Soup/Stew

These pork dumplings can also be served by themselves without the soup. Just steam them instead of boiling them in the broth. You will have leftover filling, so you can make it once and serve it twice.

Roasting red bell peppers is a snap in the convection oven because the heat can be so intense that the skin on the peppers chars without cooking the flesh. Pureed and thinned with chicken stock, they turn into a stunning and flavorful soup.

Roasting concentrates the flavor of tomatoes in this light, refreshing, easy-to-make soup. It’s irresistible either hot or cold.

This thick and creamy soup gains a rich flavor when the potatoes are roasted in a bit of bacon fat.

Roasting brings out a deep concentrated flavor in foods. This soup tastes incredibly rich, but is low in fat and calories. However, I sometimes garnish the soup with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream.

Here’s a soup for late summer when eggplants, tomatoes, and red peppers are luscious and ripe. Top the soup with a dollop of plain yogurt and pesto for added zip.

There are two kinds of pumpkins—those intended for carving jack-o’-lanterns, and those that are usually smaller and rounder, with thick, fleshy skins, which are intended for pumpkin pies. Either kind of pumpkin is suitable for soup, though you may need to drain the jack-o’-lantern’s cooked flesh to concentrate the pulp. In the convection oven, you can roast the pumpkin to make pumpkin puree. See the Note below.

Cooking the onions for this hearty soup requires less tending in the convection oven than in a saucepan and the aroma is just as wonderful!

This updated classic soup of Mexico is easier to make when you let the convection oven do the cooking. Add a squeeze of fresh lime juice to each bowl when you serve it.

In the introduction to this chapter, I tell about the extraordinary red onion from Tropea. Its healing qualities have been promoted since Roman times. And though not widely publicized, the wine-red onion is particularly valued by the men of the coast for its capacity to enhance a certain romantic vigor—a legend now confirmed by recent scientific research, we were told, that found la cipolla rossa di Tropea naturally rich with the same compound as delivered by the drug Viagra! I can’t comment on that, but I can tell you with certainty that one can only love any dish featuring the Tropea onion, whether raw or cooked. This wonderful soup, with lots of onions and good San Marzano tomatoes, is the one that we sampled in Calabria and that I have since re-created at home. Made with American-grown sweet onions, it is almost as good as the original version. It can be a meal in itself, or a very special opening course.

In the coastal areas of Basilicata, the varied catch of the day is the basis of this uncomplicated yet very tasty fish soup. Here I recommend using monkfish and grouper fillets, both with firm texture, so they won’t fall apart in the zuppa. Halibut is another good choice. Indeed, many varieties of fish and shellfish can be prepared this way, as long as you adjust the cooking time so the flesh remains intact and avoid overcooking. If using clams or mussels, use a wider pot, so the shells do not break the meaty fish as they open. For a more substantial dish, place a slice of grilled or toasted country bread, or a few slices of spicy potato, Patate Lessate con Diavolicchio (page 302), in each soup bowl before ladling in the zuppa di pesce.

In the dialect of the Lucani (as natives of Basilicata are known) maritare means “to wed,” and I have always thought that this wonderful soup was so named because it was customarily served at wedding celebrations. Recently, however, while doing some research, I came upon another explanation of why it is called maritata—because it weds vegetables (in the soup base) with meat (in the polpette), and with this added protein it becomes a complete and balanced one-course meal. I like both interpretations of the name and believe they’re compatible. Certainly a young couple, on the brink of their first night as newlyweds, can use this fortifying nourishment! There are many ways to prepare and serve a soup with multiple elements like this one, and you can of course play around with the recipe here. One variation is to fry the meatballs rather than poaching them. Though it takes a bit more work, it does give another layer of flavor (see my recipe for Meatballs in Broth in the Umbria chapter, page 196, for instructions on frying little meatballs for soup). Another option is to add cubes of provola to the soup just before serving. If you can get a good-quality Italian provola (mild provolone), this embellishment is superb. I’ve included instructions for this step at the end of the main recipe.

I love all kinds of Italian fish soups, having sampled countless versions of zuppa di pesce, served with just enough tomatoey sauce to slurp up with a spoon, as well as brodo di pesce, a flavorful fish stock usually with nothing but rice. A new discovery for me, though, was this Molisano version of brodo di pesce, with chard and peppers floating between chunks of seafood in a savory broth. Served with grilled bread or a slab of grilled polenta, it is indeed a complete meal. Relish it with a glass of crispy white wine from the region’s distinctive Falanghina grape varietal, and you can taste Molise beckoning you.

