The other day I was in the supermarket’s produce section buying some leeks. An older woman approached me and very cautiously asked me, “What is that?” referring to the two robust bulbs I held in my hand. The question caught me off guard. For a second, I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “These are leeks,” I replied, very matter-of-factly.”Leeks?” she said, the word clearly rolling off her tongue for the first time. “And what do you do with those?”These are the moments where I dive into my own personal world of self-pity, revisiting my self-appointed tragedy as the urbanite trapped in a suburban universe where leek cluelessness reigns. There are so many positive reasons to live in the ‘burbs, of course: the great schools, pretty parks, and safe and quiet environment, and, I have happily enjoyed all of these perks. Still, dark and gloomy moments such as my encounter with leek illiteracy seem to hit me hard, leaving me feeling that if I had access to the Golden Gate Bridge, I’d be jumping off it or at least, tethering on the side.”Yes, what do you do with those?” the woman asked again, this time more forcefully, snapping me out of my self-inflicted daze. She clearly wanted to know. Clearly needed to know. It was a tiny glimmer of hope that promised to rattle me out of my spiraling loss of faith in the suburban culinary vernacular. Here, amongst pristine and newly waxed rows of brightly colored everything, this woman held out her hand in hopes for some epicurean enlightenment that ;I ;was supposed to give to her.It was a second that made perfect sense to me, and, nestled amongst underripe bananas and two-for-one specials, I blushed with an overriding sense of purpose and jumped at the chance.”Leeks are wonderful, actually,” I began, waving my leek about as if it were I baton and I the conductor. “They are related to the onion, but have a subtler, sweeter flavor. Although the leek originally comes from Central Asia, it was revered by the ancient Greeks and Romans for its beneficial effects on the throat. In Wales leeks serve as the country’s national emblem! And why not? Legend claims it’s because the Welch soldiers placed leeks in their hats to differentiate themselves from their enemy and thus won some huge battle, but I think their flavor merits an emblem. After all, they make the most divine soup, and then there are leek tarts, leek omelets, leek fritters and even leek pie.”I stopped to breathe and realized I had scared the daylights out of my potential disciple. She seemed paler then when we first met and her face was frozen on mine, almost as if she wasn’t sure how to move. Quickly and quietly she maneuvered past the other shopping carts leaving a forced “thank you” in her trail and, having cleared the aisle, proceeded to dash for her life, never looking back. I’ve been a lot of things, but this can truly be the first time I had turned into a leek freak.I was still clutching the leek I had been waving around during my frenzied lecture on its historical value. It looked a bit limp from so much manipulation, but, as I chuckled to myself on my newly discovered zealousness, I knew it would do just fine. After all, leeks are resistant to all sorts of craziness, even mine, and they truly do make the most divine soup.
Potato-Leek Soup
4 leeks
6 tablespoon butter
1 potato, peeled and cut into 1" cubes
3 cups chicken stock
salt, to taste
Clean the leeks: cut the dark green portion and discard. Cut off ends and slice the leek in half length-wise. Open up the leek slightly (like fanning a deck of cards) and run under cold water. There is a lot of dirt trapped inside the layers so keep fanning your leek to get all that out!Once clean, slice leeks into fine pieces. Melt butter over medium-high heat. Add leeks and sauté, stirring frequently, for 5 minutes. Add potato and stock. Raise temperature to bring to a boil. Once the soup boils, reduce heat to medium-low and simmer gently for 30 minutes. Season, to taste.
Blend soup up in a blender or with an immersion blender. Enjoy!
Serves 4






