Northern Italian Barley and Cranberry Bean Soup

There are soups, and then there are stewps—ones you make when it's zero degrees outside, the sidewalks have turned into gray slush, and the idea of a salad feels vaguely offensive. This Northern Italian bean and barley soup lives squarely in that second category. It's thick enough to stand a spoon in, hearty without being heavy, and satisfying in the way only a pot of simmered legumes and grains can be. It's not quite soup, not quite stew, but a stewp, if you will—a category Northern Italian cooking has quietly perfected.

This is a simple, patient pot of food. The dried cranberry beans are soaked and simmered until tender; barley is added late to thicken without turning gluey, and just enough aromatics, olive oil, and rendered pancetta round out the dish. The payoff comes from treating a few simple ingredients with care—and knowing exactly when to add what.

And while it does contain pancetta, it reflects the way I've been cooking—and eating—more often lately: less meat, but not none. I still love a roast chicken or a good steak, but I've learned (annoyingly, my doctor was right) that leaning into beans, grains, and vegetables most days has reaped serious health benefits for me, making me feel better and eat more thoughtfully.

A Friulian Winter Classic

This soup comes from Friuli–Venezia Giulia, a mountainous region in northeastern Italy, where barley—orzo, in Italian—is a staple crop thanks to the cooler climate and higher altitudes. (In Italy, orzo does not mean the barley-shaped pasta Americans are thinking of; it means actual barley.) In Friuli, barley appears in risotto-like dishes and, famously, in this bean and barley soup, once considered peasant food and now recognized as a regional specialty.

You'll see this dish called both zuppa di orzo e fagioli and minestra di orzo e fagioli. While there are no firm rules about how these words must be used, zuppa tends to refer to a thicker, more rustic soup—often with bread (including in the soup)—while minestra suggests something slightly looser and more everyday, though still substantial. In practice, though, the names can be used interchangeably, especially region to region and household to household. Like many dishes born out of necessity, it resists rigid classification. What matters more than the name is its function as a warming, filling bowl built from humble ingredients. But while it's simple on paper, the difference between a bowl that's surprisingly delicious and one that's just beige lies almost entirely in technique.

Start With Dried Cranberry Beans, Then Brine Them

Cranberry beans—also known as borlotti—are essential here. They’re thin-skinned, subtly sweet, and break down just enough as they cook to help thicken the soup without turning grainy or chalky. Their ability to partially collapse is a feature. That slow breakdown is what gives this soup its body.

Canned beans can’t deliver that same effect. Because they’re fully cooked and pressure-processed, they tend to fall apart too quickly in long-simmered soups like this one, turning the broth muddy before the barley has a chance to cook fully. Starting with good-quality dried beans—preferably from a source with high turnover—gives you control over both texture and timing. That control is especially important here, where unevenly cooked or prematurely collapsing beans can throw off the balance of the this thick soup. Old beans, or beans stored poorly, only compound the problem, often refusing to soften at all.

The goal in this soup is deceptively simple: beans that are creamy and fully tender all the way through, with skins that stay intact just long enough to thicken the broth without sloughing off and turning grainy.

The problem is that a simmering soup can be a hostile environment for dried beans. Long cooking times, fluctuating heat, and constant stirring can cause beans to cook unevenly. Old or improperly stored beans make this even worse, leading to the dreaded pot of half-split, half-rock-hard legumes.

The solution is to brine the beans, and not just with salt. Soaking beans in salted water seasons them throughout, but adding a small amount of baking soda changes how they cook. Beans contain pectin, the structural carbohydrate that acts like cellular glue. Over time, calcium and magnesium ions bind to that pectin, reinforcing it and making beans harder to soften.

Baking soda works here primarily by altering the pH of the soaking water. By making the environment slightly more alkaline, it helps break down pectin—the structural carbohydrate that acts like cellular glue in beans. In alkaline conditions, pectin becomes more soluble, allowing water to penetrate the beans more evenly and preventing the skins from remaining stubbornly tough while the interiors soften.

Combined with the sodium present in both the salt and the baking soda, this pH shift encourages better hydration and more uniform cooking. The result is beans that turn creamy inside while keeping their skins tender instead of leathery or prone to splitting too early.

Restraint with baking soda is key, though. A little baking soda goes a long way, and the beans must be rinsed thoroughly after soaking to wash away any residue and avoid soapy or bitter flavors. Done correctly, the payoff is dramatic—especially in this dish.

Choosing the Right Barley

Barley is not interchangeable in this recipe—switch the grain and you have a different soup. My recipe calls specifically for pearl barley, which has had its outer bran removed. That processing allows it to cook evenly and release starch gradually, thickening the soup without turning gluey. Hulled, quick-cooking, or pre-steamed barley won't behave the same way. 

Trying to swap in another grain—farro, wheat berries, rice, or anything quick-cooking—will throw off both the liquid ratio and the timing. Some grains absorb far more water, others release little to no starch, and most won't tolerate the long, gentle simmer that pearl barley handles with ease. The result will be a soup that's either watery or overly dense.

Beyond its structure, barley adds a nuttiness and a faint sweetness that deepen as it cooks, giving the soup a toasty flavor that pairs especially well with olive oil, bay leaves, and beans. Added after the beans have softened, pearl barley slowly swells, creating that signature Friulian porridge-like consistency that blurs the line between soup and stew.

How Thick Is "Right"?

Traditionally, this soup is served very thick—closer to spoonable porridge than brothy bowl—and that's how I like it. But it's also forgiving. Add hot water if it tightens up too much, especially as it sits.

It's best when finished with parsley, a drizzle of olive oil, and a splash of red wine vinegar right before serving. Reheated gently the next day, it's just as good. This is humble food, yes, but I guarantee it will keep you warm, well-fed, and very content through the coldest days of winter.