Black Bean Soup

It was a midsummer evening, last summer, the postcard from a trip to Costa Rica half an exile and half a vacation.
I remember that green like a proud hug in the midst of impossible roads, among a tangle of rocks and puddles, a bright and shiny emerald, nourished by a beneficial rain, on time every day at six o'clock.
I remember the guys on their bicycle and the couples holding into each other's arms, tight on the seat of damaged scooters; their lean bodies, tanned, dusted with love and smiling.
There was the chaos of the streets in downtown, and then the suburbs, violated by the arrogance of fast food chains, seduced by the illusion of a wealth coming from the north. Scattered everywhere biting your liver, there were Coke vending machines, and innocent-looking signs, mean and intrusive, almost an insult to the poverty of people.
I remember the villages, slow, quiet and sunny, those pueblos made only of temporary churches, outdoor schools and improbable soccer fields: a narrow and wet meadow and two poles as the goal.
There was Costa Rica going to the World Cup, the TVs turned on in the bars, two cold Imperial and happiness.
I remember the ripe fruit, sweet and seductive, bought on the corners of the streets along with the pure water of a young coconut that had fallen down.
The darkest nights began early in the jungle, on the highest hill lying on a bed of leaves.
I remember men and women who were different, who had escaped from our dizziness to chase a dream with no comfort.
I met a taxi driver and mechanic who had no shoes, an instant friend who they called El Che. He told me where are you going, why, where are you running, you people of the north? You're fool, deluded to believe you can buy our reality.
We split one jugo helado, and this spicy soup during an afternoon of solidarity.
Pura vida.




Black Bean Soup
for 4 people

dried black beans 250 gr
white onion, large 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrot 1
red bell pepper 1
tomatoes 3
lime 1
vegetable bouillon cube 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, cayenne pepper, cumin seeds, coriander seeds and allspice as needed
fresh cilantro, tomatoes and cucumber to serve as needed

Soak beans overnight for at least 8 hours.
Chop the onion and the garlic cloves, sauté them for a few minutes in a little olive oil, then add diced carrot and bell pepper. Stir and cook for a few minutes, add the beans, drained and rinsed, spices (if using seeds, grind them fine), vegetable bouillon, salt and pepper. Cover with water, bring to boil and cook over medium heat for about two hours.
Half an hour before beans are ready, add the juice and zest of lime, and the tomatoes, peeled (dip them in boiling water for 30 seconds, then peel) and cut into pieces. Season with salt and pepper.
Puree the soup with a blender only for a few seconds, so that it gets creamy but visible pieces still remain.
To serve, garnish with fresh diced tomato and cucumber, and chopped cilantro to taste.
w.v.<3

Pappa al Pomodoro (Tomato Bread Soup) with Grilled Eggplants, Black Olives (and Feta)

ma è meglio poi un giorno solo da ricordare
che ricadere in una nuova realtà sempre identica...

but it's better a single day to remember
than falling into a new reality that's always the same...
~ Francesco Guccini, Sirocco

It was a warm evening in August, the wet and deserted city populated only by tourists in love, tired old men and cats in search of masters. The two of us sat on the river bank to fiddle with our gaze; we were waiting for the wind and for something to change.
You had asked me to go back there, to that outdoor table where I looked at you the first time, tanned and shy with your veil of lipstick. Stifled by useless memories and legitimate fears, words and sentences remained suspended, motionless in the air dense of silence that had been gathering between us. There were one man and one woman too many, two lives already started and too big of a morality.
It was a warm evening in August, that night when we let ourselves grow up. We were still in love with each other in our own way, yet we no longer loved each other.


Pappa al Pomodoro*
with Eggplant, Black Olives (and Feta)
for 4

day old Tuscan bread 200 gr
ripe tomatoes 800 gr
garlic 4 cloves
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
eggplant, small 1
black olives 1 handful
crumbled feta 2-3 tablespoons
salt, pepper, olive olio, vegetable broth, basil as needed

Slice a shallow cross into the bottom of the tomatoes and place them in boiling water for a few minutes. Peel them and pass them through the mill. Cut bread into cubes. Sauté garlic cloves, peeled and lightly crushed, in a little olive oil, add a few basil leaves, and then the bread. Sauté for about 10 minutes until it takes on a beautiful amber color. Add the tomato puree, tomato paste (optional), salt, pepper and stir well. Cover with broth and cook over medium-low heat for about 30 minutes until the bread is reduced to a puree.
Meanwhile, cut the eggplant into slices, grill them on both sides and cut into small cubes. Pit and coarsely chop the olives. Serve the pappa al pomodoro garnishing each bowl with grilled eggplant cubes, a handful of chopped olives and a sprinkle of crumbled feta.
It goes without saying that feta is not approved by the vegan police. So then just forget it, and voila, wv <3, lunch is served.

