Before Mike and I moved from Philadelphia back to my hometown of Wellsboro, we befriended our pups’ veterinarian, Ruthie, and her husband Philip, who is from Scotland. (And he has the authentic claymore to prove it—one of those awe-inspiring two-handed great swords.) Ruthie has on her shelf a wee cookbook called Favourite Scottish Recipes, by Johanna Mathie, which lists one of the simplest—and most savory—chicken soup recipes I have ever tasted. Its secret is leeks, which add uncommon sweetness to everything.

The recipe calls for a whole chicken, but I use whatever combination of chicken pieces I have available. If I’m using a whole chicken I hack it in half before adding it to the pot. (Where’s that claymore gotten to?) And beware: if leeks came with an ingredients list the second item would be sand. So rinse those leek chunks well, taking the outer layers apart if you have a particularly gritty bunch. (You can use the pale white-fading-into-green part, but discard the fibrous tops.) I have never made the soup with our native leeks, but if you do let me know how many you used.

Cocky Leeky Soup

Place the chicken, giblets, and onion in a large saucepan. Add the water and bring it to a boil. Cover and simmer for 1½ hours until the chicken is tender. Remove from the heat and skim off any white scum. Take out the giblets and discard (or chop them into little snack bites for the pup, making sure not to give Rover any dangerous neck bones). Take out the chicken and strip the meat from the bones. Discard the bones. Return the meat to the stock. Add the leeks, rice, and grated carrot. Bring back to the boil, cover, and simmer for a further 30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Add the parsley before serving. Serves 4-6.

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While we’re in Scotland, you might as well whip up a loaf of Scottish buttermilk bread to go with that soup. Bernard Clayton’s New Complete Book of Breads is a fascinating 748-page historic and cultural tour of the world and of bread, and this one he compares to Irish soda bread without the raisins or currants. I keep buttermilk on hand just so I can pull this bread hot out of the oven—start to finish—in less than an hour.

Scottish Buttermilk Bread

Preheat oven to 375°. (If using a convection oven, reduce heat 50°.) Sprinkle a baking sheet with cornmeal or flour (I use parchment paper instead).

Measure the flour into a medium bowl and add the baking soda, cream of tartar, salt, and sugar. With your fingers or a mixer flat beater work the butter into the flour until it resembles rice or small peas. Slowly add the buttermilk. If the dough is too moist to handle without sticking, dust with additional flour. There is no kneading, only mixing to thoroughly blend the ingredients.

Pat into a round loaf about 8” across and flatten slightly. With a razor, cut an X about ½” deep in the top. Transfer to the prepared sheet.

Place on the middle shelf of the hot oven and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the loaf is a lovely golden brown. To test for doneness, turn the loaf on its side and tap the bottom crust with a forefinger. If it has a hard, hollow sound it is done.

Place on a rack to cool before cutting.

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The recipes in the Silver Palate Cookbook, first published in 1979, have withstood the test of time. Authors Shella Lukins and Julee Rosso bill this bisque as one of their most popular soups, and a good one for the holidays. But it’s a perfect soup for every day of the year, for occasions grand or humble. It is not billed as a soup to serve chilled, but I have it on cold evidence that it is delicious even then. If you can, buy organic oranges, since you will be zesting as well as squeezing them—and who wants to eat bug spray?

Carrot and Orange Soup

Melt the butter in a pot. Add the onions, cover, and cook over low heat until tender and lightly colored, about 25 minutes. Add carrots and stock and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer until carrots are very tender, about 30 minutes.

Pour the soup through a strainer and transfer the solids to the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade or use a food mill fitted with a medium disc. Add 1 cup of the cooking stock and process until smooth. Return purée to the pot and add the orange juice and additional stock, 2 to 3 cups, until soup is of desired consistency. Season to taste with salt and pepper; add orange zest. Simmer until heated through. Serve immediately. Makes 4 to 6 portions.

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I had thawed a block of wild caught Icelandic haddock (I usually have it stashed in the freezer from Pag-Omar Farm Market on 287 outside Wellsboro), but it turned into a bitter day that needed comfort food, so I stirred up this gem from food blogger Elizabeth Lindemann (who writes Bowl of Delicious). The next time I cooked it, since the recipe recommends it as the ideal, I picked up some beautiful fresh cod at Maine Harvest Seafood on Pennsylvania Avenue in Elmira. I won’t make that mistake again. Save that perfect cod for broiling. Yes, the cod held up better in the cooking (and much, much better in the reheated leftovers), but the haddock, even as you work to keep it from disintegrating, has such sweetness and fine texture—and it lends all of that delicacy to the chowder.

Creamy New England Fish Chowder (aka Dad’s New England Fish Chowder)

In a large heavy pot such as a Dutch oven, melt the butter with the olive oil over medium heat. Add the 2 chopped onions, stir to coat in the oil and butter, and sauté until translucent and softened, but not browned, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. (If the onions are browning, turn heat down to medium-low and add a little water, or cover to keep the steam in.)

Add 2 cups of water to the pot, as well as the pinch of thyme, two bay leaves, kosher salt, and black pepper. Bring to a boil. Add the cod to the pot. Place the pieces so they are flat and in one layer (or if your filets are very thin, stacking them is fine). The water should come up to the top of the pieces but not submerge them. If the water seems too low, you can add ½ cup to 1 cup more. Bring it up to a low simmer, cover, and cook on low for 4-5 minutes until the fish flakes apart (if your burner is hot, you can just turn off the heat and cover).

Using a fish spatula or slotted spoon, remove the fish to a large plate or rimmed baking sheet (I used a quarter sheet pan). Place the plate in the fridge or freezer, if you have room, for a couple of minutes so it cools faster and doesn’t continue to cook. When the fish is cool enough to handle, gently flake it apart with your hands. You want the flakes to remain intact—don’t over-flake it! Add the clam juice to the pot, as well as the cubed potatoes. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer on low for about 15 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked (pierce one with the tines of a fork to check if it’s soft enough).

While the potatoes are cooking, scald the milk. Place the milk and the quartered onion layers into a small saucepan. Bring it to a boil, then turn the heat to low and simmer uncovered for 5-7 minutes. Watch it carefully, as boiling milk will bubble up and might boil over!

When the potatoes are finished cooking, strain the scalded milk through a mesh sieve into the pot. Add the flaked fish, as well as the chives and the small pinch of nutmeg (we used fresh nutmeg; just a couple of grates on a microplane zester will do it). Bring the chowder back to a simmer. Turn off the heat. Stir in the heavy cream, being careful to stir very gently so as not to break apart the fish too much. Season with salt and pepper to taste, if necessary. If you like, garnish each bowl with a small pat of butter, some more nutmeg and chives, and fresh grated black pepper.