Another week, another courtyard. But then Testaccio, with its plainly handsome 19th-century buildings mostly built in a figure of eight, has many courtyards. The courtyard of the flat I visited last week is smaller than most, more like a corridor, which is why the smell of beans met me long before the cook did. It led me, Bisto Kid style, up the right staircase to the right door.
I am not quite sure how to translate fa*giolata? Maybe I should borrow the translation of spaghettata, which is a feast of spaghetti for a group of people, change the spaghetti for fa*gioli (beans) making a fa*giolata a feast of beans for a group of people. My friend Irene’s mum was standing stirring a huge pot of pasta e fa*gioli, pasta and beans, when I arrived. On the table beside her, there was another pot of bean broth to lengthen the soup if more people than expected came. They did. Soon the room was full, a party for the local election, but before any talk of politics we all stood eating a soft, thick bean stew with thimble-like pasta, from plastic plates that drooped slightly.
On seeing a photo of the fa*giolata a few days later, a Roman friend happily settled in London sent me a note full of longing for Rome, for the ultimate one pot stew that brings people together. I wonder how many situations would turn out differently if a plate of pasta and beans was eaten first?
Pasta e fa*gioli is a dish for all seasons. In winter, it is made with dried or tinned beans, a serious soffritto of onion, carrot and celery, tinned plum tomatoes, served steaming hot. From late spring, when fresh borlotti are showing off their raspberry ripple stripes at the market, the same dish wears summer clothes, freshly shelled beans, an olive oil and garlic sofritto, ripe tomatoes, fresh egg pasta and served at much the same temperature as a summer night.
Along with flaming courgette flowers, cherries and blushing stone fruit, borlotti beans are sure signs of summer. Unlike broad beans, which never open as easily as they promise, borlotti are ideal podding beans, their lovely pink and white mottled pod – reminiscent of the inside of a fancy book – falling open to reveal a line of equally lovely beans. Give me a beer and the radio and I might tell you podding borlotti is my favorite kitchen task; give me a podding partner and it definitely is.
It is hard not to feel disappointed by the way the mottle fades into bruise-brown as the beans cook. Their flavour makes up for the loss, somewhere between a chestnut and buttery chickpea. One of my favoutite ways with borlotti is a Nigel Slater recipe: warm beans mixed with olive oil, salt and rocket – which wilts obediently.
For this recipe, it is important the beans are cooked to the right point, which, for me, is teetering on the farside of tender (my partner Vincenzo would have a bit more bite).
As with pasta and chickpeas, there are infinite versions of pasta e fa*gioli. Today’s summer version is inspired by the dish at a tavola calda called C’è Pasta e Pasta, where it is ladled with everyday ceremony from a fat, belly-shaped, terracotta pot that sits on the counter. It is rosy with fresh tomatoes, scented with rosemary, with just enough pureed beans to make it velvety and finished with badly cut pieces of fresh egg pasta.
To be too prescriptive about the recipe would be to miss the point of its generous nature. You can use whatever beans you like. The benefit though, of soaking your own beans or using freshly podded ones, is that many of the nutrients seep into the water as the beans cook, creating a starchy sauce of sorts, which is the ideal broth to put back into the soup.
How brothy or thick you like your pasta e fa*gioli is up to you, as is the amount of tomato. For herbs, many people like sage, but I think rosemary, all wild and sap green, flatters borlotti best, as does a little red chilli. The recipe is very straightforward, but you do need to keep an eye on the liquid levels, especially when you add the pasta. A swirl of olive oil, or some crumbed red chilli makes a nice finish.
Pasta e fa*gioli
Serves 4
400g fresh borlotti beans (this about a kilo of beans in their pods) or 170g dried borlotti, or 500g tinned
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves
A sprig of fresh rosemary
300-500g fresh tomatoes
Salt and black pepper
180g fresh egg pasta, cut into small, misshapen squares or 220g dried small pasta, or broken tagliatelle
1 If you are using dried beans, soak them for 12 hours or overnight. Drain, cover them with enough cold water that it comes at least 3 inches/10cm above the beans and cook at a simmer until tender, which usually takes about an hour and a half. Leave the beans to cool in their cooking liquid.
If you are using fresh beans, pod them, then cover them with enough cold water that it comes at least 10cm above the beans. Bring to a very gentle boil and then reduce to a simmer for 30 minutes or until the beans are tender. Leave the beans to cool in their cooking liquid. If you are using tinned beans, drain and rinse them.
2 Meanwhile, in a large, deep sauté pan or casserole, warm the olive oil over a low flame, add the peeled and gently crushed garlic cloves and rosemary, then fry them gently until fragrant. If desired, you can remove the garlic at this point. Peel the tomatoes, if you like, then roughly chop them and add them to the pan. Raise the heat just a little and cook the tomatoes for 10 minutes, or until soft and saucy. Add the beans and a couple generous ladlefuls of bean cooking water, then let the pan bubble away for another 10-15 minutes. Season with salt. At this point you may like to blend half the soup for a creamier consistency.
3 Add another couple of ladlefuls of bean cooking water and then the pasta. Continue cooking, stirring attentively until the pasta is tender. You may need to add a little more bean cooking water. Serve immediately.
- Rachel Roddy is a food blogger based in Rome and the author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard, 2015) and winner of the 2015 André Simon food book award
