We might have bags of them in our freezers all year long, but that doesn’t stop the rush of happiness at the sight of fresh peas in their pods. My four-year-old summed it up when he saw a great heap of them at the market the other day: he growled with approval, grabbed a pod, opened it, flicked out the peas with his grubby little finger, threw back his head and threw them in his mouth. Bravo, said the women next to us.
Of course, there is always the odd pod of cannonballs in the bag, but mostly the first peas are rather like young children, tender and innocent, little balls of sweet and savoury that pop enthusiastically. A gardening friend once told me the first peas you pick should be eaten there and then straight from the pod. He meant picked from the plant, but I know he would approve of picking them up from a market, or corner shop, or supermarket – these everyday celebrations of good things should be as inclusive as possible. Wherever you get your peas, I think it is a miracle if the first bagful make it home.
When they do make it home, if they are small and tender, peas need almost nothing doing to them. My pea ideal was with that same gardening friend, who keeps a gas stove in his allotment shed. He dropped some peas and a sprig of mint in boiling water for seconds, then drained the water from the pan on to the grass, dotted the peas with butter, then we ate them from the pot sitting looking at his plants grow. Back home, I am forever trying to recreate this moment, the almost dip in hot water, just enough to heighten the sweet, grassy flavour and vivid green colour. Otherwise, I braise peas, usually with other vegetables, so they can be added at the end, therefore cooking briefly in the sweet combined juices. If the peas are older, more mealy than tender, add them earlier; bear this is mind with today’s recipe.
Today’s recipe is for minestrone, a big spring soup. This is one of 10 recipes I make all the time, varying it according to what is available. At the moment, like the wilderness on top of Testaccio’s sleeping hill, the market and local shops are filled with youthful green, there are peas and shoots, broad beans, pencil-thin wild asparagus, young waxy spinach, courgettes, the first fine beans. This minestrone also needs a potato, and a tin of white beans (if you have cooked your own, even better).
The method is probably familiar, as is the addition of the parmesan rind with a chunk of cheese still attached, which melts into the soup giving it a deep, savoury flavour (and then a cook’s treat). Once you have your solid foundation of onion, celery and fennel, is very much up to you when you add things to the pan. I like the potato and green beans to be really soft, the courgettes tender, then I add the peas at the end. It is the most lovely soup, brothy, but with body from the collapsing potato, vegetables full of flavour and comforting, peas as bright and full of optimism as a spring day. It’s raining in Rome as I write this.
This soup is – like me – much better after a rest, a night even, which is why I almost always make double. You could add a handful of pasta or rice in the last 10 minutes of cooking, or serve the soup topped with some cubes of bread fried in butter. My favourite way to serve this soup though, is with a bright green blob of another faithful thing: basil pesto (no claims to authenticity here). I have given specific quantities for the pesto, to give you a general idea, but you don’t have to stick to them rigidly. Like the minestrone, the recipe for pesto is forgiving – if you are thoughtful about ingredients and bringing out the best in them, that is.
The recipe will make more pesto than you need for the soup, which means you have enough for another meal, which is always good news in this kitchen.
Spring minestrone
Serves 4
1 onion (ideally white)
2 celery stalks, with leaves
1 small fennel bulb
6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Salt
1 potato (around 100g)
100g green beans
A parmesan rind
1 litre water
1 courgette
200g white beans, cooked
150g peas (preferably fresh)
For the pesto
50g basil
30g pine nuts or almonds
100ml olive oil
1–2 garlic cloves
50g parmesan or pecorino, grated
1 Peel and finely slice the onion, along with the celery and fennel. In a large heavy-based pan, warm the olive oil over a medium-low heat, then fry the onion, celery and fennel, along with a pinch of salt, until they start to soften – about 5 minutes.
2 Peel and dice the potato, then trim and chop the beans. Add both to the pan – cook for another few minutes, stirring to make sure nothing catches.
3 Add the parmesan rind and water. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes. Dice the courgette, add to the pan, and simmer for another 15 minutes. Add the white beans and cook for another 10 minutes, adding the peas when you think best. Taste and add salt as necessary. Take off the heat and set aside, ideally for at least an hour.
4 Meanwhile, make the pesto. Pulse the basil, pine nuts, olive oil, and garlic together in a blender until you have a paste, then stir in the cheese.
5 If the soup has become too cool, re-heat it very gently, then divide between bowls, topping each one with a spoonful of pesto.
- Rachel Roddy is a food blogger based in Rome and the author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard, 2015) and winner of the 2015 André Simon food book award