*Room for a small self-celebration: the recipe above was published this month in the Corriere della Sera, in the section Racconti di Cucina (Tales from the Kitchen), along with three others of my recipes with tomatoes as the main star.
If you're curious, you can find the link to the newspaper's archive and read the main article of that page here. And in this regard, as if it were the night of the Oscars, I want to thank all those who have shown me great affection and who have posted and reposted the photo of the page on my facebook wall. Thank you!

Watermelon Gazpacho

Why doesn't everything work like in the movies?
Why strangers on the subway, instead of just looking at you, don't start talking telling you you have a beautiful smile? Why after thirty years, in a downtown café, you'll never find the person you fought for? And why mothers are struggling to understand their children, and fathers are struggling to accept them? Why is the right phrase always coming up at the wrong time? Why don't you ever find yourself running in the rain, arriving at someone's front door, getting them out, apologizing and starting talking nonsense, to find yourselves lips to lips and hear you say, 'It doesn't matter, the important thing is that you're here'? Why don't you ever get woken up at night by a voice on the phone saying, 'I've never forgotten you'?
If we were braver, more irrational, more combative, more whimsical, more secure, and if we were less proud, less shameful, less fragile, I'm sure we shouldn't have to pay any movie ticket to watch people doing and saying what we don't have the courage to express; to watch people loving as we fail to do; to watch people who represent us; to watch people who, pretending, are able to be more honest than us.
~ David Grossman, Someone to run with

The summer I'd like. It's all enclosed in his own words here.
I just have to give you a little bit of this sweet, pink freshness.



Watermelon Gazpacho*
for 5-6 people

fresh basil 1 big bunch
cloves 4
star anise 2
bay leaf 1
sugar 40 gr
water 350 ml
watermelon, cleaned and seeded 1 kg
cucumber, peeled 200 gr
ripe vine tomatoes 2
lime 2
fresh chili pepper 1 small
salt, pepper, olive oil to taste

*I adapted the recipe from Bon Appétit, and from all the imaginary summers, past, present and future.

Put the water in a saucepan along with basil leaves, spices, sugar and a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil; turn off, cover and let steep at least 20 minutes. Strain the liquid and allow to cool completely.
Peel the tomatoes by dipping them for a minute in boiling water, cut into pieces removing the seeds, and let cool.
In a blender place chopped watermelon, cucumber, peeled tomatoes, lime juice, seeded chili pepper, basil syrup, salt and pepper and process until the gazpacho is smooth. Season with salt and pepper, and add more lime juice, if needed.
Serve cold, in a glass if you'd like, and garnish each one with a drizzle of olive oil and a few basil leaves.
w.v.<3

Salmorejo

Bread and tomato.
A bit of sun, the waves of the ocean that looks like the sea. The goodness of a thick and refreshing soup. An open afternoon and a book to start.
So I build my own summer in the city.
Happy weekend.

Salmorejo
for 4 people

ripe vine tomatoes 1 kg
day old bread 150 gr
toasted almonds 30 gr
garlic 1 clove
balsamic vinegar 1 tablespoon
extra virgin olive oil 4 tablespoons
salt, pepper, water as needed

For the cucumber salsa
cucumber 1
small red onion 1/2
tomatoe (optiona) 1/2
lime 2
fresh cilantro, salt, pepper as needed

Green Gazpacho

I wanted to write a short story. The words are mine, the memory is of others. I hope you enjoy it.

