Creamy Golden Beet Soup

Do you like beets?
[   ] yes, duh.        [   ] nah, man.

If you checked yes: Congratulations! You are correct.
If you checked no: "I weep for you," the Walrus said: "I deeply sympathize."

If there are beets on a menu, I'm going to order them. It's so dishearteningly predictable that I've started to wonder whether I've been Manchurian Candidated. "Beets are the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful root vegetable I've ever known in my life." Beets --> Russia --> Communism --> Communist China. It all makes sense! Plus the real Red Scare is the first time you eat a whole messa beets and no one tells you what's going to happen when you have to pee.

THINGS GOT WEIRD; INSERT SEGUE HERE.

Or insert picture.

So, we were at the market the other day and I saw these beautiful little golden beets. They practically put themselves in my basket. I didn't know what I was going to do with them, but they were coming home with me. [side note: I'm glad I have this feeling about vegetables and not, like, puppies.]

Since it's February, of course their destiny was more decided than I wanted to admit at the moment. "You can be anything you dream, little beets! You're gonna grow up to be President!"

As I was walking home after a hectic day at work, I started inventorying my refrigerator to decide what would end up in my mouth a few hours later. It was like a light from heaven was shining on the beets, right there in my mind's eye. Of course they were meant to be a soup. OF COURSE.

And this soup is a little bit of light from heaven. It's such a pure yellow that just looking at it forced a smile from deep within. And when I tasted it in all its glory, that smile got just a little deeper. It's lightly sweet and earthy: the two adjectives most applicable to a girl from California. But the texture is where it leaves earth for somewhere a bit more transcendent -- so smooth and creamy I wanted to put it in a lotion bottle and start selling it (remind me to never go into business).

Yes, I'm talking about beet soup as though it can induce an out-of-body expeience. No, I will not apologize. (Nah, man.)

To garnish this beety beauty, I grabbed some greens off the tops of some carrots I had in the crisper. Had the beet greens looked a bit better, I'd have sauteed some of those. But the carrot greens turned out to be a fun choice. I gave them a quick chop and fried them  in olive oil with a pinch of salt and pepper until they were crispy and nutty. They added a tiny bit of texture and a hint of bitterness to the final product. 

I also plopped about a tablespoon of goat cheese on a hot pan, mashed it down and let it get melty on top with a nice brown crust on the bottom. You can never go wrong with burnt cheese, IMHO.

Mmmm, cheesy bubbles.

While I did like it a ton (I was quite vocal during dinner), I think there's a better garnish out there. I'll experiment some more, because I'm clearly making this soup again. As far as the base, I wouldn't change a thing -- and that's not a thing I say very often. In fact, if I'm being true to my personal tastes, this was my favorite of the year so far.

To sum up: Dope beets.

Golden Beet Soup
Serves two

GET THIS STUFF

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
splash of olive oil
4 small golden beets, peeled and diced
1 cup diced onion
2 teaspoons minced ginger
1 teaspoon turmeric
grated rind of one lemon 
1/2 cup dry white wine (I used a Sauvignon Blanc)
2 cups vegetable broth
juice of half lemon

DO THIS WITH IT

Melt butter and olive oil in soup pot over medium heat. Add beets, onion, ginger, turmeric and lemon rind. Cover and cook for about 10 minutes.

Uncover and pour in wine. Cook, stirring, until most of the wine evaporates, about 2 minutes.

Add vegetable broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for an hour or until beets are fork-tender.

Puree with immersion blender or in a blender (I used the Vitamix this time and it was perfect). Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Serve topped with a squeeze of lemon juice, freshly ground black pepper and desired garnish.