Erica De Mane

Recipes:

Cannellini Bean Soup with Cockles and Chard
Chicken Soup with Pumpkin and Escarole
Dandelion and Baby Meatball Soup
Minestra of Cabbage, Wheat Berries, and Sausage

As Winter deepens, I’m honing recipes for my book on Southern Italian flavors. Many of them are based on family dishes, but others are purely personal, a product of my ongoing involvement with the cooking of my grandparents’ birthplaces. When I recently turned my attention to winter soups, I began thinking about the greens-and-meat-based soups my grandmother often made, all with a bitter edge because they were filled with dandelions, chicory, and escarole. She actually foraged for dandelions at the Westchester golf course where my grandfather worked as the club pro. These soups were enriched with tiny meatballs, chunks of sausage, or little pieces of what my mother disapprovingly referred to as “fat,” which actually were pancetta (which essentially is fat, I suppose). I loved these soups, and I’ve made them the focus of the winter soup collection for my new book.

Winter is when I appreciate soup the most, preferring big meal-in-a-bowl varieties to the more delicate, brothy first-course soups that are often served at fancy occasions like weddings or baptisms in Southern Italy. In fact, I must be a lightweight eater, for whenever I’m served soup as a first course, no matter how little, when the main course comes I can only pick at it. This is a phenomenon my grandmother understood, but she insisted the reason was due to the American habit of eating hot brothy soup with a cold beverage like soda. Cold drinks were banned from her table when she served soup, because she thought the hot and cold liquids would somehow fight in your stomach, giving you painful cramps or, worse, preventing you from eating more. Thick meal-in-a-bowl soups were exempt from this rule, though, presumably because they were more like solid food.

Some of my favorite winter meals begin with some sort of antipasto, like sliced prosciutto or capocollo with maybe some raw or pickled vegetables and a little mozzarella, then move to a big soup, served with crusty Arthur Avenue-style bread, wine, a green salad to follow, and finally a piece of fruit (or if I’m ambitious enough to make it, a fruit tart).

Minestra maritata is a Southern Italian term for soup that “marries” several vegetables, usually greens. I’ve read food historians who say maritata more accurately refers to a soup that blends meat and greens, and it is true that all the maritatas I’ve come across in Southern Italy have included some type of meat, usually pork, traditionally the most widely available. These soups tend toward improvisation, the only constant being the greens and meat. Pasta is generally not included. In Foggia, a Northern Puglian town very close to where my grandmother was born, the traditional maritata often contains escarole, chicory, wild fennel, celery, pancetta, and pecorino. In her excellent cookbook Flavors of Puglia, Nancy Harmon Jenkins includes a recipe for a maritata that has similar ingredients but is baked in the oven with a pecorino-and-bread-crumb crust.

Big soups can be broth-based, but often only water is used, since they get so much flavor anyway from their myriad ingredients. Minestrone is the classic Italian big soup. It takes many forms and can contain just about any combination of vegetables, plus a pasta or a grain, though the Southern Italian preference for carefully judging the quality of ingredients steers cooks away from clutter. The kitchen-sink approach to soup making is not part of Southern tradition. I always try to use discretion and streamline my ingredient choices, highlighting one or two seasonal vegetables, including only one or two herbs, and judging any meat of fish addition by evaluating what it will bring to the soup’s finished taste and appearance.

Here are four winter soups that I’d say fall in the big-soup category. They are improvisational by design, so feel free to make adjustments to suit your taste. For instance, my cannellini bean soup with cockles and chard is just as good made with mussels and escarole, a variation I sometimes make.

Happy winter cooking to you, and please write me with comments on my recipes or any food questions or recipes you might want to share.

Cannellini Bean Soup with Cockles and Chard

I love any dish that marries beans with shellfish. The combination is popular in Puglia and around the Naples area, turning up in pasta dishes and in soups like this one. This soup is substantial enough to serve as is, but often when I make it I grill a few pieces of crusty Italian bread on my stovetop grill plate, rub them with garlic, and brush them with a little olive oil. That makes the classic, simple Italian bruschetta, and it goes very well with this soup.

