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I imagine everyone is familiar with the concept of comfort food. When I hear that phrase, usually something creamy and sweet or starchy and rich comes to mind. That’s probably what I would choose if asked what I wanted to eat when life lands a blow. I guess the association could be with baby food, the bland and unctuous things that soothe a palate not yet fully formed. I don’t have children, but most of my friends do, and almost all of them have regaled me with tales of a youngster who insists on pasta with butter every night and refuses almost anything green. In 19th-century English novels, milk toast is prescribed for invalids of all ages. It seems this concoction of toasted, buttered break swimming in sweetened milk was fed to the bedridden by the spoonful, almost like Proust’s tea-soaked madeleine. Somehow I don’t feel tempted to try it.
Milk toast notwithstanding, I have nothing against that type of comfort food. But if I’m feeling unwell or over-tired or depleted, I need something different to bring me comfort. I am thinking here of food that revives and restores, the mouthful that brings to mind a vivid image of robust morsels coursing through the body, leaving a trail of energy and possibility.
Every single person I know in the U.S. is overwhelmed by the state of the world and particularly the madness of our president as both a causative and exacerbating factor. Most are in a perpetual state of incredulity, initialized each morning by that day’s headlines or social media posts. To say that many of us must make a great effort to be present and grounded in our bodies and our lives is to understate the situation. I’m not going to make the spurious claim that food is the cure: food is powerful, but sadly, no one is that powerful. But food can help.
I recently cooked for a friend who felt depleted from ill health and excess stress. At first, I knew I wanted to cook something that would offer abundant and easily reheated leftovers, but not what. I rifled through my mental file of recipes. I thought of matzo ball soup, which I made this past week for Passover, a dish that has a well-earned reputation for its restorative qualities. But a brothy soup seemed too lightweight.
Many dishes have restorative capability, but when I am down and out or cooking for someone similarly indisposed, there is one that comes to mind first and foremost: minestrone, a thick Italian soup of many vegetables. I looked up the name and discovered something interesting: the word is based on Italian for soup, “minestra,” “which also means ‘that which is served,’ a cognate with administer, as in ‘to administer a remedy.'” Precisely!
Minestrone has a mild flavor and a delicate sweetness that comes from a melange of sauteed vegetables. If you like spicy food, you might be tempted to add garlic or hot peppers, but my advice is don’t. If the elixir as described doesn’t fortify your tender heart, you can always improvise later. But try this first.
My minestrone recipe is loosely based on Marcella Hazan’s, shaped by her beloved Emilia-Romagna region. The thing about this recipe is that in some ways, the method is more important than the ingredients. You can add or substitute many different vegetables and still come out with something delicious and reviving. So do feel free to use chard instead of cabbage, or use different beans, or change the proportions of the listed ingredients to your taste.
Minestrone
1/2 cup olive oil
4 tablespoons butter
2 sliced yellow onions
4 ribs celery, trimmed and diced
4 medium carrots, peeled and diced
4 medium zucchini, trimmed and diced (or substitute other summer squash)
1 pound green beans, trimmed and diced (these could be typical green beans, Romano beans, or even Chinese asparagus beans)
4 medium white or gold potatoes, peeled and cut into large dice
I small head of white cabbage, cored and shredded
1 large can Italian tomatoes, roughly chopped or crushed with their juice (if you have an abundance of fresh summer tomatoes, use them instead)
1 quart homemade or canned chicken or beef broth (optional) and/or water
2 cups dried white beans, cooked, or 3-15 ounce cans cooked white beans, rinsed (garbanzos or other beans may be substituted)
If you have a rind of Parmesan cheese, throw it in the pot, but it’s not essential.
salt and pepper
Pesto and grated Parmesan cheese for serving
Place the olive oil and butter in the bottom of a large, heavy pot. Add the onions and sauté, stirring, over medium heat until they are limp and golden. Add each of the other vegetables in turn in the sequence listed, stirring well and stewing each one for at least a few minutes before adding the next. One way to save a bit of time is to cut up the first two vegetables, then prepare each of the others in turn while the first ones are cooking.
After the cabbage has become slightly limp, add the tomatoes. Then add broth and/or water to amply cover all the vegetables and bring to a boil.
Cook, stirring occasionally, at a steady simmer. After an hour or so the vegetables will begin to disintegrate. After two hours, add the beans. Simmer at least another hour, until the soup is thick and savory. The taste should be sweet. Cook longer if the texture isn’t perfect or add more water if it gets too thick. Now add salt to taste. At the table, stir a spoonful of pesto (the yummy paste of basil and garlic that often shows up in pasta dishes; see the recipe below), and a spoonful of Parmesan into each bowlful.
This recipe makes a huge vat, enough to feed at least 15. It is even better the second and third days. It freezes well: the frozen soup may separate a bit, but heating it restores the texture.
As noted, minestrone is typically served hot. But Hazan also recommends a summer dish of cool minestrone, which I have enjoyed. For every two cups of soup, stir in two cups of water and a half-cup rice. Bring to a boil and simmer until the rice is still firm but not raw, perhaps 10 minutes. Taste and correct salt and pepper if needed. Stir in 1/4 cup grated Parmesan. Pour into bowls and let cool to room temperature. The rice will soften and the cool soup will be perfect for a warm day. You can add some pesto or just chopped basil when it’s served.
Pesto
Purists make this in a mortar and pestle, but I use a blender or food processor and freeze the leftovers with a film of olive oil on top. Suit yourself.
2 cup basil leaves (include stems if they are not woody)
approximately 1/2 cup olive oil
approximately 2 large garlic cloves
approximately 2 tablespoons of pine nuts (or walnuts in a pinch)
1 teaspoon salt or to taste
approximately half cup of grated Parmesan cheese (if you are going to freeze the pesto, leave this out of the portion that goes in the freezer, because the cheese will toughen. Just defrost when you’re ready to use and stir in the cheese then)
Whir everything in a blender or food processor, scraping down the sides, until it achieves the texture you like. Some people like it rough, some as a completely smooth paste.
Here’s Keb’ Mo’ singing the Robert Johnson song, “Come on in my Kitchen.”