Spicy Kale, White Bean and Orzo Soup

I drove Alexander to college today. University of South Florida, fifteen minutes from home, the same university I attended in the early nineties when I was a girl from Tarpon Springs who did not know the world was bigger than sponge docks and spanakopita. The campus has changed — new buildings, new paths, the particular gleam of a university that is growing into something larger than it was — but the feeling is the same. The feeling of possibility. The feeling of standing at the beginning of a story whose ending you cannot see.

I helped him move into his dorm even though he said he did not need help, because Greek mothers do not recognize the phrase I do not need help. We unpacked his boxes. I made his bed. I stocked his mini-fridge with containers labeled in Sharpie — pastitsio, avgolemono, spanakopita, keftedes — enough Greek food to last two weeks and to remind him, every time he opens the refrigerator, that someone loves him in the language of phyllo and olive oil.

He is studying information systems. He has a plan. He has always had a plan. The plan includes classes and a campus job and the kind of strategic career thinking that would make Nikos confused and proud in equal measure. Alexander will build something. I do not know what. But it will be built with the Papadopoulos combination of stubbornness and spreadsheets, and it will be good.

I gave him a lecture about calling his grandmother, which he received with the patient tolerance of a boy who has heard this lecture every week for eighteen years. I said call Yia-yia. He said I will. I said every week. He said okay. I said she is eighty — she will be eighty in November — and she loves you and she worries and a phone call takes five minutes and makes her happy for a week. He said I know, Mom. He knows. He will call. Maybe not every week. But enough. Enough is a Papadopoulos measurement that means less than you want and more than nothing.

I drove home alone. The house was quiet. Sophia was at school. The kitchen table where Alexander studied for eighteen years had one fewer chair pulled out. One fewer plate to set. One fewer person to feed. I stood in the kitchen and did not cry because I am a Greek woman and Greek women do not cry when their sons go to college fifteen minutes away. They make avgolemono. I made avgolemono. I made enough for two and ate it alone and it was the loneliest bowl of soup I have ever tasted and also the proudest. My son is at college. My father's grandson is at the university my father did not want me to attend. The circle is complete. The soup is golden. The house is quiet. And I am okay. I am. I am okay.

I made avgolemono that afternoon because it is the soup I have always made when I needed to feel my mother standing next to me in the kitchen. But this recipe—the one I keep coming back to on weeknights when I want something that asks more of me, something that keeps my hands busy and fills the kitchen with the smell of garlic and warm broth—is the one I want to share. Spicy kale and white bean soup with orzo has all the same soul as the bowls I labeled and packed into Alexander’s mini-fridge: it is golden, it is generous, and it is the kind of food that says someone in this kitchen still knows how to love out loud. Make a big pot. Eat some alone. Send the rest home with someone you miss.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or more to taste
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
2 cans (15 oz each) white beans (cannellini or Great Northern), drained and rinsed
6 cups low-sodium vegetable or chicken broth
3/4 cup uncooked orzo pasta
4 cups chopped fresh kale, tough stems removed
Juice of 1 lemon
Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Saute the aromatics. Heat the olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5–6 minutes until softened and translucent. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute more until fragrant.
Bloom the spices. Stir in the red pepper flakes, smoked paprika, and dried oregano. Season with salt and black pepper. Cook for 30 seconds, stirring constantly, to toast the spices in the oil.
Build the broth. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices and stir to combine. Add the drained white beans and the broth. Raise the heat to medium-high and bring the soup to a boil.
Cook the orzo. Once boiling, stir in the orzo. Reduce the heat to a steady simmer and cook uncovered for 8–10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the orzo is just tender. The orzo will continue to absorb liquid as the soup sits, so do not overcook.
Wilt the kale. Stir in the chopped kale and cook for 3–4 minutes until wilted and tender but still bright green.
Finish with lemon. Remove the pot from heat and stir in the fresh lemon juice. Taste and adjust seasoning with additional salt, pepper, or red pepper flakes as desired.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with grated Parmesan if desired. Serve with crusty bread or warm pita on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spicy Kale, White Bean and Orzo Soup — The Soup I Made When the House Went Quiet