Fog, and a Pot of Pancotto

The fog came down in the night and simply stayed. I took my coffee to the step and couldn’t see the hill at all — only the first few metres of the garden and then nothing, the whole valley gone soft and grey. I like it more than I probably should: sound carries strangely, and the neighbour’s gate clanged twice and I couldn’t tell you from which direction. The cat never came. Even she has standards about damp.

By mid-morning I gave up waiting for the sun and walked down to the market anyway, which was half empty because the stallholders were being as sensible as the cat. I came home with a bunch of bietole and a few tomatoes, and with yesterday’s loaf sitting on the counter gone properly hard, which decided supper for me. Pancotto: greens and a potato simmered soft, then the stale bread torn in at the end and stirred until it collapses into the broth. My grandmother made it with whatever the garden handed her and called it nothing special, which is more or less why it’s good.

And here is my small mistake of the day. I salted the pot out of habit before tasting it, forgetting the bread was going to bring its own. It came out saltier than I meant. I stood there with the spoon, all ready to be annoyed with myself, and then I just laughed, because it was fine — the bread drank it up and the greens were sweet enough to carry it. Half the things I get cross about are that size. Taste first, then salt. It applies to pots and to most other things.

Somewhere in the afternoon I remembered that companion is built from the Latin for “with” and “bread” — a companion being, originally, someone you share bread with. I’ve been turning that over all evening. The loaf I was ready to write off as too hard to eat turned out to be the thing that made supper, and it made enough for two, so a bowl went across the road while it was still hot. The fog will be back in the morning, I think. There’s bread enough for one more pot either way.

Recipe: Pancotto with Greens

Ingredients

• 300 g stale country bread, torn into rough pieces
• 500 g greens (bietole, cime di rapa, or spinach), washed and chopped
• 1 medium potato, peeled and diced
• 2 cloves garlic, sliced
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 small dried chili, crumbled
• 1 litre water or light stock
• salt and black pepper
• grated pecorino, to serve

Preparation

1. Warm the olive oil in a heavy pot and cook the garlic and chili gently for a minute, without browning.
2. Add the potato and greens, stir to coat them in the oil, then pour in the water. Salt lightly and simmer until the potato is soft, about 20 minutes.
3. Stir in the torn bread and cook another 10 minutes, mashing a little with the spoon, until it breaks down and thickens the broth. Add hot water if it becomes too stiff.
4. Taste before adding more salt — the bread is already salty — then grind in pepper and let it sit off the heat for 5 minutes. Serve with a drizzle of raw oil and grated pecorino.