In the winter of 1988, my husband and I went to sp/files/storyimages/a week with his brother and sister-in-law at their house in the Berkshire Mountains. The reason I remember the exact year is that it marked the /files/storyimages/of the Reagan administration, and I was in a jolly mood, heartened and further lifted by the layers of snow that fell all over New England. The world no longer seemed so black. Though my brother-in-law, Don, was a Reagan man, he was the kind of guy who would allow you to give him 10 tons of grief about it and then say, "Now let’s go find a huge leg of lamb to roast." And off the two of us would zoom in his BMW, no matter the weather.
On the particular occasion I’m recalling, my husband had disappeared for a day of skiing, and his brother (who looked like the young Walter Matthau) said, "Hey, M! Let’s go to Bennington so you can visit the college, and then we’ll do a little shopping in Manchester." This guy loved to shop more than any teenage girl you’ve ever met, and he could find a bargain in a gold mine (and would stay out all day doing it, which is why his wife often chose to stay home practicing yoga and listening to music). What usually happened on these road trips was that Don would see a sign that reminded him of somewhere else he wanted to go besides his intended destination, and before you knew what had hit, you’d made a detour to Maine. Or Canada. Always in pursuit of something that was "the tastiest" or "the dirt-cheapest." Well, this day we ended up in Rutland, Vt., at the Vermont Country Store. He screeched the car to a halt amid several piles of snow.
"What are we doing here?" I demanded. "This is no college." I hadn’t even realized the Vermont Country Store was an actual store. In actual Vermont. I thought it was just a catalog full of flannel nightgowns and horehound candy (a name that has always made me snicker merely to say it).
"I need a case of scotch broth," said Don.
"What? We drove all the way upstate in a snowstorm for scotch? Here?"
He asked if I was raised in a barn, adding that if I had been, I’d be more likely to know what scotch broth is. It turned out that he was talking about Campbell’s Soup cans of scotch broth (motto: "hard to come by"). Because no one in Vermont yells, I felt somewhat inhibited inside the quiet, wood-lined country store, not being able to shout at the top of my lungs, "YOU’RE BUYING CANNED SOUP? WHAT IS THIS? YOUR ANDY WARHOL ROUTINE?" So I whispered it.
He whispered back his favorite advice: "Stick with me, kid. You won’t be sorry."
Back in the car, while he played Cindy Lauper on his new stereo system, I read the label of a Campbell’s can. Scotch broth was one of the company’s "Special Selections" soups, meaning: not sold in most grocery stores. It was made with vegetables, barley and lamb. I was genuinely surprised to find lamb in a canned American soup in the latter part of the 20th century.
The second we got back to the house (after stops at, not one, but two Ralph Lauren Polo outlets and several wine markets) I got down the Joy of Cooking to look up scotch broth. The only information offered besides the recipe itself, which called for mutton (and which made plain that the final product was a thick soup, not a broth), was that it has been a longtime favorite of French farmers. Scotch broth for French farmers. And this was before globalization. What was going on here? I had to get to the bottom of it. Too bad I wasn’t at the Bennington library.
The next day we had some scotch broth for lunch, and I had to admit that for a canned soup it was not bad. The fact that Don added half a cup of pricey white Bordeaux to it as it was simmering didn’t hurt at all. But I could taste how much better it would be with lamb bones you had held in your own hands and barley that had started out dry. I knew it would be worth the trouble to make it from scratch. It would beat the heck out of beef-barley soup.
Among the many artifacts I found concerning the origins of scotch broth was this, from the 1881 Household Cyclopedia (full title: The Household Cyclopedia of General Information Containing Over Ten Thousand Receipts in All the Useful and Domestic Arts Constituting a Complete and Practical Library Containing the Improvements and Discoveries up to Date of Publication, with Illustrations — try ordering that at Amazon.com.):
"Sot on the fire 4 ounces of pearl barley, with 6 quarts of salt water. When it boils skim it, and add what quantity of salt beef or fresh brisket you choose, and a marrow-bone or a fowl, with 2 pounds of either lean beef or mutton, and a good quantity of leeks, cabbages, or savoy, or you may use turnips, onions, and grated carrots; keep it boiling for at least 4 or 5 hours, but, if a fowl be used, let it not be put in till just time enough to bring it to table when well done, for it must be served separately."
See why food research is so much fun? I would give anything to be able to walk around in daily life saying things like, "If a fowl be used . . . ." The bottom line is that scotch broth apparently did originate in Scotland, where winter root vegetables and cheap cuts of meat were put to good and extensive use. It was one of Sir Walter Scott’s favorite treats, and even today, throughout the United Kingdom, it is part of the famous Ploughman’s Lunch.
Here is an easy updated version of it, culled from several sources. It’s the perfect wintry dish, afternoon or evening. Try serving it with Irish soda bread rather than the usual yeast bread:
Scotch Broth
2? pounds lamb shoulder, cut into 2-inch pieces
10 cups water
? cup pearl barley
3 tablespoons butter
2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
1 yellow turnip, diced
2 stalks celery, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
? cup dry white wine
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 bunch parsley, finely chopped
Put the lamb and residual bones in a large soup pot; add the water and barley and bring the pot to a boil. Simmer, covered, for two hours or until the meat is tender. Remove the bones, then chop the meat into very small pieces and reserve it. In a skillet melt the butter and saute the vegetables on low heat for 15 minutes. Add the meat along with the vegetables to the soup, then stir in the wine and simmer for 30 minutes more. Season with salt and pepper and stir in the parsley. Serves 10.
Irish Soda Bread
2 cups white flour
2 cups whole-wheat flour
? cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons butter, chilled
1 cup raisins
1? cups buttermilk
Heat the oven to 350 degrees. In a bowl, mix together the dry ingredients. Cut in the butter until reduced to pea-sized bits. Stir in the raisins and buttermilk. Turn the dough onto a floured surface, knead it for one minute, and shape it into a disc. Cut an "X" in the top and bake on a greased baking sheet for 45 to 50 minutes.
