Squash Soup Quotes

Burned and squashed to death in a silver vat of soup. There must be worst ways to go. But not many.

So then they’d snuggled up to each other, naked, and started to talk. Ezra told her about the time he was six and sculpted a red squirrel out of clay, only to have his brother squash it. How he used to smoke a lot of pot after his parents got divorced. About the time he had to take the family’s fox terrier to the vet to have her put to sleep. Aria told him about how when she was little, she kept a can of split pea soup named Pee as a pet and cried when her mom tried to cook Pee for dinner.

It was a delicious meal -- skim milk, wheat middlings, leftover pancakes, half a doughnut, the rind of a summer squash, two pieces of stale toast, a third of a gingersnap, a fish tail, one orange peel, several noodles from a noodle soup, the scum off a cup of cocoa, an ancient jelly roll, a strip of paper from the lining of the garbage pail, and a spoonful of raspberry jello.

In Vietnamese hoa means 'flower' and the first thing we noticed on the menu was lau hoa, flower hotpot. This was where we were meant to be. Stunning fresh blossoms of squash, daylilies, white so dua flowers, lotus stems and yellow velvetleaf buds made up the floral ingredients in our flower hotpot. All of these were cooked together in a light pineapple soup base that included chunks of salmon. The restaurant's brochure explained why the name had been chosen: 'Chi Hoa, which means "flowers", is a common name of many Vietnamese women who are sophisticated, caring and always bring great love into every meal they cook for their family.

Naomi: ‘And when we die we become an onion, a cabbage, a carrot, or a squash, a vegetable.’ I come downtown from Columbia and agree. She reads the Bible, thinks beautiful thoughts all day. ‘Yesterday I saw God. What did he look like? Well, in the afternoon I climbed up a ladder—he has a cheap cabin in the country, like Monroe, N.Y. the chicken farms in the wood. He was a lonely old man with a white beard. ‘I cooked supper for him. I made him a nice supper—lentil soup, vegetables, bread & butter—miltz—he sat down at the table and ate, he was sad. ‘I told him, Look at all those fightings and killings down there, What’s the matter? Why don’t you put a stop to it? ‘I try, he said—That’s all he could do, he looked tired. He’s a bachelor so long, and he likes lentil soup.

And noted all the things he wished to fix up for the feast I think we’ll have a pastry, yes, of peas and onions, sage and cress I think we’ll have an egg soufflé or tartlet at the least I think we’ll have a roast of squash, full of flavor, nothing posh I think we’ll have a soup of greens with warm and toasty bread A meal of oats to warm the heart, I think would make a lovely start And jugs of wine with berries spiced the prefect shade of red

It has now been many months, at the present writing, since I have had a nourishing meal, but I shall soon have one—a modest, private affair, all to myself. I have selected a few dishes, and made out a little bill of fare, which will go home in the steamer that precedes me, and be hot when I arrive—as follows: Radishes. Baked apples, with cream Fried oysters; stewed oysters. Frogs. American coffee, with real cream. American butter. Fried chicken, Southern style. Porter-house steak. Saratoga potatoes. Broiled chicken, American style. Hot biscuits, Southern style. Hot wheat-bread, Southern style. Hot buckwheat cakes. American toast. Clear maple syrup. Virginia bacon, broiled. Blue points, on the half shell. Cherry-stone clams. San Francisco mussels, steamed. Oyster soup. Clam Soup. Philadelphia Terapin soup. Oysters roasted in shell-Northern style. Soft-shell crabs. Connecticut shad. Baltimore perch. Brook trout, from Sierra Nevadas. Lake trout, from Tahoe. Sheep-head and croakers, from New Orleans. Black bass from the Mississippi. American roast beef. Roast turkey, Thanksgiving style. Cranberry sauce. Celery. Roast wild turkey. Woodcock. Canvas-back-duck, from Baltimore. Prairie liens, from Illinois. Missouri partridges, broiled. 'Possum. Coon. Boston bacon and beans. Bacon and greens, Southern style. Hominy. Boiled onions. Turnips. Pumpkin. Squash. Asparagus. Butter beans. Sweet potatoes. Lettuce. Succotash. String beans. Mashed potatoes. Catsup. Boiled potatoes, in their skins. New potatoes, minus the skins. Early rose potatoes, roasted in the ashes, Southern style, served hot. Sliced tomatoes, with sugar or vinegar. Stewed tomatoes. Green corn, cut from the ear and served with butter and pepper. Green corn, on the ear. Hot corn-pone, with chitlings, Southern style. Hot hoe-cake, Southern style. Hot egg-bread, Southern style. Hot light-bread, Southern style. Buttermilk. Iced sweet milk. Apple dumplings, with real cream. Apple pie. Apple fritters. Apple puffs, Southern style. Peach cobbler, Southern style Peach pie. American mince pie. Pumpkin pie. Squash pie. All sorts of American pastry. Fresh American fruits of all sorts, including strawberries which are not to be doled out as if they were jewelry, but in a more liberal way. Ice-water—not prepared in the ineffectual goblet, but in the sincere and capable refrigerator.

