QUOTE (porcupine @ Oct 31 2005, 10:57 AM)
Would you be interested in sharing the recipe? Every squash soup recipe I've followed has come out kinda bland.
I am going to jump in and comment on your request, because I made a Kabocha squash soup that was a big hit when I served it to guests last week.
When you say "bland" I am assuming that you mean "without character" rather than "not spicy enough." To me, the goal with a roasted winter squash soup is seeking depth of flavor, rather than pizzaz. If the latter is what you want, don't bother roasting the squash, just cook it in the stock--then add ginger or curry or cumin and chile, or cinnamon, which will become the dominant flavor.
However, if depth of flavor is what you are after, roasting the squash evaporates some of the water in it, instensifies the flavor and caramelizes some of the natural sugar in the squash. The key to any good soup is good stock. Using homemade chicken stock (or flavorful vegetable stock) is crucial. If you have to use canned stock, enhance it by simmering it for fifteen or twenty minutes with additional aromatics, like onion, celery, parsley, fresh thyme and bay leaf, and some white wine or dry vermouth, then strain it before using it for the soup.
I wanted some extra, elusive sweetness and complexity to my soup, so I peeled and cut up a quince and sauteed it in butter with onion and the white part of a leek, then added several cups of homemade chicken stock and some white wine, and let it cook until everything was tender. The roasted squash and the quince-onion-broth was pureed in the blender together with a half-carton of creme fraiche (heavy cream would work, too) and then the pureed soup was simmered for about a half hour or so, stirred occasionally, salt and white pepper added to taste. At the very end, I added some grated lemon zest and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice. An apple or a pear could stand in for the quince. I sprinkled a tiny bit of finely chopped parsley and tarragon in the center of each bowl as I served it.
People were energetically scraping every last drop out of their bowls, and one of my friends was hungrily eyeing the dish of his six year-old daughter, who was dawdling. When he had finished his soup, he negotiated with her and got her to eat "four more spoonfuls" and then grabbed her bowl as soon as she had complied, so that he could finish her soup. No one identified the quince--the soup wasn't noticeably sweet, it was just really rich and delicious.