My father, I still remember him with dirty hands, black as coal just like his curly hair, peaking flat and long under the cap. He used to put it on every morning after coffee, along with that curious flashlight on his forehead, which would brighten his job down in the earth's gut. When he walked out the house, he had the calm look of a wise old man and the proud stride of an eternal runner. He used to speak very little, in a hoarse voice and with a strong northern accent; he had blue eyes and was always dressed clean, with that green checkered shirt and its starched collar. Every evening, except on Good Friday, my birthday and the eve of European Soccer Cup, he met up with the others down at the pub, and talked with an open smile about his job at the mine and the reason why the Newkie Brown was the best beer in the world. Extroverted enough, he was courteous and tolerant of new ideas, even when he began getting entangled with obstinacy in the arguments of his politics, defending his teammates and the infinite strike of that sad winter of thirty years ago.
At that time I was attending Northgate Middle School, I wore my hair short and had biker boots with red laces, and I used to listen to the Ultravox indefinitely. I was twelve years old when he came home and said that's it, my dear, we're on strike. I didn't know why but I was afraid, I felt a change in the air that would destroy us.
It was a long and cold winter; he resisted until the end picketing hard in front of the mounted police, while my mother wrote poetry and sold hope at the flea market. That time at Christmas we couldn't wear ironed pants, and we received peas and canned meat as gift from our merciful neighbors.
I used to see her on TV with the hair in order and the inflexible look; she had called us enemies and I couldn't forgive her, blaming her for everything, the cold, the empty streets, the fights with our cousins. My father loved his dark helmet and everything he asked for was the honesty of a job to give us ideas, books and happiness. Seven years later, when people cheered shouting Maggie's gone, I wasn't able to join the party, because I knew that the rift between us was forever.
Today I listen to the news in the shyness of London spring, in front of an unlikely soup in a modern bistro, and I find myself in front of the same iron gaze just like I had left it in my memory. Dozens of posthumous and biased reports will be of no use, I already know that I won't watch them, those fake and glossy documentaries. I've lived it from within, in the coldness of months with no bread and no light, and I still have all the poems, the biker boots and the t-shirt. I didn't fully understand, but I was there to share the anger; and I know for a fact that since then, nothing has been as before.





Green Gazpacho*
for 6 people

celery 2 stalks
green bell peppers 2
peeled cucumbers 600 gr
stale bread 80 gr
toasted walnuts 130 gr
fresh green chili pepper 1
garlic 4 cloves
sugar 1 teaspoon
baby spinach 200 gr
fresh basil 1 big bunch
minced parsley 2 tablespoons
balsamic vinegar 4 tablespoons
olive oil 60 ml
coconut milk 3 tablespoons
water approx. 700 ml
ice 4-5 cubes
salt, pepper, croutons as needed

*I adapted the recipe from Plenty, by Yotam Ottolenghi, a well-known London chef. At times it appears on the menu of his restaurant in Notting Hill. And the book, between me and you, is a real treat.
Coarsely chop celery, bell peppers, cucumbers, bread, nuts, chili pepper and garlic. Process with a blender adding sugar, baby spinach, herbs, olive oil, vinegar, coconut milk, almost all of the water, ice, salt, and pepper. If necessary, add more water until you reach the desired consistency.
Serve with a drizzle of olive oil and toasted croutons.

Mesciua - Italian Bean Soup

Dear diary, I am happy only at sea, on the way from one island I just left to another one I have yet to reach.
~ Nanni Moretti, Dear Diary

I've read that mesciua was born from the sea, between the Ligurian coasts, a poor man' soup put together with those grains that the longshoremen’s wives could gather from time to time on the docks, as treasures unwittingly fallen from the slits of the bags, worn out by time and travels.
I imagined a thick soup, with the poor and robust flavor of the land, the waves and the adversities, and the incisive scent of memories and hope.
I saw a woman with slender, well groomed hands, black hair and a scarf around the neck, wandering every day through the streets of the port to take a vain look between the cries of the people, waiting anonymously for a lover. I thought of a man overboard, with tanned arms and fatigue in the veins, with eyes following the stars and boredom for a friend; I saw him feeding himself with waves, loneliness and false freedom.
I watched the woman leave, with her scarf around the neck, away from the coast and from the sound of the wind, to go and get lost among unfamiliar people, languages and scents. I felt her nostalgia, moist and dense like vapors from the kitchen; I felt it taking shape after years in the improbable taste of this mixture of grains left in the bottom of the pantry. I looked into her eyes, dark and sad of melancholy, and I listened to the vivid silence of her regret. I wished that on the bottom of the dish she could find an answer to her questions, I wanted to give her the smile and the comfort of memory; instead I saw her crying in front of this soup, so far and outspoken, living memory of a summer sky, a love never lived and a land never forgotten.
I had a dream and I wrote it down this way, on a winter evening; and I dedicated it to all the travelers of the world, with their fate on the open sea, their thoughts on the ground, and their heart between two shores.