As soon as I was immersed in my work, cutting up the kabocha squash for the winter butternut squash soup, dicing the carrots to braise in orange juice, and starting another giant vat of chicken stock, I allowed the aromas and natural muscle rhythms of the kitchen to sweep me up in what I loved. I calmed down and experienced--- as corny as it might sound--- the joy of cooking. I was in love with food, obsessed with it. Food wasn't just fuel; it could heal a broken heart, it could entertain, it could bring you home. Magic happened when a perfectly balanced dish came together. A beautiful symphony of flavors. Salty, sweet, acidic, crunchy, colorful, soft, hard, warm, cold. It should take you on a journey. Once I had an Italian dish called Genovese, consisting of braised rabbit over thick noodles with a carrot and pea sauce. It was so beautiful, earthy, clever, and delicious, and it warmed you from the inside. It was what I liked to call a "circle of life plate.

The last meal aboard the Titanic was remarkable. It was a celebration of cuisine that would have impressed the most jaded palate. There were ten courses in all, beginning with oysters and a choice of Consommé Olga, a beef and port wine broth served with glazed vegetables and julienned gherkins, or Cream of Barley Soup. Then there were plate after plate of main courses- Poached Salmon and Cucumbers with Mousseline Sauce, a hollandaise enriched with whipped cream; Filet Mignon Lili, steaks fried in butter, hen topped with an artichoke bottom, foie gras and truffle and served with a Périgueux sauce, a sauté of Chicken Lyonnaise; Lamb with Mint Sauce; Roast Duckling with Apple Sauce; Roast Squash with Cress and Sirloin Beef. There were also a garden's worth of vegetables, prepared both hot and cold. And several potatoes- Château Potatoes, cut to the shape of olives and cooked gently in clarified butter until golden and Parmentier Potatoes, a pureed potato mash garnished with crouton and chervil. And, of course, pâté de foie gras. To cleanse the palate, there was a sixth course of Punch à la Romaine, dry champagne, simple sugar syrup, the juice of two oranges and two lemons, and a bit of their zest. The mixture was steeped, strained, fortified with rum, frozen, topped with a sweet meringue and served like a sorbet. For dessert there was a choice of Waldorf Pudding, Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly, Chocolate and Vanilla Èclairs and French ice cream.

free copy of Donald Duck that fell through the letter box one autumn day, featuring a lottery with a thousand wristwatches (a thousand iPads in today’s youth economy) to give away. Not to mention the content. Donald Duck as a teacher. The nephews squash an ice cream onto their weary uncle’s forehead. Wasting a whole ice cream without a second thought! At some point, from that same America, packets of green-and-white powder arrived that a housewife could instantly transform into a pan of soup. ‘California’, the concoction was called. ‘California,’ we whispered. California. In the provincial town where I grew up, we lugged the cabbage, lettuce and potatoes we’d grown on our allotment past several new factories on the Marshallweg, a road named after a general who, as I understood it, had paid to set up all

