There is a particular kind of evening in late September when the heating clicks on for the first time and nobody quite knows what to cook. Something in a bowl, ideally, that can be eaten on a lap with a slice of something buttered. Autumn soups are forgiving in a way that summer cooking is not. They improve overnight, they freeze without complaint, and they ask nothing of you but an onion and a decent stock.
The other appeal is economy. Squash, parsnips, swede, carrots and celeriac are all cheap through the colder months, and a single tray of roasted roots will happily feed four people twice over. Add a handful of lentils and you have something substantial enough to call dinner rather than a preamble to it.
Once you have the rhythm, you can build any of these soups without a recipe. It runs in roughly this order:
Simmer for 20 to 25 minutes until everything collapses under a spoon, then blitz. If it is too thick, loosen with hot stock rather than water; if too thin, simmer uncovered for another five minutes.
Roasting the squash rather than boiling it is the single change that lifts this soup from fine to memorable. Cut a butternut or a crown prince into wedges, toss in oil with salt and a few whole unpeeled garlic cloves, and roast at 200°C (180°C fan, gas 6) for 30 to 35 minutes, until the edges are properly caramelised and the tips have caught. The sweetness that develops is what makes the soup taste of autumn rather than of nothing.
Soften an onion in butter, add the roasted flesh and the squeezed garlic, pour over about 900ml of stock with a couple of sage sprigs, and simmer for 15 minutes. Blend until glossy, then finish with a little grated nutmeg and a squeeze of orange or a teaspoon of honey if the squash is on the pale side.
For a touch of theatre, fry a dozen sage leaves in a little butter until crisp and scatter them over the bowls. They take about 30 seconds and cost pennies.
Root vegetables benefit from a little sweetness and a little heat, so pair them thoughtfully. Parsnip and apple is the classic combination, with a teaspoon of curry powder or a pinch of ground ginger. Celeriac and potato make a silky, faintly earthy soup that wants nothing more than a swirl of cream and plenty of black pepper. Carrot, cumin and red lentil is the workhorse of the whole repertoire.
For lentil soups, rinse 150g of red split lentils until the water runs clear — this matters, as unrinsed lentils throw up a grey scum — and add them with the stock. They will collapse entirely in 20 minutes and thicken the soup as it stands, which is worth remembering when you ladle leftovers the next day. Loosen with hot stock and taste again for salt; lentil soups almost always need more than you think.
If you want a soup that eats like a stew, use green or puy lentils instead, keep them whole, and add a tin of chopped tomatoes with the stock.
This is where autumn soups pay you back. Make double, and the second batch is a weeknight dinner you simply defrost.
One warning: blended root soups thicken considerably on freezing and thawing. Keep a jug of hot stock to hand when reheating and thin as needed.
A bowl of blended soup needs texture on top, or it can feel like baby food. Keep a jar of toasted pumpkin seeds in the cupboard, and consider any of the following: crisp fried sage or thyme leaves, a spoonful of chilli butter, toasted flaked almonds, a crumbling of blue cheese or feta, a swirl of crème fraîche, a drizzle of good olive oil, or a scattering of chopped parsley and lemon zest.
As for the bread, a crusty white loaf is the traditional answer, but a granary or sourdough with a thick smear of salted butter holds its own. A cheese toastie cut into fingers turns soup into a proper supper, as does a warm flatbread or a wedge of soda bread. Warm the bowls first with hot water and dry them — it takes a minute and makes a real difference on a cold night.
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