Minestra di Fagioli

Fagioli beans in Emiliana's hand.

I always say there are two kinds of Italians from my father's generation -- the ones who will always love minestra di fagioli because it sustained their families through the darkest days of WWII, and the ones who can never look at a fagioli bean again because it's all they ate throughout the darkest days of WWII. Both are totally understandable.

My dad falls firmly into the love category -- in fact fagioli is practically a religion in our family. We grow them every summer, spend time together harvesting and shelling them, freeze them, eat them all winter, and have heated debates about whether we should add potatoes to a particular batch. My brother Paolo has been known to eat nothing else for days and swears it is the best possible breakfast.

In our family, we use the word fagioli exclusively, but I have learned the beans we are referring to are more commonly called cranberry beans, a perfect name given the deep red veins of colour running through both the pods and the beans themselves. To add to the confusion, we also use the same word for both the beans and for the dish, a thick stew/soup of celery, onion, carrot and lots of beans. It is wonderful as a vegetarian dish, and also great with a good chunk of pork in it.

As with most of our family recipes, I learned it without measurements, just ingredients, so the measurements below are approximate, and nothing to be too particular about. Cook from your heart and you can't go wrong with a rustic, wholesome dish like this.

Ingredients

2 large onions

2 large carrots 
3 or 4 celery stalks (with lots of leaves)

1 leak
3 or 4 garlic cloves
2 small tomatoes (skins removed)

2 cups cranberry beans (canned or frozen - if dried, prepare/soak in advance. Romano beans also work well)

4 tablespoons canola oil (canola is what my Nonna would have used, olive oil is fine too)

2 or 3 pork ribs

3 cups water
Salt & pepper
Freshly grated Parmigiano, Montasio or Pecorino Romano cheese
Handful of parsley 

Directions

Finely chop all of the vegetables (except parsley) and sauté in the oil until softened. Add the meat and continue to cook for 10 or 15 minutes. Add beans and water. Simmer gently for about an hour, more is better. Season with salt and pepper.

Remove 1 to 2 cups of the soup and puree it in a blender, then add it back into the pot so about half of the beans are still whole, and the rest have added a creamy rich texture to your dish. (My mom accomplishes this without using her blender, she takes a big wooden spoon and gently mashes a little less than half of the beans against the side of the pot - it is old-world perfection).

Reheat before serving, stir in a handful of freshly chopped parsley and top each serving with a generous grating of cheese. It is one of those magical soups that is better the next day.

Fritters

These puffs of loveliness are made with yeast dough and flavoured with cheese, fresh herbs and crumbled pancetta.

I make these from my homemade pizza dough – tearing off a knob of dough when I make it and saving it to make into fritters, either the same day or freezing for a day when a doughy pick-me-up is in order.

Once you have the dough made, the fritters are a wonderful opportunity for creativity. For this batch, I used montasio cheese, pancetta and fresh parsley. Other great combinations are asiago, salami and olives, or parmesan, basil and bits of oven-dried tomatoes.

For my kids, I make a mean cheese and pepperoni version and call them “pizza balls” – a name that elicits mischievous little giggles.

Ingredients

Fresh pizza dough (but really, don’t make dough just for this! Have a fabulous pizza night and save a little dough for these.)

Chopped herbs

Crumble pancetta, bacon or finely sliced ham or salami

Finely grated parmesan, montasio or asiago cheese (or any cheese you love)

Directions

Break off a piece of pizza dough, about the size of a golf ball. Knead about a tablespoon each of herbs, cheese and cooked meat into the piece and roll into a ball. Repeat until you have as many dough balls as you’d like.

Heat about 3 inches of oil in a deep pot to 350 degrees. Gently fry a few fritters at a time, removing to a paper towel lined plate once they are golden brown. Lightly sprinkle the hot fritters with salt and serve immediately.

I served these with freshly sliced prosciutto (made by my Dad, Italo) and arugula from the garden dressed simply with oil, red wine vinegar and garlic.

Frico

You simply cannot talk about food in Friuli without talking about frico . . . beautiful, decadent, frico. We even saw t-shirts in Udine that said “Make frico not war.” And yes, one taste of any of the many versions of this dish of pan fried montasio cheese, and you would have to agree that the world would be a much more peaceful place if everyone could sit down with this delicacy and get lost in its simple perfection.

At its simplicist, frico is finely shredded montasio or piave chese pan fried into a crispy, lacey tuille. Other versions mix the montasio with potatoes and sometimes onions to make a cheesey pancake, crisp on the outside and gooey on the inside. We grew up calling that gorgeous version “Nonna’s potatoes” and my brother Paul has perfected it and often serves it in his home, no doubt with a toast to our Nonna, Adrianna.

Today, I made the simple montasio crisp version to go along with a late summer salad fresh out of the garden.

I did my first batch in a dry, non-stick pan on the stovetop. They are finicky and I found I could only do one at a time so I tried a batch in the oven and they worked well.

Frico

Arrange the shredded montasio, about 1 tablespoon at a time, in circles on a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving space for spreading between each circle. Bake for about 4 minutes in  pre-heated, 400-degree oven, watching constantly for that golden colour.