Neapolitan Escarole Bean Soup

A dive through the Serious Eats archive will reveal that I have a major soft spot for rustic Mediterranean bean-and-vegetable soups and stews. And I like them best when everything has been brought to the point of melting, verging on total breakdown—vegetables that are completely silky and beans that barely hold their shape while releasing their starch into the broth and thickening it.

I don't have a favorite. How can I choose among Tuscan ribollita, Provençal soupe au pistou, and this classic zuppa di scarola e fagioli (escarole and bean soup) from Naples and the surrounding region of Campania? Of course, I don't have to choose, but I will say this: Of the three, this one is by far the easiest and has the shortest shopping list, but it is no less delicious. Despite its minimal ingredient list—just beans, escarole, olive oil, garlic, and red pepper flakes—the soup is deeply satisfying and nourishing, a soulful bowl that fills you up and leaves you feeling great.

With so few ingredients, though, every one matters. What this means in practice is that if you want the best version of this soup, you should cook the beans from dried. I know that can sound like an annoying step, given all the soaking and cooking required, but I find that with a modicum of forethought to get the beans soaking the night ahead, the rest is easy, especially if you own a pressure cooker like an Instant Pot, which cuts the bean cooking time down to mere minutes while producing beautifully tender results.

That said, canned beans can be used in a pinch, and the soup will still be very good. As for the type of beans, there are no hard rules, though white beans, like cannellini, lend themselves nicely to the broth, as do beans in the borlotti family, such as cranberry beans.

I should note that I diverged from the traditional method in my recipe. Most Italian recipes that I've seen call for blanching the escarole first in a large pot of water, then transferring it to a second pot in which garlic and red pepper flakes have been gently fried in olive oil; the soup is then built on top of that.

I think there are two reasons for this. One, the blanching step can help remove any remnant sand or grit from the escarole, which it typically carries from the field. Two, escarole can be bitter at times, and blanching can help mellow its flavor before it's added to the soup.

I understand the potential benefits of both those reasons, but I decided to skip it anyway in favor of efficiency, and I believe the results are just as good. Of course, this does require washing the escarole very well. To do this, fill a large bowl with water, gently swish the escarole around in it, then lift it out and set it in another bowl. Wash out the first bowl and repeat at least two more times. Lifting the escarole out instead of just draining the bowl is key, because if you drain, you'll pour the sand that has settled on the bottom right back through the leaves, dirtying them again. By your third round of washing, you should no longer see any sand or dirt in the water, at which point you're ready to proceed (if you do see sand, wash again).

I have also found that the escarole I typically buy at the market is not bitter enough to need mellowing, so that removes the other main reason to blanch it first. If your escarole is very bitter, you may want to reconsider and add the blanching step back. The benefit of not blanching is that all the escarole's flavor stays in the pot and doesn't go down the drain with your excess blanching water.

As I mentioned above, I love this kind of soup most when the ingredients are breaking down and melting into each other. If you travel around, you'll find that not everyone makes this soup in the same way. Some leave it brothier, with the beans fully intact and floating in a light, escarole-infused liquid. You can make it that way if you want (cook everything less so it doesn't hit the breakdown stage of cooking). But I'd push you towards the thicker, more melted version if you've never had this before. I think it's—sorry, I don't have a better word—sexier.

When it comes time to serve, don't skip the toppings. Grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, fresh, grassy olive oil, and a generous sprinkling of just-cracked black pepper really do complete the dish and make it sing.