Maybe I’m just missing a screw, but if you ask me how I am, you’re going to get the truth: I’m tired. This week is stupid and unending. I’m gonna light something on fire if (something I’m irate at) doesn’t (insert unmeetable condition here). I’ve somehow aged 40 years in 5 days to become Father Time. Etc.

It’s not just other people on the receiving end of my aggressive honesty. I take the hit too. I have many grandiose meal plans half-started in an iCloud note. But by the time Wednesday comes around, ask me how many of them have materialized. I put absolutely zero performance pressure on myself to live up to my plans, which is otherwise known as “lacking discipline.” As a result, I have a lot of weird leftover ingredients from other ambitions that typically overstay their welcome before I finally, typically in the form of soup, figure out a kind and constructive way to kick them out of my house. It’s for that reason that Minimalist Minestrone made its first appearance in maybe 8 years this week.

I started making this in my early 20s because it’s cheap, vegetarian (part of why it’s cheap), cozy, good left over for a couple of days, and all of the ingredients could be easily purchased at the TJ’s across from my apartment in Chicago. I’ve made one upgrade since: a parm rind, which adds body and texture and saltiness to the sauce. Mine was old enough that it caused some emotional distress.

(Update, it was fine.)

The rest, including the bagged pre-chopped kale, is preserved and vintage. It didn’t need to change.

But it’s also I guess not really minestrone, because minestrone typically has a mix of veg and the only one I invite to the party is kale. It’s a little too brothy to be pasta fagioli, but maybe that’d be more accurate. The key takeaway is: I don’t care. Neither does anyone else. Technicalities are out. Minimalism is in. May this ‘strone spark some joy in your winter gloom.

RECIPE

Classic minestrone soup, minimum viable effort. Chunky vegetables, tender white beans, and tiny noodles are simmered together in a rich tomato broth that owes its luxurious silky texture to a parmesan rind simmered right in the pot.

Effortful time: 10 minutes

Total time: 1 hour

Makes 6 large bowls

YOU NEED

1 yellow onion, chopped
6 cloves garlic, minced
4 carrots, a chunky chop
2 tbsp. butter
28 oz. can fire roasted diced tomatoes
8 cups vegetable broth
2 bay leaves
Sprinkle of rosemary
Salt and pepper to taste
2 cans navy, great northern, or cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
8 oz. ditalini or other small pasta
1 bunch kale, any kind, ribs removed + roughly torn
1 Parmesan rind, optional if you’ve got one
Parm or pecorino, for serving
Chili flakes, for serving

MAKE IT

Build your aromatic base. In a large (5qt) Dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat. Sauté the onions and carrots til soft, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook one minute longer, until fragrant.
Assemble your soup. Pour in the fire roasted tomatoes, beans, and broth. Season with rosemary, salt, and pepper. Tuck in the bay leaves and a parm rind if you have one. Add the butter. This is a familiar trick from tomato butter sauce, which softens the base and makes it more well-rounded and less acidic.
Cook your soup. Simmer on low, partially covered, for 45 minutes minimum. You can simmer longer if you like.
Throw in your add-ins. After 45 minutes you should have a slight reduction on the broth and things should be looking pretty burnished. Turn the heat up to medium-low, add the chopped kale and ditalini (or whatever noodle you’re using), and stir so the kale begins to wilt under the heat. Cook uncovered for whatever the pasta’s cook time is, probably about 10 minutes. Fish out the parm rind and bay leaves and toss them.
Serve it up. Ladle into bowls and serve with fresh parm, pepper, chili flakes, a drizzle of olive oil, a piece of crusty bread, or whatever your Italian enough heart desires.

minimalist minestrone

RECIPE

YOU NEED

MAKE IT