Using Your Nose: Making Intoxicating Lentil Soup

I am writing this post as I recover from a bout of illness-induced anosmia. As in, I couldn’t smell. For most people, not being able to smell during a cold is annoying, but for someone who lives to cook, it felt like a crisis. Which makes me appreciate the sense of smell all the more when it comes back.

Cooking without paying attention to the scent the food gives off is impossible, whether you recognize it or not. Here, I hope to make you hyper-aware of your sense of smell, and cooking will never be the same!

To celebrate, I made an intensely smell-dependent meal inspired by Milk Street’s Turkish Red Lentil Soup. Topped with chili oil and served alongside garlic-coated naan, you can’t help but enjoy the scent at the table, but your nose is just as crucial during the cooking process.

This soup begins in a large Dutch oven with lots of minced onion sweating in a small lump of bubbling hot butter. If there is better aromatherapy on the planet, let me… no, there is no better aromatherapy on the planet.

Oh, wait- as the onion scent melds with the butter scent, and the whole thing starts to just barely take on a hint of not-quite-done toast (that’s the butter solids browning), you add a clove of minced garlic. A second wave of paradisiacal fragrance will fill the kitchen, but only for about 30 seconds or so. As the garlic cooks, the sharp scent will soften, and if you enjoy it for too long, the next wave of smells will be less pleasant- acrid and burnt.

So before that happens, add a big squirt of tomato paste to slow the cooking (if the pace of cooking feels out-of-hand fast, turn the heat down a bit!). I prefer tubes of tomato paste because any leftovers are easier to store than with the cans, but about half a small can of tomato paste will also do the trick.

Have your nose and eyes on alert, plus about 5 cups of water standing by for this next bit. Add to the pot a big spoonful of paprika (I have sweet on hand, but I’m sure smoky or hot paprika would transform the dish beautifully) and a half spoonful of cumin. When these hit the hot fat, they should give off an intense, floraly, bell-pepper-esque fragrance. (If they don’t, your spices are old. Get new ones.) The heat and lipids in the butter release fat-soluble aromas that are normally hidden. The technical term for this is “blooming,” just like a flower opening up! However, the spices go from floral to scorched very quickly, so pay attention as the scent takes on a toastiness. It only takes about a minute of sauteing, so before the spices turn dark brown, add the water.

At this point, add a cup of lentils and half a handful of rice, and bring to a boil. Milk Street recommends white rice and red lentils due to the gorgeous color — red lentils + paprika + tomato paste + chili oil = RED! — but any rice and any soft lentils, like split yellow or brown lentils, would work as well. Cover the pot and turn the heat down to medium. After at least 30 minutes of simmering, the lentils and rice should have all but lost their shape and turned into a squishy, silky stew.

Before you lift the lid, brace yourself for loveliness. The steam that comes off the soup carries with it aromas of bell peppers, fresh cut grass, toast, and garlic, bolstered by the unrefined savoriness of lentils and tomato paste. Taste, and add more spices and salt as you wish.

There are two very important steps left before you can eat. First, you must make chili oil. If you do not like spicy foods, use Aleppo pepper, as the original recipe suggests. I cannot find Aleppo pepper anywhere, so I used regular red chili flakes. Heat a generous splash of olive or canola oil in a saute pan until just fragrant, then add as much or as little chili flake as you like- more will be spicier, obviously. When the flakes begin to sizzle and dye the oil red, swirl the pan for about 30 seconds, then pour into a serving dish. Don’t inhale too deeply unless you want singed nostrils! Drizzle a bit on each bowl before serving.

The last step is, in my mind, the most important. It’s honestly the only reason I make this soup: cheater garlic naan. There is no point in having this soup unless you have salty, buttery, garlicky bread to scoop it up with!

I call it “cheater” because I bought the whole grain naan from a store and top it inauthentically. You could, of course, just pick up some garlic naan from a local restaurant, but you’d miss out on the tactile and olfactory joy of making it yourself. I simply slice up some garlic (while mincing the garlic for the soup) and let it sizzle away in butter or olive oil — there’s that aromatherapy again! — until it just starts to brown. Stir frequently to prevent parts from burning while others lag behind. You could just brush this right on the bread, but I prefer to lay the bread right in the pan for about 10 seconds per side to warm it up and evenly coat it in the oil. Top each piece with leftover browned garlic slices and a sprinkle of salt. Warm bread, garlic, butter – what’s not to love?

So there you have it. If we only pay attention, the sense of smell can tell us the quality of an ingredient, the progression of the cooking process, the lack or excess of flavor, the desirability of a meal on the table. Inhale deeply, and start enjoying your kitchen a little bit more.