White Bean Soup — The Tuscan Sunday

Two weeks until I leave for the TCC dorm in Tulsa. The truck is mostly packed already — the bed is full of plastic storage bins labeled in Mama’s small block letters (CLOTHES, BOOKS, KITCHEN, LINEN, DESK), the cab has the leather Moleskine and the laptop bag and a small backpack with overnight stuff for the drive, and the toolbox under the rear window has the things I need for the dorm but didn’t want to risk in the bins (the chef’s knife in its sheath, the cookbook stack, the sealed envelope with Mr. Briggs’s recommendation letter that I’m going to hand to Dr. Choi on day one).

The kitchen is mostly empty of my things now. I’ve given Cody my heavy Dutch oven — the Lodge eight-quart that Aunt Linda had given me for Christmas in 2017 and that I’ve been making everything in for two years — because Cody insisted that the dorm wouldn’t need it and that he would. Mama insisted I take my good chef’s knife (the Henckels eight-inch Cody had given me for graduation) because she said a college kitchen with a bad knife is no kitchen at all. Mama photocopied the front pages of the Moleskine for me at the Sapulpa Public Library on the public copier — just the recipes I’d transcribed from Grandma Carol’s box, in case the original Moleskine got lost or damaged in Tulsa. The photocopies are in the toolbox in a sealed manila envelope.

Mama and I have been spending evenings on the back porch in the cool nights of mid-August, just sitting in the metal porch chairs with iced tea and not always talking. The talking is easier than it’s ever been because we both know the timer is running and there’s nothing not worth saying anymore. Some evenings we don’t talk at all. Some evenings she tells me stories from when she was nineteen, when she had me, when Cody was four and a complicated handful and she had no idea how she was going to do any of what came next. Some evenings I tell her about the kind of writer I want to be.

Sunday I made a Tuscan white bean soup — ribollita, the second-day version that Tuscan grandmothers reheat with day-old bread stirred in to thicken the broth into a stew — because the Marcella Hazan book had a recipe that I’d been wanting to make in this specific kitchen before I left it. Ribollita is one of those Italian peasant dishes that’s built around what’s in the pantry: dried beans (or canned, in our case — cannellini beans from a fifteen-ounce can drained and rinsed), kale (a bunch of lacinato kale stripped from the stems and torn into bite-sized pieces), carrots, celery, yellow onion, garlic, a can of San Marzano whole tomatoes crushed by hand, a quart of vegetable broth, a parmesan rind from the freezer, and a couple cups of day-old crusty bread torn into chunks and stirred in toward the end to thicken the broth.

The technique: olive oil in the heavy bottom of a Dutch oven (Cody’s Dutch oven now, which he had given back to me for the week with a small grin), four cloves of garlic, one diced onion, two diced carrots, two diced celery stalks, sweated for ten minutes until soft. The crushed tomatoes added with their juice. The drained cannellini beans added. The vegetable broth poured in. The parmesan rind dropped in. A bay leaf, a sprig of fresh rosemary, salt, pepper, a pinch of red-pepper flakes. Brought to a simmer and held there for forty minutes for the flavors to marry. Then the kale stirred in and cooked for ten minutes until tender.

Off the heat for the bread step: about three cups of day-old crusty bread torn into rough one-inch chunks (a stale baguette, a leftover heel of sourdough, even white sandwich bread torn into chunks works in a pinch — the bread is the binder, not the star). Stir the bread chunks into the hot soup. Cover. Off the heat. Let rest twenty minutes. The bread absorbs the broth and breaks down into a porridge-like body that’s the texture-defining feature of ribollita — not soup, not stew, not bread pudding, but something between.

The soup is at its peak on day two, after a full overnight rest, which is why I cooked the whole pot Saturday so it could rest overnight in the fridge before Sunday’s reheating. Sunday I reheated it gently on the stove with a splash of additional broth to loosen the consistency, drizzled good olive oil over each bowl, grated fresh parmesan on top, and we ate it on the porch with a heel of bread and a glass of red wine for me and Cody (Mama doesn’t drink wine on Sundays anymore unless it’s a celebration).

Cody set his bowl down halfway through and said, “That’s the dish I’ll make every other Sunday once you’re gone. That’s the dish I’ll miss you in.” He didn’t expand. He didn’t need to. Mama was very quiet across the table from him. We finished the bowls and watched the sun go down behind the dogwoods and didn’t say anything else for a long time.

Bread chunks off the heat. Twenty-minute rest. Day two is when it peaks. Here’s the build.

White Bean Soup

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium yellow onion, diced
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced
• 3 stalks celery, sliced
• 2 cans (15 oz each) white cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
• 4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 cup water
• 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1 teaspoon dried rosemary, crumbled
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 2 cups fresh baby spinach
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• Crusty bread, for serving

Instructions

1. Saute the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and cook for 4–5 minutes until softened and translucent. Add garlic and cook for 1 minute more, stirring constantly so it doesn’t burn.
2. Add the vegetables. Stir in the carrots and celery and cook for another 4 minutes, letting everything soften slightly and pick up a little color.
3. Build the broth. Add the cannellini beans, chicken broth, water, diced tomatoes, thyme, rosemary, and smoked paprika. Stir to combine. Bring the pot to a boil over medium-high heat.
4. Simmer until tender. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for 25–30 minutes, until the carrots are completely tender and the broth has deepened in flavor.
5. Mash for creaminess. Using the back of a wooden spoon or a potato masher, gently mash about 1/4 of the beans against the side of the pot. This thickens the soup and gives it a creamy body without any added dairy.
6. Finish with spinach and lemon. Stir in the baby spinach and cook for 2 minutes until wilted. Add the lemon juice, then taste and adjust salt and black pepper as needed.
7. Serve warm. Ladle into bowls and serve with crusty bread for dipping. Leftovers keep well refrigerated for up to 4 days and taste even better the next day.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 218 | Protein: 11g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 32g | Fiber: 9g | Sodium: 480mg