Mesciua
for 4/5 people

dried garbanzo beans 200 gr
dried cannellini beans 200 gr
wheat berries or farro 100 gr
olive oil, salt, black pepper as needed

The night before, soak the beans separately, covering them with water, and let them sit for about 8 hours. Drain and rinse, then put garbanzo beans and wheat berries in a large pot of lightly salted cold water, bring to boil and simmer for about 1 hour and 1/2. Put the cannellini beans in a separate pot, cover with cold water and cook for about 1 hour. Add them with some of their liquid to the garbanzo and wheat berries, season with salt and cook for another 15 minutes. Season each plate with a bit of olive oil and plenty of freshly ground black pepper.
Refrain from parmesan cheese, according to the experts it would be a heresy!

Turkish Red Lentil Soup

New Year =
New soup
New cut (haircut)
New camera
Definitely not a new car ('cause, if you don't know that already, I get around by bus, and even by bicycle if you wish...)
New boots
New handbag
New shoes, but I'm excused, since they're running shoes (new but still pink)
New Year resolutions, same old same old...

Here, dear 2013, I show up this way.
And excuse me if I'm late, but you understand me, right?





Turkish Red Lentil Soup
for 4-5 people

red lentil 225 gr
onion 1
garlic 3-4 cloves
celery 1 stalk
carrot 1
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
extra virgin olive oil 1-2 tablespoons
vegetable stock as needed
fresh ginger 1 small piece
paprika, cumin, mustard seeds, curry, salt, pepper
as needed
fresh mint and lemon to serve as needed

Finely chop onion, celery, and carrot. Heat oil in a large pot, and sauté the vegetables with the garlic cloves, peeled and cut in half, for about 10 minutes. Add tomato paste, spices and grated ginger, and cook for a few minutes. Add lentils, washed and drained, and cover with hot vegetable stock.
Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer with the lid on for about 30 or 40 minutes, until the lentils begin to fall apart. Add more stock if needed. Season with salt and pepper, and add more of the spices to your taste. Set aside two or three ladles of soup, and puree the rest in a blender. But you don't even have to.
Serve with chopped fresh mint and lemon juice. Mind you, this last touch makes a big difference, I promise.


Once more, after this theft here, I'm kind of copying a soup that I've tasted at Whole Foods. That's how it works: I go, I buy lunch, I look around (well, what you want? there are beautiful people at Whole Foods...), I write down the ingredients, I add some of mine, I come back home, I try to replicate, and if it's successfull I blog it for you. There you go, I'm like Robin Hood.
And this time I'm so happy with the result that I can tell you with no shame. This one turned out better than the original.
This. Soup. Kicks Ass. Sbang!
w.v.<3

Mushroom Barley Soup

poi una notte di settembre mi svegliai
il vento sulla pelle,
sul mio corpo il chiarore delle stelle
chissà dov’era casa mia
e quel bambino che giocava in un cortile...
~ Nomadi, Io Vagabondo

then one night in September I woke up
wind on my skin,
starlight on my body
I wondered where my home was
and that kid playing in the courtyard...
~ Nomadi, Me, a Vagabond


There comes a time when you decide to leave behind your certainties and you're ready to embrace new ones.
It seems to happen quite suddenly, but deep down you know that it's actually the combined effect of all the intersections you've crossed before, of all those sleepless nights spent riding a bicycle through the paths of your mind; that it's a spell orchestrated by the dust of the desert and the stars of a forest in the summer; it's the energy received by silent glances and infinite hugs, which slowly took shape within you and became the courage of a dive into the unknown.
It looks like you've done it all by yourself, but deep down you feel obliged to thank one by one those encounters, and those farewells, the loves real and fake, the tears, and the smiles, and all those written words, and sung, or recited, and then again those that were rewritten, edited, and returned to the sender.
It's wandering this way that you get there, to photograph and then sit in front of a mushroom soup that seems to speak a universal language. You close your eyes and you could be in Paris. But also in Rome or San Francisco. And all you ask is to keep wandering through unknown roads, with a tender heart and a ticket always open.





