White gazpacho (Don't invite the kids.)

White gazpacho, garnished with chives, olive oil, and grapes

Of course there are two kinds of parents in the world: those who cater to their children's taste buds and those who don't. I often masquerade as the first, but if I sustain that too long, I want to bite someone. 

The owl-cats are good to tolerate my experiments even if they don't relish them all. If nothing else, it builds their character. They don't get an alternative meal every day, but we have adopted my sister's rule that once a week, they can choose to say, "No thanks" to a dinner and eat a peanut butter sandwich or quesadilla instead--as long as they at least try whatever I've spent hours making. 

(Is it just me, or is there an inverse relationship between the amount of time you spend on a dish and how much the kiddies like it?)

So, yes, you have guessed it. They didn't like my white gazpacho.

White gazpacho makes sense if you think about it (history-wise). Tomatoes are not indigenous to Spain. When they came from the new world, then the Spaniards tossed them here and there and everywhere, as did every thinking cuisine. 

But before tomatoes there was stale bread, and grapes, and olive oil, and nuts. And there were hot summers. (Cue: Spanish guitar music)

And so--buen provecho--White Gazpacho.

This recipe comes from that extensive site, Simply Recipes. I did not have blanched almonds on hand, only raw almonds, so I substituted the skinless macademia nuts I had in the freezer from our adventure in Kauai. They worked beautifully as would pine nuts.

I found this cold soup surprisingly satisfying. (Sometimes cold soups are anything but.) It was sweet and salty, full-bodied and refreshing.

Owl said this tasted Spanish--he did spend two years there. I said I wasn't so sure. Only a trip can settle this.