Mushroom Barley Soup

October. The leaves are dying beautifully, which is what leaves do, and what English teachers notice, because we have spent our lives teaching books about exactly this: the beauty that exists in endings, the color that appears only when things are letting go. I pointed this out to my juniors on Monday and one of them said, "That's depressing, Mrs. Feldman." I said, "It's not depressing. It's honest. Depressing would be if the leaves stayed green forever. Nothing that stays the same is interesting." He looked unconvinced. He'll be convinced by April. They always are by April.

I made mushroom barley soup this week — the soup of autumn, the soup of October, the soup that Sylvia made when the first cold snap arrived and the Grand Concourse needed something brown and warm and substantial to carry it through to spring. Mushroom barley soup is not glamorous. It is not the soup that food magazines photograph. It is the soup that Jewish grandmothers make when the weather turns, and it has been turning weather into warmth for longer than any living person can remember. The barley absorbs the broth and becomes thick and nutty and satisfying in a way that no grain has any right to be. The mushrooms give up their flavor to the liquid and become soft ghosts of themselves. The soup is greater than its parts. This is the lesson of soup. This is the lesson of everything.

David called to tell me that Ethan's preschool teacher said he is "a natural leader." David said this with the proud bewilderment of a father who cannot quite believe he produced a leader, because David is not a leader — David is a doctor, steady and competent, the kind of man who follows protocols and does his job and does not seek the spotlight. But Ethan — Ethan has Sylvia's force. Ethan has the Rosen women's will dressed up in a Feldman body, and the combination produces a three-year-old who organizes the other children at snack time with the authority of a small general.

I am proud. I am dangerously, unreasonably proud, the way only a grandmother can be proud — without the complicated negotiations of parental pride, without the worry about creating pressure or expectation. Parental pride is cautious. Grandparental pride is reckless. Ethan is a natural leader. I am going to tell everyone. I am going to mention it at Shabbat dinner and to Mrs. DeLuca and to Helen Marcowitz and to anyone who will listen, because this is my grandson and he is three and he is leading, and the chain holds, and the soup is warm, and the leaves are dying beautifully, and everything is exactly as it should be.

So here it is — Sylvia’s mushroom barley soup, or my version of it, which is close enough that I can almost hear her telling me the barley needs another ten minutes. I make it every October, when the air turns and the apartment finally feels like it needs something simmering on the stove. This week, with the leaves doing their beautiful dying and Ethan out there leading his little troops at snack time, it felt exactly right to stand at the pot and stir and let the whole apartment smell like autumn and memory and everything holding together the way it should.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour | Total Time: 1 hour 20 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 carrots, peeled and diced
3 celery stalks, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 pound cremini mushrooms, sliced
4 ounces shiitake mushrooms, stems removed and sliced
1 cup pearl barley, rinsed
8 cups beef broth (or vegetable broth for a vegetarian version)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped (for garnish)

Instructions

Sauté the aromatics. Heat olive oil and butter in a large Dutch oven or stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion, carrots, and celery. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are softened, about 6 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more.
Cook the mushrooms. Increase the heat to medium-high and add the cremini and shiitake mushrooms. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms have released their liquid and begun to brown, about 8 to 10 minutes.
Toast the barley. Add the pearl barley to the pot and stir for 1 to 2 minutes, letting it toast lightly among the vegetables and mushrooms.
Build the broth. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 30 seconds. Pour in the broth, then add the soy sauce, dried thyme, bay leaves, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine and bring to a boil.
Simmer until thick. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 45 to 55 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the barley is tender and the soup has thickened. The barley will continue to absorb liquid as it sits — add a splash of broth or water if the soup becomes too thick for your liking.
Season and serve. Remove the bay leaves. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed. Ladle into bowls and garnish with fresh dill.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mushroom Barley Soup — The Soup of October, the Soup of Everything