Red Wine With Chickpeas

When the Day of the Dead comes around, families in Piedmont, the wine region in northwest Italy, celebrate by eating a hearty zuppa di ceci, or chickpea soup. Cooks may make it throughout the fall or winter, but Nov. 2 is the one day when everybody eats chickpea soup.

Part of the tradition is to offer some of the soup to poor families, the elderly and the ill so that everyone can take part in the holiday.

I first tasted the soup almost ten years ago at one of my favorite restaurants in Italy, Ristorante Cacciatori. It’s in Cartosio, a small hamlet in the hills outside Aqui Terme, an old Roman spa town in Piedmont close to Liguria.

A few years ago I was lucky enough to be at the restaurant at the end of October, and I watched Maria Milano, who first entered the kitchen here in 1936, make her zuppa di ceci. Her family has had the restaurant since the end of the 19th century, but records show that the family has lived in Cartosio since the 16th century. It’s just she and her daughter-in-law Carla in the kitchen; her son Giancarlo takes care of the front of the house, along with grandson Massimo, and, when he’s not studying in Genova, grandson Carlo too.

First thing each morning Signora Milano lights the wood-burning stove (they use acacia and oak) that sits beside the sturdy gas stove. On this hazy fall day, fog swirls outside the windows, and her two cats watch the goings-on in the kitchen from the windowsill outside. The night before, chickpeas were put to soak in abundant cold water to which a pinch of baking soda had been added. Now she puts a big pot of water over the flat iron top of the wood-burning stove and scoops the soaked chickpeas with her hands into the pot. The water should be tepid, she says, never too hot or too cold, because the legumes suffer from temperature change.

“Don’t you try to rub off the skins?” I ask her.

No, she tells me, the skin gets soft with the bicarbonate of soda.

While the pot comes to a boil, she roughly chops garlic, onion, celery and carrot, the makings of tritata, the Italian version of mirepoix. Then, with the crescent-shaped mezzaluna she has used every day for more than half a century, she rocks the blade across the vegetables until everything is finely chopped. She chops a handful of parsley leaves too, and its fragrance wells up as she works.

Then, in a big skillet, she heats some olive oil and browns the tritata. Once the chickpeas have come to a boil, she skims off the surface foam with a slotted spatula. After ten minutes or so, she adds the tritata to the pot, splashing a little water into the skillet to make sure she gets up every bit of flavor--nothing is ever wasted in a Piedmontese kitchen--and then adds it back to the soup, which is vigorously cooking away.

Meanwhile, in another pan of water, she slowly brings pork riblets and pork skin to boil in order to de-fat them a little. After gently simmering them for about ten minutes, she adds them to the chickpeas.

After soaking and washing the Swiss chard, she cuts the white stems off at the base of the leaves and sets them aside for another purpose. (They might be used in a ravioli stuffing, or a savory vegetable tart. ) The chard leaves are cut into fettuccine-wide ribbons. Halfway through the cooking, she adds the mound of greens to the pot and continues to cook the soup until the chickpeas are tender--”un bel ora,” she says--a good hour. (At home, my chickpeas took 2 1/2 hours before they were tender--it all depends on the freshness of the legume. I’ve also found that if you wait to add the chard until after the chickpeas are tender, cooking for 15 minutes more, you can better preserve their green color.)

When she makes the soup for the Day of the Dead, the Milano family always offers some to the village priest and sisters. Zuppa di ceci is a very simple dish, and is considered a poor dish. But in reality, it is not so poor and it is not so simple, Massimo Milano tells me, as he sets a steaming bowl of soup before me. Richly flavored with pork rind and pork riblets, plump gold chickpeas and ribbons of Swiss chard, it is a grandmotherly dish. It’s even better with a swirl of green-gold olive oil, preferably one from Liguria, where the oils are generally lighter than the more pungent peppery Tuscan oils. The Milanos’ comes from a small producer in Liguria called Poggia d’Oro. Of course, I’m eating wedge after wedge of Signora Milano’s sublime focaccia, as plain as can be, dimpled on top, and cooked in the wood-burning oven. It’s Massimo who has put together the savvy, well-priced list of Piedmontese wines. And with this soup he suggests a young Barbera. We are, after all, in the middle of Barbera country. The bright fruit and fresh acidity play are a delicious contrast to the earthy tastes of pork, legume and greens. Try Icardi Barbera from the 1996 vintage, or Vietti’s single vineyard Barberas. And for something with more power and distinction, the 1995 Scavino Barbera (the one aged in barrique--small oak barrels--which says “affinato in Carati” on the label), Vigna Larigi from Elio Altare, and Sito Moresco from Angelo Gaja.

You’ll find that the chickpea soup translates well to California. I’ve made it a number of times, especially last year during the rains. When I made it for a dinner with friends one night, a small boy approached me as I stood at the stove, bowl in hand, asking for seconds. In the land of fast food, that’s quite a tribute to Maria Milano’s skills as a cook.

Ristorante Cacciatori is at via Moreno 30, Cartosio, Italy. Tel. 011-39-01-44-40123; fax 011-39-01-44-40524.

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Day of the Dead Chickpea Soup (Zuppa di Ceci) serve with a young Barbera such as

1996 Icardi Barbera

Vietti single-vineyard Barberas

1995 Scavino Barbera “Affinato in Carati”

Vigna Larigi from Elio Altare

Sito Moresco from Angelo Gaja

CHICKPEA SOUP (Zuppa di Ceci)

For efficiency, chop the vegetables as the soaked chickpeas are coming to a boil. The white stems of the Swiss chard don’t get used in the soup, but they might be braised as a vegetable or go into a stuffing for ravioli or other vegetables. Serve the soup in wide bowls garnished with fragrant extra-virgin olive oil.

1 pound dried chickpeas

Pinch baking soda

1/4 cup olive oil plus extra for drizzling

2 cloves garlic, finely chopped

1/2 large onion, finely chopped

1 carrot, finely chopped

1/2 celery stalk, finely chopped

Small handful flat-leaf parsley leaves, finely chopped

About 1 tablespoon finely chopped rosemary leaves

1 pound pork riblets, cut in 1-inch segments

1 (1/4-pound) piece pork skin (cotena) or 3 ounces pancetta, diced

1 large bunch Swiss chard, soaked, washed and white stems cut off at base

Soak chickpeas at least 8 hours in abundant cold water to which pinch of baking soda has been added.

Transfer soaked chickpeas to pot of tepid water and bring to boil.

Heat olive oil in large skillet over medium-high heat, add garlic, onion, carrot and celery and saute until onion browns, about 5 minutes, to make tritata. Add parsley and rosemary toward end of sauteeing.

When chickpeas come to boil, skim foam off surface with slotted spatula, reduce heat to simmer and cook about 10 minutes. Add tritata to chickpeas, splashing a little cooking water into skillet to make sure every bit can be scraped into pot.

Meanwhile, slowly bring pork riblets and pork skin to boil in separate pan of water to de-fat them slightly. When meat comes to boil, reduce heat and gently simmer about 10 minutes, then add meat to soup pot. Leave soup to simmer until chickpeas are tender (depending on freshness of chickpeas, this can take 1 to 2 1/2 hours).

Cut chard leaves into fettuccine-wide ribbons. When chickpeas are just tender, add chard and cook 15 more minutes.

Serve warm with drizzle of olive oil in each bowl added at table.

6 to 8 servings. Each of 8 servings, without extra olive oil:

391 calories; 114 mg sodium; 25 mg cholesterol; 21 grams fat; 37 grams carbohydrates; 16 grams protein; 2.57 grams fiber.

* Plates in photo above frome the Thrift Shop at Orthepedic Hospital, Los Angeles.