Lemony Chickpea ‘n Green Soup

The truth is, my home cooking career hasn’t been that long. It became solid and ongoing only when I left my home to go to University, and even then, it was more of a ‘getting by’. I have been fed most of my life, and when my turn came and had to feed myself, I always went for convenience rather than creativity. I have never been motivated enough to cook an actual meal just for myself, let alone experiment with new recipes. I bought things that came together into some sort of meal easily and with minimum time and use of pots and pans. The empty sink, rather than a great dinner, was my ultimate goal when eating solo. It wasn’t before I had a boyfriend that I started to cook more solidly and more adventurously. And in time, I discovered that I loved to feed as much as I loved to be fed. I loved seeing a smile on the person sitting in front of me – eyes closed while biting bits of what I had just cooked. I found it sensual and attractive and deeply romantic, and beautiful and a warming. A feeling of belonging. I discovered why people love to cook for others, and why sharing a meal makes the food so much better, and the effort so much more worthwhile.

Of all things I love to make for others (and myself), soup ranks high, mostly because I think I am pretty good at it. After all, it is such a forgiving dish, and such a nourishing and loving one. People feel cuddled when they are fed soup – there’s no fuss on the table but just simple, home-y, good food. When I put a bowl of soup in front of them they relax; and I, constantly stressed by other’s judgment, always trying to make a good impression, relax too. The fact that I like to make soup so much is part of the reason why I have a lot of ‘soup moments’ punctuating my life. On our first few dates, Jesse and I romantically shared pots of soup and bowls of salads in my tiny kitchen in Bra, or in his messy one next door, while chatting away at the end of a long day at school. In the one-of-its-kind school we went to – the school that made us meet – eating was part of the learning experience. We were often overfed, though, at times treated to large quantities of fantastic foods for days and days. We didn’t complain, but we were craving just greens and fibres afterwards. Wholesome bowls of steamy, pork and cheese-free soup. We ate a lot of it in those two years.


I also made soup on the first week we moved to London. We were renting a studio apartment while looking for a more long-term accommodation. We had no job and no money, no orientation of real idea of what we got ourselves into. One evening, sick with a cold I caught on the underground on my very first ride, I went down to Marks and Spencer’s looking for some (cheap) inspiration for dinner – something I could trow together with the limited kitchen appliances I had at my disposal. From the “Buy 2 for £3” rack I picked a bag of leeks and one of potatoes. On my way back, I stumbled upon someones rosemary bush and took a few small branches. Then, I searched in the communal fridge of the lodge we were staying and found some milk and some butter – the breakfast size ones like you find in hotels. I also found some salt and pepper in mini bags, and some sliced bread for toast. I climbed upstairs with these few things and started preparing dinner. Peeling potatoes, chopping leeks, melting butter, frying the rosemary for a little while, then the vegetables, then salt and pepper and then water. I had brought my immersion blender from Italy and Jesse, who has always been a traveller, had the multi-country adapter to make it work. We made a soup out of these things and had no hope for it to be any good, but I started to blend it anyway, with a little splash of milk to make it smoother. Did I mention we were both sick? The soup wasn’t the best I had ever made but it was actually so much better than the sum of its parts, and it was warming and just what we needed.







We remember this moment like it was yesterday. Three years have passed, lots of things have luckily changed, but we still make and enjoy plenty of humble soups. Soups like this one. With legumes and greens, sometimes with grains, sometimes tomato-based, others broth-based, almost never cream-based. The best part about it has to be the fact you can throw in whatever greens the market has to offer – or whatever legumes you have in your pantry – and it will turn out to be a very good soup. This one is just a pretty successful version: it is based on a recipe by Heidi, her lemony chickpeas with dandelion from her book Super Natural Everyday, and pretty much turned into a soup, whilst keeping the zingy element given by the lemon zest (and juice) and the pungency of garlic and chili. The vegetable component is a leaf called minestra nera, a green belonging to the brassica family in the same way turnip tops do, and originally from Campania, but kale, cavolo nero, spinach or even chard would go well in its place. Dry chickpeas work better here than canned, as the latter would somehow compromise the texture of the soup, which is much more enjoyable when al dente. Finally, some pasta or couscous or other grains make a welcome but optional addition while thickening the broth at the same time. Copious amounts of grated Pecorino cheese will make this out of this world, and a spiral of good olive oil to finish is like cherry on cake. Have lots of bread handy, for you’ll need it.
 

Lemony Chickpea ‘n Green Soup

200g (1 cup) dry chickpeas, soaked overnight

3 bay leaves

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

2 garlic cloves

2 dry chillies

300g (one big bunch) leafy greens such as cavolo nero or chard, stalks trimmed

1L (about 4 cups) vegetable broth (or water)

Sea salt and black pepper

1 cup cooked cous cous (optional)

1 unwaxed lemon, zest and juice

Grated pecorino cheese

Extra virgin olive oil, for garnish

Boil the chickpeas with the bay leaves in plenty of water until tender but still chewy. Drain, remove the bay, then set aside.

Heat the oil in a large pot. Mince the garlic and fry it gently in the oil together with the crushed chillies. Add the roughly chopped greens and stir fry until the greens are wilted. Add the chickpeas and fry for a few more minutes, stirring frequently. Pour in the hot broth (or water), reduce the heat to a simmer, cover and allow to cook for twenty minutes.

When this time has passed, uncover and add more broth if needed. Season with salt and pepper to taste, then add the cous cous. Remove from the heat and let cool for five minutes. Transfer to individual bowls, then squeeze in the lemon juice and grate some zest over the top. Finish with the grated pecorino and a twirl of oil. Serve immediately, but if you can, save some for the next day. This soup is even better re-heated. 

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