The joy of soup (& Ribollita recipe)

At Vanderlyle we take great joy in soups. A small bowl of something intensely flavoured, seasonal and velvety smooth has been a feature of the menu ever since we opened last year. It forms the final element of a series of small dishes and snacks before the main body of the meal begins.

We usually aim to create concentrated flavours where a single ingredient is allowed to shine, bolstered only by a tried and tested sofrito or mirepoix of carrots, celery and onion then cooked down with nothing but a little water (never stock) and seasoning then blitzed in a blender as powerful as my first car. There is something indulgent about a soup, especially when silky and flavoured with a pep and punch that tastes of the essence of beetroot or celeriac or broccoli that it is made from.

There is, of course, another sort of soup. One that is less about concentration of flavour, poise and finesse and more about heartiness, robust and punchy flavours and using up an excess of ingredients. These are the soups of historical poverty and necessity, potages made of leftovers and scraps that burble away for hours (or days), meld and evolve into gastronomic gold from leaden ingredients: culinary alchemy in its finest and purest form.

They crop up throughout the culinary traditions of countries all over the world and often resemble something that is closer to a stew than a soup: Scotch broth, Jewish chicken soup, pot-au-feu, pork ramen - I would happily sit down to a bowl of any one of these, have my fill and drift into a happy meeting with Somnus with a belly full of carbohydrate, vegetables and a broth that sings of long, slow cooking and a rich variety of ingredients and flavours.

My current favourite, though, is ribollita, a Tuscan take on this ‘throw everything together and see what happens’ approach to soup making. It begins, of course, with carrot, celery and onion diced small and cooked slowly in olive oil until soft and sweet. Greens, beans, cheese (Parmesan, of course) and stale bread provide substance and the liquid could be stock, tomatoes or water but there is no proscriptive recipe: it is a soup designed specifically to help empty the cupboards or fridge drawer and make use of gnarly bits of brassica stem or leftover quarter bunches of herbs.

The name itself, meaning ‘reboiled’ speaks too of it’s happy-go-lucky nature. Traditionally it would sit in a large pot for several days developing character and substance and reheated as necessity dictated and added to as the pot emptied. What better way to welcome an unexpected guest, chilled to the bone from a walk through the chill Tuscan winter, than with a bowl of something robust and truly heartening?

This, of course, is not a soup to make in small batches and, because the blender doesn’t get a look in, there will be some chopping involved but how committed you are to spending time with knife and board is entirely up to you and an unrefined soup with noticeable chunks of vegetables is not necessarily a bad thing. I suggest that you set aside a half an hour or so to peel, chop, prepare and saute the vegetables then another 45 minutes to let the soup burble away. A sunday afternoon spent making ribollita is time well spent and when you can smugly have lunch on the table in just a few short minutes, future you will be eternally grateful. Well, at least until you run out.

Recipe - Ribollita

This isn’t a recipe as such. It’s too fluid, too non-specific, too loose and free-form to be described as a traditional, instructional recipe.

It’s more of a series of ingredients and ideas, a vague list of items and directions that might not get you to the exact same location as me, but certainly in the same vicinity. More recipes should be like this.

We like different things, you and I, consequently there will be changes you wish to make. I encourage you to do so and share your results with me on Twitter or Instagram. I’m keen to see where inspiration leads.

The only thing I insist on is you make more than you think you need. It will sustain you and your loved ones for a number of days.

(Optional) Meat

Some sort of cured meat is a good addition right at the start. A heavily spiced sausage is a personal favourite. Chorizo, salami, nduja are all great. Bacon or pancetta would work well, too.

Remove any sausage skins or casings, roughly dice and then cook the meat
in a large saucepan (at least five litres) with plenty of olive oil until the fat begins to render.

Vegetables

Onion, celery and carrot are not quite non-negotiable, but they are pretty important and form a base layer of flavour that it is difficult to replicate with anything else.

Peel and chop at least two of each then add to the pan. Season with salt and cook more gently, and for far longer, than you think you need to. Thirty-five to 40 minutes should do it. Stir relatively regularly. While those are cooking, prepare the rest of the ingredients:

Greens

Hardy, leafy brassicas fare well in this soup. Kale, chard, sprout tops, hispi cabbage, winter greens. Take your pick. Remove the stem if they are particularly woody and roughly chop the leaves.

Beans

Open and drain a couple of tins of beans of your choice. Pinto, haricot, kidney, butter – there are plenty to choose from.

Liquid

Wine, water, stock, tomatoes or a combination of all four and enough to allow everything to simmer together in a bubbly hot bath. Two to three litres should be plenty.

Carbohydrates

Parboiled potatoes, stale bread, pasta, rice – the only thing to bear in mind is the absorbent qualities of your chosen carb, as you may well end up with much less soup than you intended, especially if you elect to use uncooked pasta or rice, which usually doubles in size while cooking. The point at which these are added to the pot is determined by their relative edibility.

Once the onion, celery and carrot are cooked, add the chopped leaves then the liquid, followed by the beans, and bring to a gentle boil. If you are using uncooked pasta or rice, add them now as well, then allow to cook for 20 minutes. Cooked pasta or rice, bread or potatoes need only go in to warm through, just before serving.

Acid, herbs and cheese

Soft, delicate herbs like parsley, tarragon or chervil need barely any cooking and should be added once the soup has finished cooking to help retain freshness. The same goes for a squeeze of lemon, a final, very generous drizzle of olive oil and a grating of hard, salty cheese like parmesan or pecorino. Eat several times over concurrent days. When it’s over, rinse and repeat.

(This article and recipe was originally published in the January issue of Cambridge Edition magazine. Read it here)