Dishes saved from Italy’s era of necessity

A make-do theme runs through much of this inexpensive and elegant canon: beans, root vegetables and cabbages, a special role for tomatoes, a bit of meat for flavor, stale bread, and a sprinkle of precious Parmesan. Long before lardo was a Food Network fetish, a little was often added raw to the pot, so the fat could lend the dish its flavor (rather than browning first).

There has always been a pronounced difference between the high cuisine of Italy’s elite and family cooking. Italian immigrants brought these dishes to the industrial regions where they lived. Animal fat was sometimes a luxury, as were refrigerators and store-bought vegetables. Now olive oil, cooking what’s in season, and eating local are, to the consternation and delight of my father, status symbols: “When the Italians were having hard times, like when Grandpa was on strike at the factory, all the Italian women would make stombauta.’’ Stombauta, a hearty meatless meal made with cabbage, bread, and beans, is warming, beautiful, and fragrant. Perhaps this forgotten dish will make an appearance on a new Mario Batali menu.

Let’s beat him to it, shall we?

Other dishes designed to repurpose stale bread and leftovers are now mainstays of high-end Italian dining. Recently, when I was having guests over, I made a thick vegetable soup as an appetizer. My mother was surprised such a hearty dish would begin the meal. “The zuppa is the main course,’’ she said adamantly. “After you serve it, no one is going to eat anything else, except maybe dessert.’’ Of course, no one was interested in my main course. They were either full, or wanted more zuppa di fagiolini e polpettini - green bean and meatball “soup.’’ And this recipe makes a lot.

The word soup is in quotes because the dish is not really a soup. The name comes from the word zuppo (soaked, drenched). Meatballs, green beans, and potatoes soak in a delicious broth (brodo). My grandmother’s recipe harkens back to a time when a little meat had to go a long way. Here three pounds of ground sirloin and pork satisfies a dozen hungry people (you can cut the recipe in half, but Nana always made a big pot). The cooking strategy is brilliant, and the taste is unforgettable.

Where once zuppa was a way to feed an extended family with high expectations and a low budget, now it just might be the best way to impress a tableful of guests for less than $20. It’s even better the following day.

I’d be remiss not to mention a true soup here. Many Italian-American families have a version of minestra (often pronounced “ma-NEST’’), a spicy, satisfying bowl of greens and beans. The recipe - and the details of its preparation - are a subject of spirited debate between families and, of course, among women in the same family. You may hear something like, “She puts bologna in her minestra.’’ It’s a culinary indictment, and, if accompanied by that certain look of disapproval, a suggestion of moral weakness.

In Italy, these soups are made using cacciatorini (a dry, aged, spicy salami of pork and beef) or salsiccia Napoletana piccante (an excellent dry sausage from Naples). If you can find these locally they make a nice minestra. I normally use the thin, dark-colored (and higher quality) pepperoni (an Italian-American invention, by the way) that you find at better markets and Italian delis. Avoid the fatty light-red pepperoni that, if it belongs anywhere, is used on commercial pizza.

The number of recipes that came out of this era is enormous, and they are a joy to rediscover. Of course, this is where I thank Nana and all the Italian grandmothers who nurtured and passed down their food. I’m sure she would be amused and profoundly surprised to find bruschetta, lardo, and polenta on rarified menus.

And delighted to know her grandson is cooking her dishes.