The pressure is on. They've teased me all week, because I've avoided anything that requires ordering. I've made excuses (I'm allergic to beef," "Nothing tastes better than bread," Ravioli is overrated"), but I can't avoid it forever.Monsieur Boutin is working the counter again. I grab a tray and take a deep breath. "Bonjour, uh...soup? Sopa? S'il vous plait?" "Hello" and "please." I've learned the polite words first, in hopes that the French will forgive me for butchering the remainder of their beautiful language. I point to the vat of orangey-red soup. Butternut squash, I think. The smell is extraordinary, like sage and autumn. It's early September, and the weather is still warm. When does fall come to Paris? "Ah! soupe.I mean,oui. Oui!" My cheeks burn. "And,um, the uh-chicken-salad-green-bean thingy?" Monsieur Boutin laughs. It's a jolly, bowl-full-of-jelly, Santa Claus laugh. "Chicken and haricots verts, oui. You know,you may speek Ingleesh to me. I understand eet vairy well." My blush deepends. Of course he'd speak English in an American school. And I've been living on stupid pears and baquettes for five days. He hands me a bowl of soup and a small plate of chicken salad, and my stomach rumbles at the sight of hot food. "Merci," I say. "De rien.You're welcome. And I 'ope you don't skeep meals to avoid me anymore!" He places his hand on his chest, as if brokenhearted. I smile and shake my head no. I can do this. I can do this. I can- "NOW THAT WASN'T SO TERRIBLE, WAS IT, ANNA?" St. Clair hollers from the other side of the cafeteria. I spin around and give him the finger down low, hoping Monsieur Boutin can't see. St. Clair responds by grinning and giving me the British version, the V-sign with his first two fingers. Monsieur Boutin tuts behind me with good nature. I pay for my meal and take the seat next to St. Clair. "Thanks. I forgot how to flip off the English. I'll use the correct hand gesture next time." "My pleasure. Always happy to educate." He's wearing the same clothing as yesterday, jeans and a ratty T-shirt with Napolean's silhouette on it.When I asked him about it,he said Napolean was his hero. "Not because he was a decent bloke, mind you.He was an arse. But he was a short arse,like meself." I wonder if he slept at Ellie's. That's probably why he hasn't changed his clothes. He rides the metro to her college every night, and they hang out there. Rashmi and Mer have been worked up, like maybe Ellie thinks she's too good for them now. "You know,Anna," Rashmi says, "most Parisians understand English. You don't have to be so shy." Yeah.Thanks for pointing that out now.

Cendrillon specialized in seafood, so we had four fish stations: one for poaching, one for roasting, one for sautéing, and one for sauce. I was the chef de partie for the latter two, which also included making our restaurant's signature soups. O'Shea planned his menu seasonally- depending on what was available at the market. It was fall, my favorite time of the year, bursting with all the savory ingredients I craved like a culinary hedonist, the ingredients that turned my light on. All those varieties of beautiful squashes and root vegetables- the explosion of colors, the ochre yellows, lush greens, vivid reds, and a kaleidoscope of oranges- were just a few of the ingredients that fueled my cooking fantasies. In the summer, on those hot cooking days and nights in New York with rivulets of thick sweat coating my forehead, I'd fantasize about what we'd create in the fall, closing my eyes and cooking in my head. Soon, the waitstaff would arrive to taste tonight's specials, which would be followed by our family meal. I eyed the board on the wall and licked my lips. The amuse-bouche consisted of a pan-seared foie gras served with caramelized pears; the entrée, a boar carpaccio with eggplant caviar, apples, and ginger; the two plats principaux, a cognac-flambéed seared sea scallop and shrimp plate served with deep-fried goat cheese and garnished with licorice-perfumed fennel leaves, which fell under my responsibility, and the chief's version of a beef Wellington served with a celeriac mash, baby carrots, and thin French green beans.

We've been knocking out the basics all morning.... Asian chicken salad, fruit medley with mint, wheat berry pilaf with dried cherries and almonds. Kai roasted six chickens and a turkey breast, and grilled a whole flank steak, which he sliced thin across the grain. We have green beans in a spicy garlic marinade, braised black kale with smoked turkey, and roasted brussels sprouts. Our signature Morning Energy muffins, bursting with golden raisins and walnuts, sunflower seeds, millet, flax, and sweet with honey are cooling on a rack. We have thawed today's soup specials, which we cook over the weekends and freeze for the week, a golden butternut squash, smooth as velvet, and a chunky pasta fagioli, with whole wheat pasta, white beans, and loads of veggies.