If you can’t find cannellini beans, Great Northern beans will do fine. They are slightly smaller and a little less creamy when cooked, but still purée nicely. I chose cockles for the soup because their small shells look very pretty mingling with the beans, but small littleneck clams, or any hard-shelled clams, can replace them. Choose the tiniest ones you can find.

(Serves 6)

2 cups dried cannellini beans, soaked overnight in cool water that covers them by at least 4 inches
2 bay leaves
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
A small chunk of fatty prosciutto end, chopped
2 leeks, cut into small dice
2 celery stalks, cut into small dice
2 garlic cloves, peeled
1 small fresh red chile pepper, seeded and minced (for just a hint of heat)
A few small sprigs of rosemary
2 medium tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped (or a small can of diced tomatoes, drained)
2 pounds cockles, well washed
A large wineglass of dry white wine
A medium bunch of chard, the thick center ribs removed and the leaves roughly chopped
A handful of basil leaves, lightly chopped

Drain the beans and place them in a large pot. Cover them with cool water by about 4 inches. Add the bay leaves and turn the heat to high. When the water comes to a boil, turn the heat down very low, partially cover the pot, and cook at a simmer without stirring at all, until the beans are tender, about 1 1/2 hours (but test them after an hour to see how far along they’ve come). When the beans are tender, turn off the heat, uncover the pot, add a drizzle of olive oil, and season with salt (adding salt while they’re cooking can toughen their skins). Let the beans sit on the turned-off burner for about 20 minutes (this will further tenderize them gently). Scoop out about a quarter of the beans, along with a little of the cooking water, and purée them in a food processor until they’re very smooth. Set them aside.

In a large soup pot, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the prosciutto, and let it crisp up. Add the leeks, celery, garlic cloves, chile, and rosemary, and sauté until everything is soft and fragrant, about 4 minutes. Add the tomatoes, and sauté for a few minutes longer. Add the bean purée and the remaining whole beans, along with all their cooking liquid. Season with a little salt and let everything simmer over medium low heat for about 10 minutes.

In the meantime, place the cockles in a medium-size pot and pour the white wine over them. Cook the cockles over high heat, stirring them frequently, until they’ve opened. Lift them from the pot and add them to the soup. Strain their cooking liquid, to remove any sand that they may have given off, and add it to the soup pot, along with the chard and the basil. Turn off the heat and let the chard wilt for a few minutes. The soup should be of a medium thickness (not thick enough to stand a spoon in, but not brothy either; with a certain amount of body). If it seems too thick, add a little hot water. Check the seasoning, and add a bit more salt if needed. Serve hot.

Chicken Soup with Pumpkin and Escarole

Here I’ve blended classic fall flavors, pumpkin, cooked greens, and the woodsy aromas of rosemary and Marsala wine, to produce a new Italian-style big soup. Any small pasta or broken spaghetti can be used for the soup, but I prefer very small types such as orzo or acini. I’ve found a pasta called grattoni, made by Rustichella d’Abruzzi, an excellent artisanal pasta producer in Italy, that looks like little seed pearls and gives the soup an elegant appearance. Tubetti (tiny tubes) or anellini (little rings) are also good choices.

(Serves 4 or 5)

Olive oil
1 slice fatty end-cut prosciutto, well chopped
1 large onion, cut into small dice
2 carrots, cut into small dice
1 3 1/2-pound chicken
Salt
Black pepper
2 garlic cloves, peeled and lightly crushed
A few gratings of nutmeg
A few small sprigs of rosemary, the leaves chopped
A large wineglass of dry Marsala
1 quart homemade or low-salt-canned chicken broth
A large piece of pumpkin, peeled and cut into small cubes (about 2 cups)
1/2 cup small soup pasta (see above), cooked al dente, drained, and tossed in a drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of salt
1 medium head escarole, washed, dried, and well chopped
1 cup grated Grana Padano cheese

Choose a large casserole or heavy-bottomed soup pot fitted with a lid. Heat a few tablespoons of olive oil over medium flame. When hot, add the prosciutto, onion, and carrots, and sauté a few minutes to soften. Add the chicken, seasoning it with salt, pepper, nutmeg, and rosemary, and brown lightly all over, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic, and sauté a minute or so, just to release its flavor. Add the Marsala, and let it reduce by half. Add the chicken broth and enough water to just cover the chicken. Turn the heat to low, cover the casserole, and simmer, turning the chicken occasionally, until it is very tender, about an hour and a quarter.

