Thursdays with Kermit: Split Pea Stew with Ham

Kermit the Pot with the early trappings of a fantastic green soup.

Just so we're clear, the Kermit part of my Thursday is NOT the soup. I didn't puree Kermit and make green soup. I swear!

Kermit is the name of my beloved, avocado green Dutch Oven. My makeshift soup pot I've just happened to have been hanging out with the past few Thursdays.

See, I am home with the tiniest tribe members on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Tuesdays, I'm still feeling a tad industrious and I'm usually cleaning. By Thursday, chances are I'm stressed out from the office job and couldn't care less if the toilets need a good scrub or what state the cat box is in downstairs. I just want comfort food and Jane Austen movies on the DVD player.

I've stated before I'm pretty much the only soup eater in the house at the moment, but I'm optimistic that one of these days, I'll hit a home run with Kermit that will get the entire gang on the soup bandwagon. One of these days.

About a month ago, I was at the grocery store and bought a bag of split peas. I have no clue why. My mom makes the BEST split pea soup and maybe I missed her and maybe the fact that they only cost $1.09 for the pound struck a nerve with my broke self. Who knows. Point is, I had them. And remembered them. And combine that with the fact that a guest brought over and entire cooked ham last weekend, and well, ingredients for a perfect split pea party...and Kermit's the guest of honor.

I searched high and low for recipes and they all seemed too fancy. I remember my mom's soup as being low-maintenance. None of this "herb bouquet" nonsense or the need to blend the damn thing with oven mitts and a face mask for protection against scalding hot splatters from the blender. No way.

I tried to decipher what the hell a ham hock was with no success. Was it that ginormous ham bone in the bowl with the gelatinous goo hanging from it? Aren't ham hocks the round things my dad used to throw at the dogs, who would subsequently yak it up on the living room carpet a few hours later? (Sorry. TMI. Guilty as charged.)

Mom's made plenty of batches of the stuff with no mystery hock in sight, so I rough chopped as much ham as I felt I needed and tossed it in. So there. It's my soup. I'll toss the disgusting ham jello in there if I feel like it! (But I don't, so no worries.)

This soup is perfect for days like today in Alaska. It's snowing  heavily. I don't have to go anywhere until later this afternoon when it's time to rescue the second grader from the giant snow pile known as elementary school. And I'm hungry. Hungry and in need of a "food hug" from Kermit.

I call this a stew only because it's not pureed. The onions remained onions, the peas remained peas. No minced garlic clove was liquefied in the making of this soup. It's rustic whereas the traditional version has to be passed through a sieve a few times. (Annoying, right?)

On to the soup...

Split Pea Stew with Ham

2.5 cups of rinsed and picked over split peas
5 cups of water
1 small onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons of thyme
Bay leaf
1 tsp salt (more or less, to taste)
Pepper, to taste
Ham hock (seriously, it always goes back to the ham hock) or 2 cups chopped, left over ham

Is this the hock? Or is this the bone?
Darn you, mysterious meat pieces!

I rinsed the peas and looked for stones. Once we were clear of any filling-shattering abnormalities, I tossed the peas into Kermit, doused them with water and started the stove on medium. While the water and peas heated, I chopped my onion and garlic and put them in the hot tub. To that, I added the bay leaf, ham, and thyme, some salt and pepper. You're going to need to season to taste again once the soup has cooked.

I left the soup on the stove in a light simmer for an hour and twenty minutes before checking on it. (Have you met my children? You'd understand how I could forget a simmering soup that long.) It was perfect. No blender needed. Crusty artisan bread? Sure. But remember who you're talking to here...I'm a sandwich bread sort of girl with Fred Meyer butter. And it still makes me happy.

Happy eating!