Rachel Roddy’s four bean-based recipes suitable for vegans

Friday nights at Pizzeria Remo run like boisterous clockwork. Whether you've been going there all your life, or it is your first visit, the routine is always the same. You put your name and number on a list, then stand in line until you're called, the disorderly queue spilling from the pavement into the street. If all your group has arrived, you bump your way through the narrow pizzeria – past the wood oven and the three pizzaioli, with bandanas and floury hands, spinning and paddling – to a table that seems far too small, but you all fit in anyway. Once you have all got your legs under the table, you immediately have to dislodge them so the waiter can cover the table with a paper cloth, which you help tame as he dumps on to it a pile of small plates and cutlery, a slip of paper – the menu – and a blue biro with which to mark up your order.

We mark up the same things every week: a marinara and a capricciosa, a small red pizza, water and a litre of house red. But first, fried things on squares of white paper, a battered and fried courgette flower (not as good as they used to be). And, always, a plate of white beans.

I love how Italian bean dishes could include meat and dairy, but so often don't – becoming, like so much good southern Italian food is, incidentally vegan.

At Remo, they are just small white beans – among them a piece of carrot and a ribbed inch of celery, around them some cloudy broth and a halo of olive oil – but they are delicious, at just the right point between floury and creamy: Romans say so' come burro, “like butter”. They come with two great cushiony slices of bread with which to sop up the broth. “I think they cook these beans in the pizza oven,” I tell my friend, another Rachel, before going on about ashes and beans in a flask. The waiter, his allegiance to Lazio emblazoned on both his T-shirt and his forearm, comes over to get plates. “You cook these in the wood oven?” I ask. He looks blank. I try again. “You cook the beans in the pizza oven?” At this he makes a sound, the Roman equivalent of “nah”, and tells me we are not in Tuscany. “We soak them, chuck them in a big pan with carrot and celery and cook them until they are soft like this,” squeezing his fingers. “Buoni, eh?”

Cannellini beans, borlotti beans, kidney, haricot, black-eyed beans ... I am not sure what we would do without them. They are as much the backbone of what we eat as bread, pasta and potatoes are. Italians have a way with beans that puts them firmly at the heart of everyday food, without the shackles of being good for you or good for your pocket – though they are both.

Various varieties of beans work, but mottled borlotti are particularly good for cooking into an almost roasted-chestnut-like softness for this Patience Gray-inspired stew of beans, potato, tomato and herbs. It lends itself to variation though, so try it with different varieties of bean, seasonal vegetables and herbs.

Patience Gray's bean stew (main picture)
For today's recipe, the beans do need soaking (I leave myself a Post-It reminder near the kettle).

1 Cover the beans with fresh water, bring to the boil for 5 minutes, then drain and rinse. If you are using fresh tomatoes, peel them by plunging in boiling water for a minute, then cold water, at which point the skins should peel away. For tinned, drain the juice. Chop the tomatoes roughly.

2 In a large, heavy-based pan over a low heat, fry the onion, garlic and a pinch of salt in the olive oil until soft and fragrant. Add the chopped tomatoes, crushing them against the side of the pan, then simmer for 2 minutes. Roughly chop the parsley and celery leaves, then add to the pan along with the thyme and allow to bubble for a minute more. Add the diced potato, beans and another small pinch of salt, stir then simmer for a minute more, cover with hot water and cook gently for 90 minutes or until the beans and potato are soft. The dish should be soupy, so if at any point the pan looks dry, add more water

3 To serve, sprinkle with a little more chopped parsley, a thread of olive oil, or some chopped red chilli, if you like.

Braised artichoke and butter beans
To serve four: Dice 1 onion, 1 carrot, 1 small leek and 1 stick celery, then in a large, deep pan with a lid, gently fry with a pinch of red chilli flakes in 6 tbsp olive oil over a low flame until soft and fragrant. Meanwhile, trim and quarter 3 globe artichokes, dropping the pieces into a bowl of juice of ½ lemon mixed with water as you go. Once ready, add the artichoke pieces to the pan along with 1 potato, peeled and diced and a pinch of salt. Stir so each piece glistens with oil, add 250ml white wine then reduce to a simmer, cover and leave to braise for 15 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender,stirring occasionally. Stir in 2 drained tinfuls of beans. Cook uncovered for 5 minutes, stirring, until soft and brothy. Season, set aside then gently reheat to serve with bread.