Remove the chicken from the broth. Skim most of the fat from the surface of the broth. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, pull the meat off it and cut into little chunks. Discard the skin and bones. Return the broth to a boil. Add the pumpkin, and cook uncovered until tender but not falling apart, about 10 minutes. Add the chicken, the pasta, and the escarole. Simmer on low heat about 2 or 3 minutes, just to blend the flavors and wilt the escarole. Taste for seasoning, adding a bit more salt, black pepper, fresh rosemary, and/or a pinch of nutmeg to balance the flavors. Serve hot, topped with a sprinkling of Grana Padano.

Dandelion and Baby Meatball Soup

One of the constant torments of my mother’s life is my hounding her for old family recipes that she insists she can’t recall. I remembered a dandelion soup of my father’s mother’s very vaguely, probably because she stopped making it after I was a little girl (this happened a lot in my family; Italian dishes gradually disappeared and were seamlessly replaced by steaks, baked potatoes, boxed macaroni and cheese, and other things we grew to love, like Pop Tarts and TV dinners). The recipe that results from this distant recollection is more a composite sketch than historical fact; the dandelions are from my father’s mother, the little slivers of cheese in the bottom of the bowl a habit of my mother’s father. The baby meatballs were I think part of another family soup, a chicken broth with little meatballs poached in it, but my mother says her meatball soup always included greens. Here is a minestra maritata improvised from fragments of memory.

Since you have no whole chicken stewing in this soup, unlike in the previous recipe, a good homemade broth is essential. An easy way to make a traditional Southern Italian-style light meat broth it is by buying a package of chicken wings, asking your butcher for a couple of veal bones, and simmering them together with the traditional Southern Italian flavorings tomato, garlic, and herbs for about 1 1/2 hours.

(Serves 4)

1 pound ground pork
1 garlic clove, minced
2 eggs
About 1/2 cup grated Grana Padano cheese, plus a handful of the cheese cut into thin slivers
A handful of flat-leaf parsley leaves, well chopped
A few sprigs of oregano or marjoram, the leaves chopped
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, cut into small dice
2 celery stalks, cut into small dice, plus the leaves, chopped
A medium bunch of dandelions, stemmed and chopped into small pieces
A baguette, cut into thin rounds

For the broth:

1 pound chicken wings
3 or 4 veal bones
Extra-virgin olive oil
A half an onion
A stalk of celery, cut in half
A small carrot
A half a tomato
1 bay leaf
A few sprigs of flat-leaf parsley
1 garlic clove, lightly crushed
1 whole clove or allspice
A few black peppercorns
Salt

To make the broth, put the chicken wings and veal bones in a large soup pot. Turn the heat to medium, and drizzle on a little olive oil. Turn the bones over and let them brown lightly; then brown them on the other side. Add all the other ingredients and sauté a few minutes longer, just so they can release their flavors. Add about 2 quarts of cool water and let it come to a slow boil. Turn the heat to low, and simmer uncovered for about 1 1/2 hours. Pour the broth through a strainer into a container. Skim off any excess fat from the top, and season with a little salt. You can make this a day ahead, if you like. Refrigerate it if you’re not using it right away.

To make the meatballs, put the ground pork in a bowl. Add the garlic, eggs, grated Grana Padano, parsley, and oregano or marjoram. Season with salt and black pepper and a drizzle of olive oil. Mix everything together with your hands. Roll the meat into tiny meatballs, as small as you can manage (marble-size or a touch bigger is perfect).

