Chickpea

This pita wrap is bulging with vegetables combined with a lime and sour cream dressing.

You can make this robust soup in less time than it takes to have a pizza delivered. The soup is a lot more nutritious—and costs less, too.

Gina: Every once in a while, my girls and I get on a little veggie kick, and they convince me to take a break from meat (amazing what a cheerleader uniform—theirs, not mine, hon—can do to you). This hearty, spicy chili is so satisfying that even Pat—my steak-and-potatoes man—loves it. The secret ingredient, bulgur (also called cracked wheat), thickens the stew when cooked and helps create a “meaty” texture. The addition of canned fire-roasted tomatoes and an unusual mix of spices gives this chili an exotic aroma and plenty of depth. More often than not, this chili is a family affair—Spenser and Shelbi help me cut up all the colorful vegetables and tell me about their respective days, while Pat makes the cornbread that goes so well with the stew, sets the table, and privately mourns the meat that he will not be having for dinner!

Sprinkling the onions with salt as they cook not only seasons them, but extracts some of the water and intensifies their flavor. Keep the water hot before adding it to the soup, as described below, and you won’t interrupt the cooking—it will flow smoothly from start to end. Remember this when braising meats like the short ribs on page 218, or when making risotto. You can use the method outlined below—bringing the beans to a boil, then soaking them in hot water for an hour—anytime you want to cook beans without soaking them overnight, or anytime you’ve forgotten to soak them a day in advance. It works especially well here because, by soaking the pork along with the beans, you kill two birds with one stone. (I soak the dried or cured pork to remove some of the intense curing-and-smoking flavor. If you like it intense, just rinse the pork under cold water before adding it to the soup.)

In Tuscany, cannellini beans would be paired with tuna for a similar dish. I don’t see why black-eyed peas or kidney beans couldn’t be used as well. Just make sure the beans are tender—almost to the point of breaking—so that they absorb the tuna flavor and stay put on the toasted bread, if that’s how youchoose to serve them. Don’t be afraid to crush them lightly!

When I lived in Israel I became a huge fan of falafel—a warm pita filled with hot, crispy balls of golden chickpeas, rich sesame dressing, and cool tomatoes. It has so many great flavors—and a lot of fat. This version calls for the falafel to be baked rather than fried—and served as a salad rather than a sandwich.

Ceci are chickpeas. This is a classic, simple Italian dinner. Thousands of tired Romans will be eating it tonight; how about we join them? Greens dressed with vinegar and oil would make a good side dish.

In Southern Morocco, this Sabbath stew was cooked first over a wood fire and then kept warm in a pot tucked under the hot sand. In Spain and northern Morocco, it was cooked in communal ovens in the Jewish quarter of cities. Called by the Jewish youth of France today “daf marocaine,” this flavorful stew, also known as skeena—meaning “hot” in northern Morocco—is preferred by many young people to ordinary cholent (see page 213) for Sabbath lunch. Today in France the meat is usually beef rather than the lamb or mutton more commonly used in North Africa. For this one-pot meal, the rice and/or wheat berries or white beans must be kept apart for cooking, so that they can be served separately. Carène Moos encloses the seasoned rice and wheat berries in pieces of gauze or cheesecloth, knotting the cloth to make two individual bundles.

In her modern kitchen, with its sleek mauve cabinets and red-and-purple tiles, Annie Berrebi showed me how to make this landmark dish. The stew can be prepped in advance and finished with a few minutes of simmering. Annie often freezes leftover grains of cooked couscous and then pops them into the microwave before using. Unlike Moroccan Jews, who serve their food in courses as the French do, the Berrebis serve everything at once (couscous, salads, and hot sauce). During this absolutely delicious meal, Annie told me, “I miss the sun in Tunis. But I love Paris. We have made our lives here.” You can either serve the couscous, fish balls, and vegetables on different plates, as Mrs. Berrebi does, or, if you want to make a big splash, as I like to do when presenting such a grand dish, pile the couscous in a pyramid on a big serving platter, then arrange the fish balls and the vegetables around it. Ladle the broth all over, and garnish with the cilantro. Pour some extra harissa into a little bowl, and put that on the table alongside cooked salads such as carrot salad (see page 112) or a tomato salad.

Eveline Weyl remembers growing up in France with a green-wheat soup, served every Friday evening. “We called it gruen kern or soupe au blé vert, and it was made, basically, by simmering onions and carrots and using green wheat to thicken the broth,” she told me. “My mother said it was very healthy for us children.” I asked all over for a recipe for this dish but couldn’t find one. Then, watching a Tunisian videographer from Paris taking photographs of his mother making soup, I realized that the soup Tunisians call shorbat freekeh, made with parched wheat, is nearly the same as the green-wheat soup for which I had been searching. Young green wheat is available at select health-food stores these days, and made into juice. Ferik or freekeh is the parched substitute. I like this soup so much that I often use barley, bulgur, wheat berries, or lentils if I can’t find the green wheat. In fourteenth-century Arles, Jews ate many different kinds of grains and legumes. Chickpeas, which came from the Middle East, and green wheat were probably two of them. The original recipe for this soup called for lamb bones, but I prefer a vegetarian version. The tomato paste is, of course, a late addition.