(*note: point 1 and point 2 can be done the day before cooking)
You can still feel time in our Grandmothers’ kitchen. They have always cooked, every single day, as a duty to carry out more than a need and a pleasure to taste. It was a long, silent time in which they patiently waited for rising, boiling, browning, drying… What does food contain, apart from its taste? Other than time, it once contained patience, effort, dedication and love, the invisible ingredient.
I saw fragments of pots – cheap pottery which they used every single day for their whole life, black as the smoke they had to bear – reappearing as forgotten finds in the darkness of dusty cupboards, after being forgotten for centuries.
The great patience they put in slow cooking was repaid by a few minutes of enthusiasm and sharing around old worn-out tables which had suffered any kind of thing. After working for a long day in the fields, they could forget their strain there, around the fireplace, the heart of a humble home.
It is remembering that make things precious. The right time – what is needed – to make them happen.
I choose to cook slowly, to honor the pot which once saw my Great-grandmother ‘s grave profile proudly watching what was happening inside of it.
Gushes of tomato and the scent of minced rosemary are only an excuse to match the already rich taste of borlotti beans, which will slowly turn into a creamy soup with Mediterranean flavors, hot and spicy.