Pasta e ceci – pasta and chickpea soup
To serve four: Gently fry 1 onion and 1 stick celery – both finely diced – in 6 tbsp olive oil until soft and fragrant. Add 1 small, diced potato and stir until each chunk glistens. Add 1 sprig fresh rosemary, 1 tsp tomato puree and a small pinch of chilli flakes, stir and cook for a minute. Add 2 tinfuls of chickpeas, drained and rinsed, along with 1.2 lites of water and a pinch of salt. Bring to the boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer for 20 minutes. When cooked, decant half the soup from the pan, blitz, then return it to the pan. Season to taste, then bring to a steady but moderate boil. Add 120g small dried pasta. Stirring pretty attentively, cook until tender, adding water if necessary. Season and top with olive oil to serve.

White beans and wilted greens
To serve four: Fry 2 chopped garlic cloves, 1 chopped onion, 1 diced celery stalk and a chopped small dried chilli over a low heat for 8 minutes, or until soft and fragrant. Raise the heat and add 700g chopped greens (such as swiss chard, spinach, dandelion greens) a handful at a time, adding the next with a tiny pinch of salt when the previous one has wilted a little. Cover and cook for 5 minutes, or until the greens are soft. Remove the lid, cook for another 2 minutes, add 250g of cooked cannellini beans and a cup of their cooking broth, stir and cook uncovered for about 5 minutes. Serve with garlic-rubbed toast, grilled sausages or white rice. Alternatively use an blitz into a thick soup; top with breadcrumbs.

Dining at Decca is as illuminating as it is delicious

It would seem that nothing at Decca happens by accident. There is a purposeful nature to the cuisine, no element on the plate overlooked.

In other kitchens, this could translate to well executed yet predictable food.

In Decca's case, it sets the stage for a dining experience that is as illuminating as it is delicious.

From the just-burnt-enough brussel sprout leaves found amongst the mussels, to the briny bottarga shavings over housemade cavatelli, to the raw cucumber accompanying the crispy Texas redfish, unexpected supporting characters bring about the best in whatever is taking center stage on the plate. It is a dining experience that doesn't allow any note of flavor to be left to chance nor taken for granted.

It is a dining experience worthy of four stars.

I lived downtown during Decca's lengthy construction and I have dined at Decca several times since the doors opened in 2012. I have always been pleased with my meal and service, though it never quite impressed me like it has as of late.

Every aspect of the Decca experience has firmly come into its own and appears to only be improving with age. Guests will pay top dollar for this experience and I find it to be worth the investment.

A more accessible encounter with Decca may be had in their cellar bar. The intimate, basement level space is walled in massive exposed stones and equally imposing wooden beams run down the center of the room.

Bar bites in the $5 range can be had in the cellar, and they are best enjoyed with one of Decca's cocktails, like the Old Pal ($10), a classic blend of rye, dry vermouth and Amaro that boasted an essence of peach thanks to the unexpected but happy addition of peach liqueur. A favorite signature creation is the Chupacabra ($12), a nuanced, mezcal-based drink married with ginger, cilantro, and chili and double strained, imparting a slightly spicy, herbaceous undertone.

Seated in Decca's first-floor dining space during a recent dinner, we found that the Chupacabra paired particularly well with the avocado toast starter ($14), featuring thin, perfectly ripe slices of avocado fanned atop a toasted slice of seeded bread. Equally thin, raw shavings of asparagus rested atop the avocado, pickled serranos and a bright green goddess dressing completing the dish. It is an excellent example of chef Annie Pettry's keen and creative sense of composition when it comes to both flavor and plating.

The pan roasted mussels ($16) illustrate this point as well. The mussels are cooked in a delicate curry broth and tossed with burnt brussel sprout leaves and peas. A dollop of creme fraiche and a thick slice of charred bread are the ideal counterpoints.