First, a little plate of nibbles. Gingersnaps with a chunk of Port Salut drizzled with white truffle honey and chopped chili, a recipe I absconded from Phil's friends Peter and David when we visited them in New York last year." I can feel the mix of sweet heat and creamy cheese on my tongue. "Then, little espresso cups with kari squash soup. Braised short ribs with a pomegranate bourbon glaze, your famous asparagus salad, smashed fingerling potatoes with mascarpone and lobster chunks and chervil, and vanilla panna cotta with mixed berries macerated in elderflower liqueur and chocolate truffles.

She is never going to let me live down that stupid Thanksgiving," Kai says. I can't help but take the bait. "You made prime rib!" "It was delicious," Kai says, shrugging. "IT WAS BEEF! You can't have beef on Thanksgiving, except for appetizers like meatballs or something. You have TURKEY on Thanksgiving." Last Thanksgiving I spent with Phil and Kai, since I was orphaned and separated and Gilly couldn't make it from London. Everything was delicious, but it was like a dinner party and not Thanksgiving. The prime rib wasn't the only anomaly. No mashed potatoes or stuffing or sweet potatoes with marshmallows or green bean casserole. He had acorn squash with cippolini onions and balsamic glaze. Asparagus almondine. Corn custard with oyster mushrooms. Wild rice with currants and pistachios and mint. All amazing and perfectly cooked and balanced, and not remotely what I wanted for Thanksgiving. When I refused to take leftovers, his feelings were hurt, and when he got to the store two days later, he let me know. "Look," Kai says with infinite patience. "For a week we prepped for the Thanksgiving pickups." He ticks off on his fingers the classic menu we developed together for the customers who wanted a traditional meal without the guilt. "Herb-brined turkey breasts with apricot glaze and roasted shallot jus. Stuffing muffins with sage and pumpkin seeds. Cranberry sauce with dried cherries and port. Pumpkin soup, and healthy mashed potatoes, and glazed sweet potatoes with orange and thyme, and green beans with wild mushroom ragu, and roasted brussels sprouts, and pumpkin mousse and apple cake. We cooked Thanksgiving and tasted Thanksgiving and took Thanksgiving leftovers home at the end of the day. I just thought you would be SICK OF TURKEY!

Cassie concentrated on her soup. The turnip had been even sweeter than she expected and Aidan had added just the right amount of spices. She thought about some of the other vegetables the co-op clerk had suggested: yellow squash, zucchini, shiitake mushrooms. Tomorrow she'd go back and get some more recipes and try a vegetable crepe or an egg white omelet.

I hacked an old Crock-Pot and turned it into a sous vide machine, and did a turkey breast, and then seared the skin on the stovetop, so it is totally crispy, but the meat is BEYOND juicy. And the stuffing is a combination of homemade corn bread, homemade buttermilk biscuits, and brioche, with sage and thyme and celery and onion and shallot. And I tried the Robuchon Pommes Puree, and thought that there was no way to put THAT much butter into that much potato, but holy moley is it amazeballs! And I did a butternut squash soup with fried ginger and almond cake with apple compote." All the bustle has roused Volnay, who wanders over to greet Benji, and receives a dog biscuit for her trouble from Eloise. "Honey, breathe a little," I say, laughing. "It's just... I... I mean... THANKSGIVING!" he says, which cracks us all up.

FEATURES OF A NUTRITARIAN DIET •  Large green salads with seed/nut-based dressings •  Bean soups with carrot/tomato juice and cruciferous vegetables •  Green vegetables, onions, and mushrooms steamed or cooked in a wok •  Animal products limited to no more than three small servings per week •  No dairy, white flour, and white rice •  No processed foods, cold cereals, and sweets •  No sweeteners, except fruit and limited unsulfured dried fruit •  Carbohydrates with high nutritional quality such as beans, peas, squashes, lentils, and intact whole grains •  Protective foods such as walnuts, mushrooms, onions, berries, and seeds

