Cucumber Soup -- The Anti-Soup for a Summer of Learning to Cook for One

The garden saved me again this week. The tomatoes are ripening — the first Early Girls, warm from the sun, red and splitting with juice. I picked one on Monday morning and I stood in the garden and I ate it, unwashed, warm, the juice running down my arm, and for ten seconds I was not a grieving widow. I was a woman eating a tomato in July. The simplest pleasure. The most ordinary act. And it was enough. The BLTs returned. The first-tomato BLT, the ritual, the garden tomato on toasted rye with bacon and mayonnaise. I made two — one for me, one for Paul's place at the table. His sat on the plate, uneaten, a BLT for a ghost, which sounds morbid and isn't. It's a place at the table. It's a meal set out. It's the ritual continuing. Elsa ate the second BLT when she came for dinner. She didn't ask whose plate it was. She sat at Paul's place and she ate the BLT and I didn't mind. The place is set for Paul. But the living can eat there too. The living and the dead can share a table. They always have. Fourth of July is Saturday. I won't go to the fireworks — COVID, the lockdown still partially in effect, and also because the fireworks are Paul's thing and going without him would be — not wrong, but too much. Too much absence in a space where his presence used to be. I'll stay home. I'll make potato salad. I'll set two places. I called Mamma on Sunday. She's doing well — strong for eighty-nine, still sharp, still gardening (Erik checks on her every day, masked, from the doorstep). She said, "The tomatoes are early this year." I said, "Mine too." She said, "How many pints of marinara are you planning?" I said, "Ten." She said, "I'm doing twelve." The competition continues. The competition never stops. The competition is love. I made a summer dinner: cold cucumber soup. Cucumbers from the garden, blended with yogurt and dill and garlic. Chilled. Served in a bowl. The lightest, coolest thing — the anti-soup, the soup that doesn't warm but refreshes. Paul would have called it "not real soup" because Paul believed soup should be hot. I'm making it anyway. The decisions about what to cook are mine now. All mine. The liberation of that, and the loneliness of it, coexist. The garden is producing. The kitchen is cooking. The table is set. The woman in the garden is eating tomatoes in the sun. The woman in the garden is going to be okay. Not yet. But eventually. The eventually that isn't cruel this time. The eventually that means: time will help.

Paul would have called this “not real soup,” and I made it anyway—that felt important. The cucumbers came straight from the garden, the same garden that handed me that first warm Early Girl on Monday morning and gave me ten seconds of pure, uncomplicated presence. This cold cucumber soup is everything a July dinner should be: no heat, no fuss, nothing to stand over. Just the garden, the blender, and the bowl. It’s mine to make now. I’m making it.

Cucumber Soup

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min (plus 1 hour chilling) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 large cucumbers, peeled, seeded, and roughly chopped
• 1 1/2 cups plain whole-milk yogurt
• 1 cup cold water or vegetable broth
• 2 tablespoons fresh dill, plus more for garnish
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon white pepper
• Thinly sliced cucumber and fresh dill sprigs, for serving

Instructions

1. Prep the cucumbers. Peel, halve lengthwise, and scoop out the seeds with a spoon. Roughly chop and place in a blender or food processor.
2. Blend. Add the yogurt, water or broth, dill, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and white pepper. Blend until completely smooth, about 60 seconds. Taste and adjust salt and lemon as needed.
3. Chill. Transfer to a bowl or pitcher, cover, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour until very cold. The soup thickens slightly as it chills.
4. Serve. Ladle into bowls. Garnish with a drizzle of olive oil, a few thin cucumber slices, and a sprig of fresh dill. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 110 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 320mg