Mushroom Barley Soup
for 4-5 people

mixed fresh mushrooms
(white and brown button mushrooms, shiitake) 650 gr
dried shiitake mushrooms 10 gr
onion 1/2
shallot 1
carrot 1
celery stalk 1
pearled barley 100 gr
vegetable stock 1 liter approx.
tamari or soy sauce 4-5 tablespoons
olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh thyme, bay leaves as needed

Place dried mushrooms in a bowl, cover with water and let stand at least 10 minutes. Drain and chop them, reserving their liquid.
Finely chop onion and shallot and sauté for a few minutes in a couple of tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil, add diced carrot and celery, fresh and soaked mushrooms, and cook for about 10 minutes until soft. Add barley, tamari, broth, mushrooms' water, thyme and bay leaf and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and cook for about 40 minutes. If necessary, add a bit of water. Season with salt and pepper and serve


For this recipe which may make sense only to me (please forgive me, I won't do it anymore...), I was inspired by a similar soup that I've tasted at Whole Foods, this place so wonderful that I'd almost sleep in there, a foodist' paradise where food doesn't lie, it's your friend and often you find out that it's also your neighbor; a hipster supermarket where apples seem to have fallen right from the tree of your childhood, scents and colors would get drunk also the irreducible ones, and where employees are all... you know... beautiful, fit, and tattooed.
w.v.<3

Tuscan Kale Soup

Or else ... how Tuscan kale and I became friends for life.
Because this soup is incredibly simple, just the way I like it, one throws everything in the pot and then happily forgets about it for a few hours; because this dish says winter, yet is able to bring a ray of sunshine in a dark and drafty kitchen (mine); because the ingredients are humble and even a little trivial, but if you put them together and cook them properly, they marvelously acquire a whole new meaning; because Tuscan kale is black, bitter and very hard, but if you have patience... well, ... just try for yourself and let me know :-)


Tuscan Kale Soup
for 4-5 people

Tuscan kale 2
dried Borlotti beans 60 gr
potatoes 2
tomatoes 3
celery 1 stalk
carrot 1
onion 1
fresh thyme 2 sprigs
olive oil, salt, pepper, country bread as needed

The night before, soak the beans in a little bit of water.
Finely chop the onion, carrot and celery and then sauté them in a large pot with few tablespoon of olive oil; after a while add diced tomatoes, thyme and potatoes, peeled and cut in small pieces. Cook for few minutes, and then add kale leaves, washed and cut into strips, the drained beans and 2 liters of cold water. Season with salt and pepper and cook covered for about 2 or 2 and 1/2 hours.
Serve the soup over a layer of bread slices, with a little bit of olive oil and no cheese. For the vegan inside of you.

Pasta e Ceci (Pasta and Cickpeas)

After tasting this, someone wanted to label it An Ode to Rosemary (to each their own PR...). For me it's even more: a memory of home, an essential staple on the Christmas table, the aromatic reliability of flavors and affection.
One of those recipes that doesn't hide anything, and we like it this way, naked, simple, and without any makeup: a little pasta, and lots and lots of chickpeas.

Pasta e Ceci
for 6-7 people

dried chickpeas 500 gr
garlic 2 cloves
rosemary 1 sprig
parsley 1 sprig
vegetable bouillon cube 1
cherry tomatoes 8-10
wide egg noodles such as fettuccine 1 handful
olive oil, salt, pepper, chili pepper, parmigiano cheese as needed

Put chickpeas in a large bowl, cover with water and allow to soak overnight. Drain, put them in a pot, cover with more water and bring to boil. Cook slowly until tender, skimming occasionally and adding more water if necessary (it will take about 2 hours).
When chickpeas are done, add garlic cloves, peeled and cut in half, bouillon cube, salt, pepper, a little olive oil, the herbs tied together with twine, and cherry tomatoes. Let simmer for another half hour, then add pasta, broken in small pieces, and cook until al dente. Discard the herbs and serve, sprinkling each plate with a little bit of grated parmigiano cheese and chili pepper to taste.

Indian Soup with Red Lentils and Yellow Split Peas

Orange, as happiness. Hot, as the summer that's going away, or the one that never really got here. Tasty and spicy like only an Indian soup can be.
Someone like it hot. Can you really blame them?


