Classic Ham Bone Split Pea Soup

The woodstove is going full time now. I light it at five in the morning when I get up — habit from forty years of teaching, the early rising, though now the only class I'm teaching is the one between the coffee pot and the kitchen table — and it stays lit until ten at night when I bank the coals and go to bed. The house smells like wood smoke and coffee and whatever's on the stove, which this week was split pea soup.

Split pea soup is the most honest food I know. There's nothing hidden in it, nothing fancy, nothing that requires explanation. Dried peas, a ham bone, onion, carrots, celery, water, salt, pepper. You put it in the pot and you walk away. Three hours later, the peas have dissolved into something thick and green and deeply satisfying, and the ham bone has given up everything it had, and the kitchen smells like the cafeteria at Burlington High School on a Thursday in January, which is a better memory than it sounds.

I always make split pea soup after we have a ham. Helen baked a ham on Sunday — the bone-in kind, glazed with maple syrup and mustard, which is the only way to glaze a ham if you live within a hundred miles of a sugar maple. The ham feeds us for three days. The bone makes the soup. The soup feeds us for three more. A ham is a six-day investment. That's economics my grandfather would understand.

The blog is humming along. A new comment this week from a man in Ohio who said he'd never made soup from scratch in his life and tried the bean soup from last month's post and "didn't die," which he seemed to consider high praise. I wrote back: "You didn't die. That's the bar. Everything above that is a bonus." Helen said I shouldn't joke about death with strangers. I said Hemingway joked about death with everyone. She said I'm not Hemingway. She's right. Hemingway never had to fix a screen door.

Frost has claimed the spot directly in front of the woodstove. He lies there like a fur rug with opinions. When I add a log, he moves exactly six inches, watches me reload, and returns to his spot with the precision of a dog who has mapped the thermal zones of the living room floor. I respect his dedication to comfort. I also respect his unwillingness to share the spot. A dog who knows what he wants and won't negotiate is a dog I can understand.

Cold tonight. November cold, which is different from January cold the way a warning shot is different from the artillery. It's telling you what's coming. You listen. You make soup. You light the fire. You're fine.

November cold has a way of telling you exactly what to do, and what it told me was: use the ham bone in the freezer and make split pea soup. There’s no dish I know that does more to close the gap between a cold house and a warm one—you get the fire going, you get the pot going, and somewhere in that two and a half hours the cold outside stops feeling like a threat. Frost kept his post by the woodstove while I cooked, and I kept mine at the stove, and by the time it was done neither of us had any complaints. Here’s how I made it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 2 hours 30 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 45 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 meaty ham bone (from a bone-in ham)
1 lb (about 2 1/4 cups) dried green split peas, rinsed and picked over
2 tablespoons olive oil or butter
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 medium carrots, peeled and diced
3 stalks celery, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
8 cups water (or low-sodium chicken broth for more depth)
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon black pepper, plus more to taste
Salt to taste (add at the end — the ham bone brings plenty)
Optional: 1 cup diced leftover ham, for stirring in at the end

Instructions

Sweat the vegetables. In a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onion, carrots, and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more.
Add the peas, bone, and liquid. Nestle the ham bone into the pot. Add the rinsed split peas, water (or broth), bay leaves, thyme, and black pepper. Stir to combine.
Bring to a boil, then simmer low. Raise the heat to bring the pot to a boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer. Do not cover fully — leave the lid slightly ajar. Simmer for 2 to 2 1/2 hours, stirring every 20 to 30 minutes, until the peas have completely dissolved and the soup is thick and creamy throughout.
Remove the ham bone. Lift out the bone and set it on a cutting board to cool slightly. Pull any remaining meat from the bone, shred or chop it, and return the meat to the pot. Discard the bone and bay leaves.
Adjust and finish. Taste the soup and season with salt and additional pepper as needed. If using extra diced ham, stir it in now and let it warm through for 5 minutes. The soup should be thick enough to coat a spoon heavily — if it’s thicker than you like, add water a splash at a time and stir over low heat.
Serve. Ladle into bowls. Good bread alongside is not optional.

Nutrition (per serving)

Classic Ham Bone Split Pea Soup — The Most Honest Food I Know