Butternut Breakfast Soup Serves: 6 4 cups frozen butternut squash 2 medium apples, peeled, seeded, and chopped 4 cups (packed) kale, tough stems and center ribs removed and leaves chopped, or frozen kale, chopped 1 cup chopped onion 2 tablespoons Pomegranate Balsamic Vinegar* or other fruit-flavored vinegar 5 cups carrot juice, fresh (5 pounds of carrots, juiced) or store-bought refrigerated ½ cup unsweetened soy, almond, or hemp milk ½ cup raw cashews ¼ cup hemp seeds 1 teaspoon cinnamon ½ teaspoon nutmeg Place squash, apples, kale, onion, vinegar, and carrot juice in a soup pot. Bring to a boil, lower heat, cover, and simmer for 30 minutes or until kale is tender. Purée half of the soup with the nondairy milk, cashews, and hemp seeds in a high-powered blender. Return blended mixture to soup pot. Add cinnamon and nutmeg. PER SERVING: CALORIES 314; PROTEIN 9g; CARBOHYDRATE 58g; TOTAL FAT 8.3g; SATURATED FAT 1.3g; SODIUM 167mg; FIBER 9.7g; BETA-CAROTENE 28,816mcg; VITAMIN C 106mg; CALCIUM 267mg; IRON 4.3mg; FOLATE 70mcg; MAGNESIUM 159mg; ZINC 1.9mg; SELENIUM 8.4mcg

LOW-HISTAMINE SUBSTITUTES Instead of . . . Choose . . . Refined sugar Maple sugar or maple syrup Vinegar-based salad dressing Olive oil with sea salt Cheese Macadamia-nut butter Wheat Rice, oats, or corn (yeast-free) Coffee Chamomile tea Alcohol Smoothies Pepper or chili Seasoning with sea salt and oregano, garlic, sage, or rosemary Wheat cereal Oatmeal with maple syrup Wheat pasta Brown-rice pasta or brown rice Processed milks that contain pesticides, carrageenan, and other additives Macadamia milk (in a blender, blend macadamia nuts or macadamia-nut butter with water; oat milk and rice milk are also healthful and low in histamine, provided they are free of preservatives, carrageenan, and other additives) Spinach or arugula Kale or other lettuces Eggplant Squash A candy bar A brown-rice cake with maple syrup and macadamia-nut butter Canned soups Fresh vegetable soup, made with filtered water, pureed vegetables, garlic, and salt

After making my way through a bowl full of lawn (Sure, Dana had said it was exotic sautéed greens, but it smelled like the grass in Griffith Park to me.), a cold purée of squash soup (Cold. Squash. Two words that should never be thrown together in the same recipe.), and a platter of seared kelp (I'm sorry, anything that washes up onto the beach is not considered food in my world.), I

swallowing a spoonful of butternut squash soup, feeling it coat my throat and slide down to my belly.

I swear by my mother’s squash soup.

There was butternut squash soup from Providence, crispy rice and sour-pork salad from Lum Ka Naad, prawns with black vinegar dressing from Kato, Wagyu beef prepared by n/naka, crispy fried chicken from Dulan's, duck tartare from Animal, barrio tacos from Teddy's and miniconchas from La Favorita Bakery that were so small and delicate that it was hard to just eat one... or six.

Table of Contents Free Gift! Abbreviations Conversions Cranberry Sauce Make-Ahead Turkey Gravy Roasted Asparagus Roasted Vegetables Honey Glazed Carrots Double Cornbread Squash Casserole Crawfish Dressing Chicken Pot Pie Soup Chicken Stuffing Casserole Sweet Potato Casserole Corn Casserole Squash Dressing Bacon Cornbread Dressing Cornbread Stuffing Chicken and Dumplings Lemon Garlic Turkey Breast Turkey and Gravy Cajun Dressing Chicken Pot Pie Cornish Hens Meatloaf Marinated Chicken Roast Turkey Breast Apple Stuffed Pork Chops More Simple and Easy Recipes

Don't get me wrong- tempura is served as a side dish in Tokyo, too, especially at soba and udon restaurants. Step into a branch of of the Hanamaru Udon chain, and before you select your bowl of noodles you're confronted with an array of self-serve, a la carte tempura: eggplant, onion, and squash, yes, but also hard-boiled quail eggs on a stick, squid tentacles, or a whole baby octopus. And the way most diners eat their tempura strains the definition of "side dish," because they plunk the crispy morsels right into their noodle broth. Japanese cooks are experts at frying food to a crisp and equally adept at ruining that crispy perfection through dunking, saucing, and refrigeration. I never learned to appreciate a stone-cold, once-crispy pork cutlet, but I enjoy tempura falling apart in hot soup and eaten at the moment when it has taken on broth but maintains a hint of crispness. The ship has hit the iceberg, but it's still momentarily afloat.