Indian Soup
with Red Lentils and Yellow Split Peas
for 4-5 people

red lentils 200 gr
yellow split peas 200 gr
onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrots 2
fresh ginger one 3"-long piece
ground turmeric 1 teaspoon
ground curry 2 tablespoons
ground coriander 1 teaspoon
cardamom seeds 6-7
cumin seeds 1 tablespoon
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
water or vegetable stock as needed
olive oil, salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, fresh cilantro as needed

I left you with a soup, I'm coming back with a soup. Could this be my new obsession?

Wash and drain lentils and peas. Set aside.
Finely chop the onion and cook it in a tablespoon of oil along with the garlic cloves cut in half for about 10 minutes, until it's soft and transparent. Combine finely grated ginger and the rest of the spices, and cook for another 5 minutes. Add carrots, peeled and cut into small cubes, lentils and peas, and tomato paste diluted in half a cup of hot water or vegetable stock. Cook for few minutes, then cover with the rest of the water or stock, season with salt, pepper and cayenne pepper and bring to a boil. Continue to cook over medium-low for about 40 minutes or until lentils and peas are tender, stirring occasionally and adding water if necessary. In the end discard garlic cloves and cardamom seeds, and adjust the amount of spices according to your taste.
Serve hot sprinkling with some chopped fresh cilantro.

Cold Zucchini Soup with Mozzarella and Anchovies

The little things that make a difference.
The soundtrack of a road trip; a mint leaf in a cup of coffee at Philz; freshly laundered bed sheets; popcorn with brewer's yeast served in a wooden bowl at the Red Vic Cinema (... trust me, people, have I ever lied to you?). And - why not - even the duo mozzarella&anchovie over a cream of zucchini otherwise slightly pale and sadly dietetic: the magic touch that brightens the day, warms up the soup, and saves your face.


Cold Zucchini Soup
with Mozzarella and Anchovies
for 4-5 people

zucchini about 1,5 kg
onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
mozzarella 1
oil-packed anchovies 4-5 fillets
day-old country bread 2 thick slices
vegetable stock, olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano as needed

Slice the onion and peel the garlic cloves. Sauté them in a little bit of olive oil, and then add the zucchini, trimmed and cut into small pieces. Cook for few minutes, then cover with hot vegetable stock and cook for about 10 minutes longer. Turn off the heat and puree with a blender until soup gets smooth and without lumps. Season with salt and pepper and let cool down.
Meanwhile cut mozzarella into small pieces, dress them with a tablespoon of olive oil and sprinkle with some oregano. Cut the bread slices into cubes, toss them with a little bit of olive oil and toast in the oven for about 10 minutes or until nice and crisp.
Serve the soup at room temperature, topping each bowl with diced mozzarella, one anchovy fillet cut into pieces, and few bread croutons.
(Recipe courtesy of La Cucina Italiana, ed).

Strawberry Tomato Gazpacho

And...
I've had a thought that talks about you
everything dies but you
you are the dearest thing I have
and if I bite a strawberry
I'll bite you too...
(Vasco Rossi, And; listen to it here)

Beautifully red. Curiously sweet.
My other gazpacho.


Strawberry Tomato Gazpacho
for 4-5 people

strawberries, net 650 gr
cherry tomatoes 150 gr
red bell pepper, small 1
cucumber 1
olive oil 1 tablespoon
balsamic vinegar 2 tablespoons
salt, pepper to taste
To serve: old day bread, olive oil, strawberries, cucumber, basil, honey or agave nectar, salt, pepper as needed

Wash strawberries and cut them in pieces. Peel cucumber, cut it in half and remove seeds. Cut bell pepper into strips and remove seeds. Blend fruit and vegetables with one tablespoon of olive oil and two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar until you get a smooth and homogeneous puree. Season with salt and pepper, cover with plastic and keep in the fridge until ready to serve.
Cut the bread into 1/4" cubes, dress them with a little bit of olive oil and toast in hot oven for about 10 minutes or until crisp. Cut some strawberries into small cubes and season them with chopped basil, salt, and a few drops of agave. Peel half of a cucumber, remove seeds and cut into cubes. When ready to serve the gazpacho, decorate each bowl with a handful of toasted croutons, diced strawberries and cucumbers, and sprinkle with black pepper.

