and my blood pressure squinge. Exposure has to be the cure, right?
Do you have any foods you just can’t stomach, for no apparent reason? If it’s cooked spinach, I recommend trying this soup anyway, since that was one of Carl’s no-go’s and he thoroughly enjoyed this. I always have a hard time judging how many people dishes will serve, because if Carl likes it, all bets are off. “Serves 6-8” suddenly means “serves 2, and one of you better get it fast”. This was one of those dishes.
- 2 Tbsp olive oil
- 10-12 oz (300-340 g) fresh Italian sausage, casings removed
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- Half onion, finely diced
- 1½ tsp Italian seasoning (or a combo of dried rosemary, oregano, and basil)
- ½ tsp pepper
- 3 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
- 3 cups water
- ¾ cup tiny shell or tubetti pasta
- 6 cups fresh baby spinach
- 2 cups cubed day old bread (I used regular white bread, but baguette or French bread would also be great)
- 4 Tbsp freshly grated Parmesan cheese
- Preheat oven to 375 (for croutons).
- In large saucepan, heat 1 tsp of the oil over medium-high heat.
- Brown sausage, breaking up with a wooden spoon, 5-6 minutes. With slotted spoon, remove sausage from pan, set aside, and drain fat from pan.
- To same pan, add garlic, onion, 1 tsp Italian seasoning, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is softened (about 2 minutes).
- Add broth and water to pan and return sausage to pan. Cover and bring to a boil.
- Add pasta; reduce heat and cook until pasta is al dente, about 8 minutes.
- Meanwhile, toss bread with remaining olive oil and ½ tsp Italian seasoning and a dash of pepper. Bake at 375 until golden brown, about 10 minutes.
- When pasta is cooked, turn off heat, add spinach, and stir just until wilted (about 30 seconds).
- Serve soup sprinkled with croutons and Parmesan cheese.
Recipe adapted from Canadian Living January 2012
I’m linking this recipe up at “SoupaPalooza”, and highly recommend you come join SoupaPalooza at TidyMom and Dine and Dish sponsored by KitchenAid, Red Star Yeast and Le Creuset with your own soul-warming recipes for soup, stew, or chili!
Laughing hard at your post. I have to admit that the kale hash sounds a wee bit nasty. However, I love potatoes and sausage, so I’d actually be willing to try it! This soup sounds truly delicious though.
People actually hate sausage? I’m so sad to hear that! You must just gag at half my posts. ;) Feel free to pretend that the word sausage = BACON and substitute it freely throughout my posts.
Nooo, don’t try it! You will blame me for the idea! And no, I don’t gag at any of your posts :) But bacon will definitely make it even better!
Beautiful bowl of soup and I like that you’ve used fresh sausage with lots of spinach! I’m making soup tonight, I hope it turns out as good as yours;-)
Anna, that sausage reaction thing is weird. ;)
…I have an aversion to coconut (the texture not the flavor) though nothing really gets me rip roarin mad… except maybe the unhappy meat that’s treated terribly, loaded with e-coli and salmonella and then is absolutely tasteless when cooked. that makes me mad. so i just avoid it and buy happy meat.
This sounds like my kind of soup! Sounds so delicious, can’t wait to try :) Beautiful images
Thanks for calling me a good cook and nominating me for sainthood all in one write-up! :) At first I thought your recipe called for 10-12 sausages and served 4…even made me twitch a little, but I was reading it wrong :) I seem to have misplaced my magazine so I will take it from here and try it. Your father still loves sausage…of any kind :)
Ahaha, this made me smile! Cooking for Nick always yields similarly startling results if he really likes it: when I made that Moroccan Chicken recipe I sent you, it claimed to serve 4… yep, not the case. :) Maybe recipe writers don’t plan for our athletic 6″something sweethearts!