Pasta is my Achilles' heel and I am quite particular about its execution. Chef Pettry's three homemade offerings are among some of the best pasta dishes I've experienced in recent memory. Her linguine verde ($17) is a spot-on version of pasta with clams. The fresh cream sauce coated each al dente noodle just so, with bits of green garlic an ideal partner for the sweet and tender littleneck clams, which imparted that touch of brininess I so love in this classic dish.

Given the meatiness of the morel mushrooms, one would never know that the ricotta cavatelli ($18) was a vegetarian wonderland. Shavings of celery, caraway seed, and a final flurry of bottarga were ingenious ingredients that allowed this compilation to make perfect sense.

Five main courses and four shareable side dishes round out Decca's dinner menu and the crispy Texas redfish ($29) is not to be missed. Served in a large shallow bowl, a perfectly clear leek brodo is poured table side, soaked up by couscous resting beneath the expertly seared redfish. The inclusion of peanut, cucumber and hints of citrus made every bite that much more interesting. The only element this dish lacked was a touch of spice.

The mustard jus accompanying the wood-grilled pork chop ($30) ensured this offering was not for want of spice. Pearls of mustard seed mixed and mingled with the ample chop; the pickled peaches were a sweetly-sour ideal counterpoint.

Our decadent finish at Decca involved a just-rich-enough rectangle of coffee-scented devil's food cake ($9), crowned with a dainty chocolate meringue, a textural garnish that the dish would not have been the same without. But then again, nothing at Decca happens by accident.

Peachy keen and delicious

There are so many ways to enjoy a basketful of fresh peaches. Homemade peach ice cream, cobblers, refrigerator pies and peach jam are some of my favorites.

So I had plenty of ideas last week for the peck of July Flame freestone peaches delivered to work by my cousin, straight from a South Carolina farm. What a treat!

Even before I got the peaches home last Monday, I was thinking of ways I could eat them and couldn't wait to peel one, slice it in an bowl and enjoy the juicy goodness.

I had plans for making my favorite peach cobbler later in the week, but on Tuesday, I wanted something sweet to go with our supper.

In the fall and winter, my husband and I enjoy baked apples. Why not try baked peaches, I thought? I searched around the internet and saw many people do the same. So why haven't I done this before, I wondered?

The preparation couldn't be easier. I did the same thing I do with apples: Cut the peach in half, starting at the stem, and remove the seed. I cut the peaches way I cut an avocado — cutting all the way around with a knife, then twisting the two halves in opposite directions to separate. (I did not peel the peaches.)

Place the peaches in a baking dish. Add a little butter and brown sugar to the top of the peach and a maybe a sprinkle of cinnamon. Then top with chopped pecans if desired. I desired. That's it for the preparation!

The first time I made these, I used three peaches and baked them for about 20 to 30 minutes at 350 degrees, until the peaches were fork tender. I scooped two peach halves into each of our bowls and then added the finishing touch: a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

That ice cream worked its magic, melting slightly and forming a delicious topping that made the peaches even sweeter. What a delicious ending to our dinner.

A few days later, I decided to make the dish again at lunchtime. I prepared them the same way in a microwave-safe baking dish but then cooked them for 3 minutes in the microwave, instead of the oven, with the same yummy results. We ate the peaches this time without ice cream. The peaches had sweetened more and were still delicious without the ice cream on top.

There was a bonus to my baked peach treat. I had two baked peach halves left after the first night's dinner and immediately knew what I wanted to do with them. That night, I prepared a jar of overnight oatmeal, placing 1⁄2 cup of old-fashioned oats and 1⁄2 cup of milk in a Mason jar. Then I cut up the baked peach halves and added them and the remaining pecans to the jar. Everything went into the refrigerator until the next morning.

I was very excited about my breakfast that next day. I opened the lid before heating the jar for about 45 seconds in the microwave. What a delicious breakfast! I did the same thing with the microwave peaches — using the leftover peach in my oats.

I am so pleased I have found two new ways to enjoy the season's peaches. I just wish I had more opportunities to purchase peaches, fresh from the farm.

Once peach season has ended, I'll be baking apples for overnight oatmeal!