And then there was buttermilk. But this wasn’t the staunchly tangy stuff that you buy in a carton for making waffles, and then sits in the recesses of your refrigerator, separating, growing more sour, until the carton begins to emit a peculiar odor. No, this buttermilk was pleasingly watery, ever so mild, with just a hint of tang hitting you in the back of the throat. Daniel Patterson’s butter article, also gave a recipe for chilled pea soup with mint, utilizing the newly made buttermilk. With the butter being such a success, I was sure that the pea soup would be delightful. Well, sometimes things don’t work out as planned. They work out even better.

I went to the Union Square Greenmarket on a gorgeous, and busy Saturday, set on purchasing my peas of choice. Well, I should have remembered that one never goes to a greenmarket with a set idea of what one wants to purchase. One lets inspiration be the guide, buying what looks best– and the peas, dear readers, where a little less than inspiring. Swollen, and starchy, and far from the bright green that I had anticipated, these peas were not rockin’. But luckily I found another leafy green to be inspired by– sorrel.

Now I had never cooked with sorrel before. In fact I rarely saw this herb at the market, and when I did, it was hermetically sealed in a plastic box. But here sorrel was, mounds upon mounds of it, loosely laying in a wooden crate. I asked the vendor if I could have a taste, and given the all clear, I chewed a piece as delicately as a cow chewing her cud. Tart, acidic, grassy, almost tannic, it was a delight, the perfect complement to the mellowed buttermilk. I grabbed an armload, along with some beautiful garlic scapes, and ran home.

The soup couldn’t have been simpler or more delicious. I diced an onion, gently sauteing it in some olive oil. Once the onion was softened I tossed in the loosely chopped sorrel, and cooked it just until wilted. Pouring in the buttermilk, I stirred until bubbles began to form at the edge of the pan. I let this mixture cool a bit, then plunked it in blender. I whizzed the soup around, then poured it through a strainer, to get any fibrous bits out. The soup took a healthy does of salt and pepper, as it was already at room temperature.

That evening we had friends over for dinner. First course? Chilled sorrel soup topped with crispy fried garlic scapes. The perfect way to start a summer meal.