Marry Me Chickpeas and Orzo

Valentine's Day fell on Wednesday and I marked it the way I have marked most of the hard anniversaries since Helen died: by cooking something she loved. This year I made her cassoulet, which is not a Valentine's Day dish in any conventional sense — it is a three-day project involving duck confit and pork shoulder and white beans and a breadcrumb crust that gets broken and pressed back three times as it cooks — but Helen made it every February without exception, as her counter to the relentless cold, and the smell of it in the oven is entirely hers to me. I started it Monday and finished it Wednesday evening.

I ate it at the kitchen table with a glass of the red she would have chosen — a sturdy Rhône, not particularly expensive, the kind of wine she called a working wine — and I talked to her while I ate. I do this less often than I used to in the early years after she died, but in February I always do it, and on the anniversaries, and on her birthday in November. It is not a sad conversation. It is more like a report. I told her about Teddy's consommé lesson and about Finn's drawing and about Bill and the maple tapping and about Carol's apple butter campaign. I told her the cassoulet was excellent. I said I thought she had dialed in that recipe sometime around 1993 and I had not changed a step.

Bill and I talked Sunday about the maple timing. His neighbor has pushed the first tapping day to the third week of February, depending on the forecast. The freeze-thaw pattern has been inconsistent this winter in coastal Maine and the trees are not quite showing the right sap pressure signs yet. Bill is patient about it in the way that he is patient about most things, which is to say he is patient on the surface and quietly vibrating with anticipation underneath. I recognize this in him because it is a quality I have myself. We are both men who have learned to keep our enthusiasms presentable.

The sourdough starter needed attention this week — it had been in the refrigerator on reduced feedings since December and the recent cold had made it sluggish. I pulled it out, fed it daily for five days, and by Friday it was active and fragrant again, doubling reliably within four hours of a feeding. I made two loaves on Saturday — the long cold-proofed overnight version — and the crumb was open and the crust crackled on the cooling rack. Some things require only attention. They come back when you give it to them.

The cassoulet is Helen’s recipe and always will be — I wouldn’t dream of offering it here as though it were mine to give. But the impulse behind it, that February need for something warm and deeply savory that requires your full attention for an hour and rewards you with a pot that smells like it has been thinking about you all day, is something I can point you toward. Marry Me Chickpeas and Orzo is the version of that impulse that asks less of you than a three-day braise but delivers the same essential comfort: chickpeas gone tender in a sun-dried tomato cream sauce, orzo soaking up everything around it, a handful of greens wilted in at the end. It is the kind of dinner you make on a hard Wednesday when the kitchen needs to smell like something good.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
5 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup sun-dried tomatoes in oil, drained and roughly chopped
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 cans (15 oz each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed
3 cups vegetable broth
1 cup orzo, dry
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
3 cups baby spinach
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh basil, for garnish

Instructions

Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and sun-dried tomatoes and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Bloom the seasonings. Stir in the Italian seasoning, red pepper flakes, and tomato paste. Cook for 2 minutes, pressing the paste against the bottom of the pan, until it darkens slightly and smells rich.
Add chickpeas and broth. Add the chickpeas and vegetable broth. Bring to a gentle boil over medium-high heat, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan.
Cook the orzo. Stir in the dry orzo. Reduce heat to medium and cook uncovered, stirring frequently to prevent sticking, until the orzo is tender and most of the liquid is absorbed, about 10–12 minutes.
Finish with cream and Parmesan. Reduce heat to low. Stir in the heavy cream and Parmesan and cook for 2 minutes, until the sauce is silky and just coats the back of a spoon. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
Wilt the spinach. Add the baby spinach in two or three handfuls, folding it in gently until just wilted, about 1 minute. Remove from heat.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and finish with additional Parmesan and fresh basil. Serve immediately — the orzo will continue to absorb liquid as it sits.

Nutrition (per serving)

Marry Me Chickpeas and Orzo — A Warm Pot for the Long Anniversaries