Zuppa di Pasta e Ceci with Rosemary-Garlic Toasted Chickpeas

Did you grow up in a chickpea family or a garbanzo family? The Los Banos Loefflers were fully garbanzo. I’m not sure if that’s a regional thing (like Hellmann’s vs. Best Foods), or if we just expected a little drama from our beans. Garbanzo! So much pizzazz in those three syllables. Plus it’s like if Greta Garbo dated Gonzo from the Muppets and TMZ came up with their celebrity couple name – and as a concept that just makes me hungry, you know? Garbanzo! Appetizing.

Garbanzo spotted at the Chateau Marmont!

No matter your lexical preference, this is soup is pure heaven derived from our old friend Cicer arietinum, who — with the addition of just a few beautiful ingredients and the magic of time — performs a rare and precious alchemy.

Wikipedia tells me that as one of the oldest cultivated legumes, chickpea “remains” dating back 7,500 years have been found in the Middle East. I promise you if they’d had this recipe, there wouldn’t be any dang remains. (Side note: That phrasing is creepy, no? “Remains” sounds a little too human. Like there could be chickpea zombies roaming around? Zombpeas? Somebody be a doll and edit Wikipedia for me, thanks.)

My mouth is watering just thinking about the ingredients right now.

I can’t give all the credit to the wee chickies here: As we all do, they need a bit of help if they’re going to fulfill their destinies and ascend to their rightful place in the firmament. In this case, the fairy godmothers who are the wind beneath their wings every step of the way are rosemary and garlic. First you cook the dried chickpeas in a fragrant bubble bath (kind of grossly accurate, as the water accumulates a scuzzy foam as they cook) with rosemary, garlic, sage and a Parmesan rind. Into the simple tomato soup base goes a few more cloves, and simmering the finished base with a sprig of rosemary adds a subtle flavor complexity, without venturing near any danger of achieving tomato soap rather than tomato soup. 

The finishing oil has more of both, along with a sprinkling of red pepper flakes to wake up your taste buds and let them know that if they die tomorrow, they die happy buds. And then you’ve got the toasted chickpeas on top: grated pecorino romano, more garlic, more rosemary. Obviously there are other ingredients that come into this soup’s life here and there, but from start to finish, Rosie and Garl (“It’s like Karl with a G!” he’s always explaining) are its Constants.

But imagine a Desmond made entirely of rosemary and garlic.

(Almost went with a “Keep calm and find your Constant” piece of Internet trash but was afraid someone might think I meant it.)

Let’s talk for a second about those toasted chickpeas. Maybe you’re not the kind of person who wants to add more texture to your soup. I get that. Soup is a soft food, and we’re all getting older – maybe you just need to nuzzle into it like a Snuggie on a Thursday night while you’re listening to a book about the dictionary on Audible. That’s FINE. You don’t have to put the little crunchmonsters on top of the soup if you don’t want to. But you really should make them. For you. You’ve got all the ingredients already, and you’re going to want to snack on these pretty much all the time. The romano sets them apart, making them not just a textural contrast but adding a bit of sharpness. Plus, if anyone asks what you’re doing while you’re throwing them into your mouth by the handsful, you can say 

you’re “hanging out with hot chicks” (my new euphemism, you’re welcome). 

Constantly surrounded by hot chicks. 

One more note, not so much on technique but preference. When you soak your dried chickpeas, remember you need a bowl much bigger than you think you need. I like to choose my bowl based on the pleasing sound it makes when the dried legumes bounce into it, so I always go ceramic over metal. Cooking is (news flash) a sensory experience, and every little choice you make in the kitchen brings with it an opportunity to increase your overall enjoyment. Therefore I implore you: stop leaving pleasant chickpea noises on the table! To sum up, in the words of my orthopedic surgeon telling me it’s sort of okay for me to go back to yoga: “You only live once.” Pretty sure he invented that saying. Catchy, right?

It’s apt that this soup was heaven, because the evening’s entertainment was catching up on The Good Place, a truly delightful show about the afterlife. Recently my friend Kendall reminded me of a quote from show’s pilot, in which our hero(-ish? Debatable.), Eleanor, objects to her ostensible infinite residency in The Good Place thus: “I was a medium person! I should get to spend eternity in a medium place! Like Cincinnati.”

