right, but even more often they will be cooked with pasta
or cooked in a soup, both of which constitute a good lunch.
In North and Central Italy, soup is everywhere. It might
be ribollita or minestrone, or simply zuppa di fagioli, and
will contain anything from very few to a great plurality
of vegetables. If the minestra below is the late winter, basic
model, different vegetables will be added to it throughout
the year: fresh peas and beans often replacing dried in
spring and summer, followed by fresh borlotti or cannellini
beans in the late summer and courgettes, tomatoes and
squashes finding their place in due course.
There is always a stage in the making of such a soup
when it all comes together and becomes much more than
the sum of its parts. This can never happen if you want to
preserve the identity of each vegetable and try to keep
them slightly firm: they must give their all to the soup. I
also think that this ‘greater whole’ is inhibited by the use
of stock, however good, as it tends to cloud the bright fresh
flavour of the vegetables themselves. It may be an act of
faith to trust vegetables, but one that is amply rewarded.
79
March
LA MINESTRA
Adding diced pancetta to the soffritto at the beginning
certainly gives an added dimension to the enterprise but it
is absolutely optional.
Serves eight: it’s not really
worth making a smaller
amount, and the soup will
improve over two or three
days.
200g (7oz) dried borlotti
beans
2 bay leaves
1 red chilli
6 fat garlic cloves
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 onions, peeled and cut
into 5mm (1⁄4in) dice
4 carrots, peeled and cut
into 5mm (1⁄4in) dice
6 celery sticks, cut into
5mm (1⁄4in) dice
200g (7oz) tomato passata
2 sprigs of thyme
1 sprig of rosemary
1 head of cavolo nero,
cut into thin ribbons
100g (3½oz) ditalini or
similar soup pasta
sea salt and black pepper
TO SERVE
40–50ml (1½–13⁄4fl oz)
best-quality olive oil
50g (13⁄4oz) Parmesan cheese,
finely grated
Rinse the beans in cold water and soak them overnight.
Drain the beans and place them in a saucepan, cover
with fresh water and bring to the boil. Drain again and
cover with more fresh water.
If not soaking overnight, rinse the beans in cold water,
cover with fresh cold water and bring to the boil, then
remove from the heat and leave in the water to cool for
45 minutes. Drain the beans and cover with fresh water.
Now bring the beans to a simmer and add the bay
leaves, chilli and garlic cloves. Cook the beans very gently,
without salt, for a good 2 hours, or until they are perfectly
plump and tender. Allow to cool in their cooking water.
Warm the olive oil in a large heavy, flameproof
casserole dish, add the diced vegetables and let them stew
together for 10 minutes. Add the passata and herbs, the
beans – without the garlic and chilli – and their water and
bring back to a simmer. Squeeze the garlic flesh out of the
cloves and crush into a paste, then add to the soup.
Likewise, chop the chilli, remove its seeds, and add in turn.
Add the cavolo nero to the soup and then, making sure the
vegetables are all covered – but only just – in water,
simmer gently for 1 hour.
After this time, add the pasta and cook for a further
30 minutes. Season the soup well with sea salt and some
freshly ground black pepper if required. The soup should
be pretty thick: theoretically, you should be able to stand
a spoon in it.
Serve the soup in bowls with a little fine olive oil
poured on top and plenty of cheese to share. I like to serve
it with bruschetta, but it is by no means compulsory.
WINE: It is said that no wine, barring a little sherry, should
accompany soup; however, this is no ordinary soup but
almost a thick vegetable stew. That said, I can think of no
wine that will not sit happily alongside. Let us plump for
a Chianti, not too intense and two or three years old.
80
Cooking Stripped of Artifice
Acquacotta
I love shopping, cooking and eating with my friend
Filippo. He is a quietly spoken sort of chap whose
utterings, in a noisy household, are taken as absolute
wisdom. He is the most undemonstrative of Italians,
incapable of raising his voice or even waving his hands
in the air, yet it is not difficult to sense his pleasure or
displeasure. Despite my lack of Italian and his occasionally
faltering English, we get along very well. In the macelleria
he will distract the butcher with talk of local politics
while I scrutinise the meat. He will nod approvingly
when I instruct the butcher to cut us some ridiculously
extravagant veal chops, and purr with pleasure as we are
offered some titbit of lardo di Colonnata or salami to taste.
His tastes in food are both sophisticated and simple.
The last time I visited we debated the merits