Cold Sugar Snap Pea Soup

Here comes another minimal recipe, fast and super simple, perfect even for the laziest of foodbloggers and the skimpiest kitchen. Plagiarized directly from The Minimalist, a truly self-explanatory name. By now you should all know - at least I hope - who this phantom Minimalist is, and if you don't know it, I'll say it one last time: it's Mark Bittman, yeah, always the same one who made No Knead Bread famous around the web, one of the few non-original recipes included in the New York Times column that he's gloriously taken care of for years.

The thing is, this Mark Bittman and I started being serious only few months ago, when I went in a real trip with his simple dishes, at times even a little heretics, but always compelling and of guaranteed success.
Love happened by chance when I first heard these three or four basic facts:

1) Mark Bittman, perhaps the most famous food journalist of the NYT, the same one that has experienced, tested and published thousands of recipes, he has the smallest kitchen, so small it almost competes with mine (I said almost);
2) Mark Bittman is an avid marathon runner, and as such he even has his own column on runnersworld.com;
3) Miss Bittman, daughter of the more famous Mark, apparently works as a waitress in a famous San Francisco pizzeria, and she lives in the Mission (thus getting another 10 points, for free);
4) Mark Bittman named La Ciccia one of the best Italian restaurants in San Francisco, confirming that he and I are right on the same page, and almost making me faint to the discovery that he actually had dinner there, just a stone's throw from my skimpy kitchen, and maybe just as I was walking by him going to the bus stop.

Andwhatdoyouwantmetodo? He is just the umpteenth Mark that gained the right to enter my collection of i-like-this-guy, after Mark Z., Mark G., and - oh - Mark M./ Mark M.
To each one his own soup; hot or cold, it doesn't matter.

Cold Sugar Snap Pea Soup
for 2-3 people

sugar snap peas 500 gr
vegetable stock about 3 cups
salt, pepper, sour cream, fresh parsley as needed

The hardest part of the recipe - speaking for myself - was trying to understand what the Italian equivalent for sugar snap peas is, since I, such a good foodblogger, had never seen nor heard of these peas back there in my homeland.
And since I've already done all the work for you, what are you waiting for? Hands down to the blender and let's soup.

Wash sugar snap peas and place them in a large pot with the stock. Slowly bring to a boil and cook over low heat for about 10 minutes, until peas are quite tender. Turn off the heat and let cool for a few minutes. Blend peas and stock together until they are puréed. Strain the mixture through a strainer or a meshed sieve to remove fibers, season with salt and pepper and let cool in the refrigerator. Serve the soup adding a dollop of sour cream and a little bit of fresh chopped parsley in each bowl.

Prawn & Tomato Stew

I believe in miracles where you from
You sexy thing (you sexy thing-you)
I believe in miracles since you came along
You sexy thing...
(Hot Chocolate, You Sexy Thing)

And what can you do? One blog-free month and I get some strange mental associations, 'cause prawns, until proven otherwise, are just like oysters, lobsters, strawberries and chocolate: better when not alone.
Incidentally, this dish is signed by Donna Hay: if one must really go back to the hard life of a blogger, it's best done with style, isn't it?

Prawn & Tomato Stew
for 4-5 people

prawns, unshelled about 2 lb.
carrot 1
celery 1 stalk
onion 1
garlic 2-3 cloves
whole peeled tomatoes 2 cans
dry white wine 1 cup
olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh parsley as needed

Clean prawns and prepare a broth by boiling their shells for about an hour with peeled carrot, celery stalk, some parsley, peppercorns and a pinch of salt. Strain the broth and set aside.
Finely chop the onion, peel the garlic cloves and cut them in half. Sautee them in a tablespoon of oil for about 10 minutes until onion becomes transparent and sweet. If necessary, add a little bit of the broth to prevent sticking.
Add whole peeled tomatoes, mashing them with a fork (OK, OK, for those of you lucky enough to have fresh tomatoes already red and sweet and flavorful and delicious, forgetabouttomatoesinacan, do I need to say it? But I'm telling you anyways, to clear any doubt...), white wine and two cups of broth, and cook for about 10 minutes until the sauce thickens a bit (but not too much, remember, this is a stew!). Season with salt, pepper and fresh chopped parsley, then add the prawns and cook for 5 minutes longer. Serve with slices of country bread, toasted in the oven and rubbed with garlic (or not, depending on how your evening is going).

