By Jan Roberts-Dominguez, Special to The Herald

I have a major pet peeve about mushy split peas.

Split peas and lentils tend to get overcooked. Once I figured out that they don’t need to reach the State of Horrifyingly Mushy, my legume cookery horizons expanded dramatically.

Actually, I find it pretty amazing that more people don’t cook with dried peas and lentils. They’re inexpensive, versatile, low in fat and high in fiber. In fact, they’re veritable nutrient factories, packed with protein, complex carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals.

Their shape is what helps distinguish them from that other legume, beans. Most dried beans are either kidney-shaped or oval, whereas dried peas are round (or half-round, like “split” peas), and lentils are flat disks.

The really awesome thing about split peas and lentils is how fast they cook from a standing start. Unlike dried beans, there’s no soaking required or hours of cooking. So, 30 to 40 minutes before a stew or soup is done, just throw in a handful and they’ll be tender and flavorful, with their original character intact. Not mushy.

Which gets me back to my pet peeve. Growing up, mushy pea texture was anathema. On family vacations along the California coast, my parents loved stopping just south of Santa Barbara at Pea Soup Andersen’s restaurant.

As soon as my brother and I spotted the billboards with those perky little cartoon characters — the portly Hap-Pea, wielding a giant sledge hammer, and his scrawny side-kick Pea-Wee (“Next Exit, Buellton, Home of Split Pea Soup…”) — we’d start in with the gagging sounds. That soup may have been world-renowned, but in my book it was inedible.

Those memories came flooding back when I was giving some cooking lessons to a 20-something named Paul. At that point in his life, he had clocked very little time in the kitchen but had some definite ideas about food.

Since Paul had yet to meet a pea soup he liked, and since I could relate so well to his reasons why, I decided to involve him in the recipe construction of this one. We agreed that mushy pea texture had always been the deal-breaker, so our key “ingredient” turned out to be careful calibration of the cooking time.

Here’s the soup we built together, written down pretty much the way I told it to Paul. We opted for pepper bacon instead of plain old ham, which gives it a refreshing pep, and it was Paul’s idea to include the carrots, because, in his opinion, “It never hurts to add a carrot.”

Jan and Paul’s split pea soup

1medium yellow onion, chopped

2cloves garlic, peeled and chopped

1tablespoon olive oil

3 or 4 really meaty slices of smoked pepper bacon

1cup split peas

6cups chicken broth

2 good-sized stalks of celery, chopped

1 medium carrot, chopped

1 large potato, peeled and diced

Salt and pepper to taste

First, locate a very large pot, because you’re making a lot of soup, not some puny little batch of rice. If it has a heavy bottom, that’s even better since you won’t have to concern yourself with scorching. Because of their thick nature, split pea soups tend to scorch if given half a chance.

In the pot, over medium heat, saute the onion and garlic with the olive oil for about 3 minutes. Meanwhile, cut your bacon slices into 1⁄2-inch or smaller pieces, trimming away some of the fat (but not all of it), then add these meatier pieces to the pot. Continue cooking until the bacon is nicely golden brown. Stir in the peas, along with the broth, celery, carrot and potato.

At this point, adjust the temperature of the burner so that the mixture cooks at a gentle simmer rather than a rollicking boil, then cover the pot and pretend to do something else for a few minutes. Now come back and check on the soup’s behavior. If everything has escalated back up to a wild boil, then settle things down by stirring and adjusting the temperature. Cover the pot again, and go away. Now it’s up to the soup to do the right thing.

In about 30 minutes, it should be close to done, so check on it again. By now, the vegetables may be nice and tender, so poke a potato chunk and see. Also, the split peas should be tender-but-not-mushy. Some of the weaker-charactered ones will have dissolved, but that’s OK, as long as about half of them are still visibly whole.

The soup may need another 10 or 15 minutes to be absolutely perfect, but any longer than that and you will be approaching the Totally Disgusting Zone by Paul’s and my rigid split pea soup standards. So err on the cautious side. If the soup seems too thick, then add some water or broth. If it’s too thin, take off the lid for the last few minutes of cooking so the extra liquid has some place to go.

Remove the pot from the heat and taste it. If it needs salt or pepper, this would be the time to add it. Makes 6 cups.