In a large soup pot, heat about 3 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and celery, including the leaves, and sauté until soft and fragrant, about 4 minutes. Add the broth, and bring it to a boil. Lower the heat a bit, and gently add the meatballs and the dandelions. Let the meatballs just cook through, about 4 minutes. By this time the dandelions should also be tender.

Toast the baguette slices, and place one or two in each soup bowl. Drizzle each one with a little olive oil, and sprinkle on the slivers of Grana Padano. Ladle the hot soup over the toast. Serve hot.

Minestra of Cabbage, Wheat Berries, and Sausage

I’m always surprised how often I see cabbage, a very northern seeming vegetable, on Southern Italian menus. I’ve been served braised cabbage in Basilicata several times as part of an antipasto assortment, one time loaded with so much hot chile I could barely eat it. Cabbage stuffed with sausage and rice is a dish my mother used to make, having learned it, I think, from my father’s mother. In Puglia I had a cabbage stuffed with salt cod as part of an antipasto platter. The vegetable rarely inspires me, though, but I force myself to buy and cook it, hoping something good will happen. Here is something good. It is a variation on a rice-and-cabbage soup I was served in central Campania, in a small restaurant near my grandmother’s birthplace, Castelfranco in Miscano. I’ve substituted wheat berries for the rice, added sausage instead of pancetta, and played around with the flavorings.

Choose hard spring-wheat berries, not soft winter-wheat ones. Both are generally available at health food shops and Middle Eastern markets. Farro, a grain similar to spelt that is popular in Umbrian cooking, makes a good substitute for the wheat berries. You can cook it the same way as them, but it doesn’t take as long. If you use it, check the package for the cooking time.

(Serves 4)

3/4 cup hard wheat berries
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
3 medium-size Italian pork sausages, removed from their casings and crumbled
About half a medium head of green cabbage, thinly sliced (about 2 cups sliced)
1 large, sweet onion, such as Vidalia, thinly sliced
2 garlic cloves, peeled and lightly crushed
Freshly ground black pepper
A small wineglass of dry white wine
A bay leaf
A few thyme branches, the leaves chopped
A few sage leaves, chopped
A quart of chicken broth or homemade light meat broth (as in my Dandelion and Meatball Soup recipe), or a mix of low-salt canned chicken broth and water
A splash of sherry-wine vinegar
A chunk of Pecorino cheese for grating
A baguette, cut into thin rounds

Put the wheat berries in a medium sauce pot and cover them with cool water by about four inches. Place over high heat and bring to a boil. Turn the heat to medium low, and simmer, uncovered, at a low bubble until the wheat berries are tender to the bite, about 45 minutes (they should taste pleasantly crunchy, not hard; some will burst, but that’s normal). If the water gets low at any point, add hot water to the pot. When the berries are tender, drain them and put them in a small bowl. Add a drizzle of olive oil and a generous pinch of salt, and give them a toss.

In a large soup pot, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil over high heat. When it’s hot, add the sausage, breaking it up into smaller bits with your spoon, and brown well. Turn the heat to medium, and add the cabbage, the onion, and the garlic cloves. Season with salt and black pepper, and sauté until the vegetables are nice and soft, about 15 minutes (if they start to stick, add a little more olive oil). Add the white wine, and let it bubble down to almost nothing. Add the bay leaf, thyme, and sage and the broth. Bring to a boil, and then turn the heat down a little and let the soup simmer, partially covered, for about 20 minutes (you want the cabbage very tender, Southern Italian style, and not at all crunchy). Depending on how fatty your sausages are, you may need to skim the soup once or twice.

Uncover the pot, add the wheat berries, and let the soup simmer for about another 5 minutes, just to blend all the flavors. Add a splash of sherry-wine vinegar (or good-quality white-wine vinegar) and taste for seasoning. The vinegar will sharpen the flavors, but you may need a little extra salt or black pepper, or a few more sage leaves to add freshness.

When you’re ready to serve the soup, toast the baguette slices on both sides and drop one or two into each soup bowl. While the toast is still hot, grate Pecorino over it and into the bowl. Pour the hot soup into the bowl. Serve right away.