The local's soup
Toasting the end of tomato season with gazpacho's easier cousin, salmorejo

My first cooking job was when I was 16 at a Cambridge cafe called The Blacksmith House. I prepared all the food on the menu of soup, salad and sandwiches. My fellow staff members were a parade of restaurant archetypes. There was Doris, the tough, old Austrian baker who ran the kitchen like a Swiss watch and always made me feel so nervous to steal bites of frosting in the walk-in cooler. There also was Betty, the cashier who wouldn’t call it the “Ari Special” even though she ate my chopped turkey sandwich every day for lunch. And Ele, the hot waitress with whom I didn’t have a chance. And the muscled and managerial Curtis, who was also on the hunt. And the head waiter, Steve, who was on cocaine.

I arrived early to make the soup, following the splattered pages of the “Moosewood Cookbook” in my weekly rotation of vichyssoise, cucumber dill, Hungarian mushroom and the whacky but delicious fruit soup. But the most popular was gazpacho, which was in such demand that I had to make a double batch when I made it, which I dreaded to do because of all the chopping. 

Alas, it seems that gazpacho chefs these days want to take the easy way out, as most modern recipes involve the food processor. But I shouldn’t point fingers. It’s been decades since I’ve made a batch, thanks to PTSD and the fact that I found another tomato-based soup from the south of Spain that I prefer: salmorejo, which is little more than tomato, garlic and bread. I first tried it in a small Andalusian cafe, alongside a mix of red wine and Sprite called Tinto de Verano.

In the same way that locals prefer to drink Tinto de Verano while the tourists drink their overpriced sangria, salmorejo is more popular with the Andalusians, while gazpacho is more internationally known. Salmorejo is smooth and thick, and usually lavishly garnished with boiled egg, chopped ham, olive oil, scallions and herbs. When I returned home, I made it often, including with heirloom tomatoes, and was convinced I had attained peak Andalusian tomato-based soup.

That is, until a few weeks ago, when a well-intentioned friend who was a lazy chopper made the chunkiest batch of gazpacho ever. Without the tarragon, paprika, cumin or basil, its flavor lacked the complexity of the gazpacho of my youth, but the vegetables nonetheless combined into a wonderful flavor. When I tired of chewing the jawbreaking chunks of cucumber, pepper, onion and celery, I found myself sipping quite pleasantly on the gazpacho’s watery broth. And then I got an idea.

With my friend’s permission, I drained the tomatoey liquid, and fished out the tomato chunks and used them as a base for a hybrid salmorejo, with homegrown garlic and the guts from a locally baked loaf of white sourdough. It had the smooth, elegant simplicity of a good salmorejo, and a hint of complexity from its Andalusian cousin gazpacho. It was the perfect way to enjoy the tail end of tomato season.

What follows is my base salmorejo recipe, which I have added additional, parallel instructions in parentheses for those wishing to make it with a Gazpacho twist. Be advised that making the gazpacho flavored version involves lots of extra chopping and waiting overnight for the flavor to develop, which are probably the main reasons why Andalusians prefer salmorejo. But if you have the time, and a decent knife, you’ll surely appreciate the extra flavors of the gazpacho-ed version.

Salmorejo a la Gazpacho

Serves 4

2 lbs tomatoes

(One large cucumber, chopped)

(One bell pepper, chopped)

(1/2 cup basil, chopped)

(One yellow onion, chopped)

1/2 cup of the inner, spongey part of a loaf of white bread, no crust

1 modest sized clove of garlic, chopped

2 teaspoons sherry vinegar (more to taste if your tomatoes are low acid)

½ teaspoon salt + more to taste

½ cup extra virgin olive oil

Garnish: hardboiled egg, olive oil, chives and chopped prosciutto, which is the closest thing you can easily find to Spanish ham. 

Boil a pot of salted water deep enough to submerge your tomatoes.

While the water heats, cut a cross into the bottom of each tomato to slice the skins. Then pull the guts from a loaf of bread.

Boil the tomatoes in the water for about two minutes, then immediately plunge them into an ice bath until they are completely cool. Remove the tomatoes and pull off the skins.

(If making the gazpacho version, cut the tomatoes into quarters and combine them with the chopped cucumber, bell pepper, basil and onion, along with teaspoon of salt, and let sit overnight in the fridge. The next day, pull the tomatoes from this mixture and drain the juice. You can use the tomatoes in the salmorejo instructions below.)

Liquify the tomatoes (and gazpacho juice, if using) in a blender for about 30 seconds. Add the bread and liquify again. Allow this blend to sit for about five minutes.

Add the garlic, salt, vinegar and oil. If using low-acid heirloom tomatoes, you might need to add extra vinegar. Blend on high for a minute. Check the seasonings, and blend again if you made any adjustments.

Chill. A garnish of chopped hardboiled egg, chopped prosciutto, a splash of olive oil, a sprinkle of fresh parsley or any combo of the above will complete the dish.

Serve with a glass of Tinto de Verano (red wine and Sprite), and toast the end of another great season.