Barley Soup

Happiness only real when shared.
(E. Hirsch [written in a book], Into the Wild)

According to you, is there THE recipe for happiness? Or is it overrated, such as oysters, tofu, and Julia Roberts? I mean, does anybody know the perfect formula, quantified as eggs in the sponge cake, or is it absurd to insist on looking for that ultimate goal, unattainable as the raising of a soufflé? And then, is it true that to achieve happiness we must be inflexible and stubborn, endure fatigue, arm ourselves with patience and fold the dough a thousand times almost like a croissant? Who said that Rumtopf can be enjoyed only at Christmas? What if, instead of waiting for days and hours, we took a peek into the jar as early as September, inserted a finger into the syrup, and tasted strawberries and cherries?
Maybe happiness has nothing to do with the pâté de canard en croûte that no one can replicate; perhaps it's not so difficult to make the shopping list, decipher the ingredients, and find suppliers. Maybe you can even steal a piece of happiness in a cup of blueberries with whipped cream on any given Tuesday; or in a stick of cotton candy at Sunday's roundabouts. Perhaps a piece of happiness is also a walk in the moonlight under falling snow, the smell of freshly cut grass, a run in the rain through desert streets, a smile stolen to a stranger on the bus. Or a distant memory, come back to the surface by accident.
And maybe a bit of happiness can also be found in a bowl of barley soup, exactly the same as you used to eat when you were a kid. Possible?


Barley Soup
for a hungry army of people

pearled barley 200 gr
white onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrots 2
celery 1 stalk
smoked pork shank
(or a prosciutto bone with some meat on it) 1
bay leaves 2
sage leaves 2
bouillon cube 1/2
medium size potatoes 1-2
olive oil, salt, pepper, water, milk as needed

Finely chop the onion and sauté it for a few minutes in a little olive oil, along with the peeled garlic cloves. Add carrots and celery cut into small cubes and cook for few minutes. Combine the barley and toast it, then add bouillon cube, smoked pork shank in one piece (or the prosciutto bone), bay and sage leaves, and cover with about 2.5 liters of water. Cook gently for one and a half hour, adding more water if necessary. Peel the potatoes and cut them into cubes. Add them to the soup along with a couple of glasses of milk (more or less, depending on how creamy you like it to be), and continue to simmer for another half hour. Add salt only at the end, because the pork bone is already salted. Discard the herbs and serve with a sprinkle of black pepper. If you like, you can take the meat from the shank, cut it into small pieces and add them to the soup.

PS: I also tried a vegetarian version, but it was not the same happiness.

Carrot, Orange and Red Bell Pepper Soup

Since...um... it happens to be Valentine's Day, I thought about making something red myself. Close your eyes and ta daaaaaa! Here it is, a beautiful soup, or rather - what am I saying? - a good cream of vitamins. Very much orange and very little red, I think that's what I see. But trust me, or at least let go of your fantasy. It's February 14th after all, and the world around us tells us that for one day we can all be romantic, dreamers and idealists.

And for those of you who don't want to undergo this orangy-pureed version of Valentine's Day, hold on, I have another gift ready. And now don't go around saying that your girl in the kitchen has a heart as hard as Borlotti beans:




Orange, Carrot & Red Bell Pepper Soup
for 4

carrots, net 600 gr.
red bell pepper, medium size 2
oranges 2
white onion, large 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, parsley, stock (or water)

Peel carrots and cut them into thick slices. Clean red peppers, remove seeds and white membrane, and cut into pieces. Chop the onion and saute it in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, then add the vegetables previously prepared, let them cook for few minutes, then cover with water or vegetable stock. Bring to boil and simmer for about 15-20 minutes, until vegetables are soft. Season with salt and pepper. Pour in the juice of two oranges and the grated zest of one (or a good pinch of orange powder). Remove from heat, puree everything with great pleasure using an immersion blender, and bring back to boil, adding more water or stock if needed to adjust the texture. Sprinkle with some chopped fresh parsley or, as I did here, with a spoonful of light pesto, made by blending a handful of arugula and few almonds, half clove of garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper.