White Bean Soup: The Weather That Calls for It
It’s usually the time of year that tells me it’s time for white bean soup. I’m not someone who eats soup all year long. I do remember loving a bowl of chicken soup at 2 a.m., usually after a night out dancing with my friends and ending up at the Melrose Diner in Chicago.
These days, my craving for soup is more about the weather and the mood.
Chilly. Cloudy. The kind of day that gives you permission to exhale.
That’s when I pull out my Staub pot and start coaxing flavor from sautéed vegetables. Then come the beans, the broth, and whatever else feels right.
It’s the same instinct I follow on my Fridge Cleanout and Other Spiritual Practices days, when a few odds and ends turn into dinner.
A Kitchen Filled with Jazz and Garlic
Most of the time when I make it, my other half is watching TV in the background or, my favorite, taking a quick cat nap. That’s when I turn on my jazz playlist and let the music lead me.
The garlic hits the pan. The celery follows. Soon the kitchen smells like someone’s been cooking all day.
There’s a rhythm to it. Checking the beans. Adjusting the heat. Adding a little extra rosemary if I feel like it. Even before the soup is ready, the air feels different.
Warmer. Softer. More ours.
A Farm Memory in Every Bowl
While I’m stirring, I sometimes think back to our farm. Sixty-five acres of woods and open land. I had a rosemary bush that stayed green long after the first frost, garlic in the refrigerator, dried beans in the pantry, and a ham bone waiting for its moment.
If you’ve never cooked beans from dry, do it the slow way. It’s worth it.
One afternoon, I made my first pot of white bean soup in that little fire-engine red kitchen with its butcher block counters.
We had two fireplaces, one in the kitchen and one in the living room. I had a small fire going. The crackle of the wood was like a quiet whisper, telling me it was our time alone. The soup bubbled away, the rosemary scent curling into the air.
It was simple, but it felt like everything.
Cornbread, Always.
The Best Way to Serve White Bean Soup
For me, soup is never complete without something to scoop it up. With white bean soup, it’s always cornbread, brushed with butter so it’s soft enough to soak up the broth. Sometimes I’ll add a sprinkle of chives for color, but more often I leave it plain. When something is this good, it doesn’t need dressing up.
White bean soup is comfort you can ladle into a bowl.
It turns a gray day into something softer.
A warm pot on the stove.
Cornbread in your hand.
And for a second, the house sounds like a small fire again.
