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Life is a Minestrone

La Minestra

It used to puzzle me what the Italians did with their

vegetables. In most of Italy – perhaps not in the poorest

regions – every town boasts a market in which at any time

of the year one can find the most magnificent array of

fresh produce. Since the growing season extends to at least

ten months of the year, they are always pretty well served.

And yet, when you go to most restaurants, vegetables are

conspicuous only by their absence.

There are a couple of reasons for this. One is that

restaurants don’t think it is their business to give you

vegetables which are for the home; they consider it their

job to give you antipasti, primi and then to follow with

a good chunk of protein. Secondly, they are not into

contorni, or vegetables as an adjunct to protein. ‘Meat and

two veg’ is an alien concept, although countless Italian

restaurateurs in Britain have submitted to that perennial

and seemingly undying British demand.

And yet it is clear the Italians eat a lot of vegetables.

I suspect that in all but the wealthiest households, chunks

of protein are an occasional pleasure rather than a daily

expectation. Some vegetables – a plate of artichokes or

chicory, perhaps, or some fried courgettes or a plate of

broad beans – are simply eaten as a course in their own

right, but even more often they will be cooked with pasta

or cooked in a soup, both of which constitute a good lunch.

In North and Central Italy, soup is everywhere. It might

be ribollita or minestrone, or simply zuppa di fagioli, and

will contain anything from very few to a great plurality

of vegetables. If the minestra below is the late winter, basic

model, different vegetables will be added to it throughout

the year: fresh peas and beans often replacing dried in

spring and summer, followed by fresh borlotti or cannellini

beans in the late summer and courgettes, tomatoes and

squashes finding their place in due course.

There is always a stage in the making of such a soup

when it all comes together and becomes much more than

the sum of its parts. This can never happen if you want to

preserve the identity of each vegetable and try to keep

them slightly firm: they must give their all to the soup. I

also think that this ‘greater whole’ is inhibited by the use

of stock, however good, as it tends to cloud the bright fresh

flavour of the vegetables themselves. It may be an act of

faith to trust vegetables, but one that is amply rewarded.

79

March