A minestra paesana of humble ingredients, this is a delightfully satisfying and flavorful soup. The soup base is built on a pestata, a bit of tomato, and, if you have one, a piece of hard rind left from grating cheese. (I hope you save these! They are a great addition to almost any soup or stock.) One of my favorite vegetables, celery—and lots of it—gives the soup a delicate yet distinctive taste. And just before serving, a few handfuls of ditalini (or other short pasta) cook in the broth, to provide texture and substance. Don’t add the pasta until you are almost ready to serve, because it becomes soft and soggy left in the soup. In Abruzzo, as elsewhere in Italy, only al dente pasta should grace a soup bowl—and that’s what this recipe will give you.

Legumes are a specialty of growers in L’Aquila, the big inland province of Abruzzo, and the pride of the region is the small, tender lentils grown in the mountain village of Santo Stefano di Sessanio. Since my recent visit to this remote, rugged settlement, I have had no doubt that it was in just such a place that this hearty and warming winter soup, thick with lentils and chestnuts, was created. These native foods, so good together, can surely sustain one through long cold winters in the high country. Unfortunately, the delicious lenticchie of Santo Stefano di Sessanio are a limited commodity and not available here. Instead, I recommend using lentils from Castelluccio in Umbria (see Sources, page 387) in this soup. Ordinary lentils are fine as well, though some larger types may need soaking or longer cooking time. Chestnuts, grown along the length of the Apennines, are also essential to Abruzzese cuisine. In season, they’re enjoyed in everything from pastas to desserts, and then, like lentils, dried for winter cooking or milled into flour. Though this soup can be made with fresh (or frozen) chestnuts, I use dried chestnuts, as is often the case in Abruzzo. These are available year-round and spare you the work of peeling. I also like the way they cook slowly without disintegrating, giving the soup a particularly nice texture. They do require an overnight soak, however, before you start cooking.

In Umbria, small meatballs are often served simply, floating in a bowl of hot chicken broth. This is a fine custom, in my opinion: it makes the soup more special and substantial, and the broth enhances the carefully homemade meatballs. The diminutive pork-and-veal polpette in this recipe incorporate small amounts of plump raisins, pine nuts, and orange zest—delicate flavors that might be overwhelmed by bold pasta sauce but stand out in a spoonful of light, clear broth. You can either fry or poach the meatballs (the fried have more flavor; the poached are healthier), but either way they are delicious.

This soup exemplifies the Ligurian love of vegetables, which is one of the things I love most about that cuisine. It demonstrates that with vegetables alone—there’s no meat or meat stock in it—you can cook immensely flavorful and satisfying dishes. This is my re-creation of the heavenly vegetable soup served by my cousin Lidia Bosazzi when my parents took my brother Franco and me to Genova before we immigrated to America. With more kinds of vegetables than I could count—and that aroma of pungent garlic, which I have never forgotten—this is one of the most satisfying soups I know. More than most dishes, soups accommodate variation and improvisation, and, as usual, I encourage you to experiment with this recipe. You don’t need every vegetable in the exact amount listed for the zuppa—use what you have or like. And even the all-important garlic can be reduced (or increased) according to your family’s taste. A substitution or addition that I recommend, in fact, is to use all the aromatic onion-family members that come in springtime—fresh spring onions and spring garlic with green shoots, scallions, baby leeks. They make every soup better. At home I make this in large quantities, and that is how I share it with you. With all the work of washing and chopping vegetables, I like to have plenty of soup to enjoy right away and a couple of quarts in the freezer for a future meal. You can cut the recipe in half if you like, but I believe you go through your days feeling better when there’s a delicious soup stored at home, ready to be enjoyed and to sustain you.

This might seem like an unusual dish, a pasticciata (a layered casserole) of bread and cheese that’s baked, cut into portions, and served in a bowl of hot broth. Yet the tastes and eating pleasure of seuppa ou piat will be completely familiar and welcome to anyone who loves the gratinéed crouton of French onion soup or enjoys a crispy grilled-cheese sandwich with a bowl of rich chicken broth alongside. This is a good dish for company, because you can have both the broth and the pasticciata hot and ready to be put together when your guests come. (Chicken stock is my preference, but a savory vegetable stock or a meaty beef broth is just as good.)

Every region of Italy has a fagioli (bean) soup, often quite filling, with potatoes and pork and either pasta or rice. Interestingly, it was in Trentino–Alto Adige, renowned for the heartiness of its soups, that I had this unexpectedly light bean soup, cooked with fresh apples and delicately spiced. It is vegetarian (also unusual), nourishing, and quite scrumptious. The combination of apples and beans is marvelous, and one of the pleasing features of this recipe is that simply by using less water you can make a great bean-and-apple side dish, a perfect accompaniment to roast pork, duck, or ham.