Cincinnati has put in overtime in its role of pop-culture punching bag over the years, probably on fairly equal footing with soup’s extended stint as shorthand for the sad and alone. But I returned last night from two weeks in South Africa, wide-eyed and full of the beauty of that extraordinary country, and despite the fact that I wouldn’t be eating prawns that were just plucked from the ocean or seeing a seriously for-real wild lion a few feet from my open-air vehicle again anytime soon, I was thrilled to come home to soup and Cincinnati. If Cincinnati is a medium place, I guess I have a medium heart, because it fits just right. TAKE THAT, VERONICA MARS.

This will be my eighth year of a February well spent making soup in this cold but oh-so-warm city. I’m looking forward to sharing it with you, whether virtually or in person, at my house or yours.  If tonight was any indication, 2018 is a great vintage for soup.

I’m naming this soup half in Italian because it’s more fun, not because I lay any claims as to authenticity. Listen, man, language is fluid. Speaking of: the pasta shape here, anellini, means “little rings.” Oh, and in the spirit of having fun with language, and because obviously it comes from the same Latin word, you can pretend it means “little buttholes.” See how much fun we’re having? I have jet lag pretty bad.  

Zuppa di Pasta e Ceci
with rosemary-garlic toasted chickpeas

Adapted from this Smitten Kitchen pasta recipe, which is also very good if you'd prefer not-soup.

Serves 4

For chickpeas:

1 cup dry chickpeas (to yield 3 cups cooked)
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1 sprig each rosemary and sage
1 2-inch section of Parmesan rind
4 cloves garlic, unpeeled and smashed
¼ teaspoon whole black peppercorns

For soup:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 shallots, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes (or to taste)
3 tablespoons tomato paste
1 28-ounce can whole peeled San Marzano tomatoes
2 cups cooking liquid from chickpeas

1 sprig fresh rosemary
2 cup cooked chickpeas
½ cup anellini pasta (or other small shape)

For toasted chickpeas:

1 cup cooked chickpeas
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon grated pecorino Romano

For finishing oil:

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary
Pinch of red pepper flakes

Pour your dried chickpeas into a bowl and cover by at least three inches with cold water - they'll grow. Add 1 tablespoon kosher salt and leave to sit for at least four hours (or up to overnight).  

When you're ready to cook, drain the chickpeas and place them in a pot with 8 cups of water. It looks like a lot but it will reduce and you'll end up with about 2 cups to use as broth. Add in the other tablespoon of kosher salt and remaining chickpea ingredients. Bring to a boil, skimming the murky bubbles off as needed. Simmer until chickpeas are tender, which takes a different amount of time depending on how long you were able to soak them. I start checking at around 45 minutes (good practice plus it's fun to eat the chickpeas). It's okay if they're a little under - they're going to cook a while longer in the soup. When ready, remove the aromatics from the broth using a spoon or skimmer, and strain the cooking liquid into a bowl, reserving for the soup. Sort through the chickpeas for any stray chunks of garlic or peppercorns. Divide them into two bowls - one cup will be toasted and two cups will go into the soup.

Heat oven to 425F and roll one cup of chickpeas around in some paper towels to remove some of the moisture. Place on a rimmed cookie sheet and add the remaining toasted chickpea ingredients, stirring until coated. Pop the tray in the oven when it's heated, and bake for 15 minutes or until crispy. 

Meanwhile, start your soup. Shallots go in your soup pot with the olive oil and butter; cook on medium until the shallots lose their color and are nice and soft (~5 minutes). Add garlic and red pepper flakes and stir for another 30 seconds, then add tomato paste. Stir and let that sizzle for another minute or so before adding the can of tomatoes (with their juice) and the 2 cups of chickpea cooking liquid. Break up the tomatoes with your spoon, add the sprig of rosemary and bring to a simmer. Simmer for 20 minutes, then remove rosemary and remove from heat. Blend until smooth with an immersion blender. 

Return soup to heat and add anellini (or pasta of choice if I freaked you out with the little butthole thing) and 2 cups cooked chickpeas. Simmer until pasta is al dente - mine took about 20 minutes but depends on your noodles. 

While soup finishes cooking, add all finishing ingredients to a small saute pan over medium heat. Cook until garlic is just starting to turn the tiniest bit brown, then pour into a small bowl (you don't want it to get bitter, but a little crunch is delightful). 

Serve topped with a spoonful of finishing oil, a sprinkling of toasted chickpeas and a smile: you're about to have something good.

Bonus pro tip: If you're using a tube of tomato paste, mind your squeeze direction.

Stain would be worth it.