L'AMUSE-BOUCHE Chocolate Parmesan Tapioca with a Pan-Seared Scallop L'ENTREE Salad with Chèvre Chaud, Honey, and Mint Dressing OU Roasted Butternut Squash and Cacao Soup OU Oysters with a Mignonette Sauce LE PLAT PRINCIPAL Armagnac-and-Chocolate-Infused Daube de Bœuf à la Gascogne OU Sweet Potato Curry with Mussels OU Chocolate Pasta with a Gorgonzola Cheese Sauce LA SALADE ET LE FROMAGE Moules à la Plancha with Chorizo served over a bed of Arugula Selection of the Château's Cheeses LE DESSERT Mousse au Chocolat spiced with Pimento Chili Peppers and Chocolate Flakes, garnished with Mint I spun around on one heel, excited to get prepping. Unbeknownst to me, the rest of the kitchen staff had arrived, their jaws agape as they stared at the menu. As usual, Phillipa was the first to speak up. "That menu looks wicked incredible." "I don't know about adding hot peppers to the mousse au chocolat," said Jane, and the granny brigade nodded in agreement. I was so sick of her know-it-all attitude. I knew a thing or two and I was going to stand by my decision. "The combination has Aztec roots. To honor the fertility goddess they drank xocolāt, a chocolate concoction spiced with chili pepper and vanilla. It's delicious and unexpected." Jane rolled her eyes. "You're the chef." "I am," I said, wanting to challenge her. "And this is the menu.

butternut squash soup Serves 2 Prep Time: 15 minutes Cook Time: 30 minutes Total Time: 45 minutes 3 tablespoons clarified butter, ghee, or coconut oil ½ cup diced onion 3 cups diced seeded peeled butternut squash 2 cloves garlic, minced ½ teaspoon ground ginger 4 cups chicken broth 1 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon black pepper Not sure how much squash to buy for this recipe? Generally, a 2-pound butternut squash yields 3 cups once the seeds are removed, but don’t stress about having slightly more or less squash than the recipe calls for—this one is pretty forgiving. You can also buy pre-cut butternut squash and save yourself the guess work and 10 minutes of prep time, but that’ll definitely add to your grocery bill. In a large pot, melt the cooking fat over medium heat, swirling to coat the bottom of the pot. When the fat is hot, add the onion and cook, stirring, until translucent, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the squash, garlic, and ginger and stir until the garlic becomes aromatic, about 1 minute. Add the chicken broth and bring to a boil over high heat. Boil until the butternut squash is soft, about 10 minutes. Remove the pot from the heat. In one or two batches, transfer the soup to a food processor or blender and blend on high speed until smooth in texture. Return the pureed soup to the pot. Heat the soup over medium-high heat until it thickens enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon, 7 to 10 minutes. Season with the salt and pepper. Make It a Meal: To make this a complete meal, add cooked chicken, scallops, or hard-boiled eggs when returning the soup to the pot for the last 7 to 10 minutes of cooking. For extra greens, add two generous handfuls of spinach or kale in the last 3 minutes of cooking. ✪Prepping Squash Peeling and dicing squash isn’t that tough if you have the right

minestrone 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter ½ cup diced onion ½ cup diced carrot ½ cup diced celery 6 garlic cloves, chopped ½ cup potatoes, peeled and diced 2 cups tomato juice 1 quart chicken stock ½ pound dried tubetti pasta ½ cup diced zucchini ½ cup diced squash 1 cup cooked garbanzo beans (see Note) 1 cup cooked cannellini beans (see Note) 1 cup chopped fresh basil Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper About 6 tablespoons Basil Pesto (Chapter 2) 1 In a large saucepan, heat the butter over medium heat. When the butter is hot, add the onion, carrot, celery, and garlic and cook over medium heat for 7 to 10 minutes, or until softened but not colored. 2 Add the potatoes and cook, stirring, for about 5 minutes, or until they begin to soften. Add the tomato juice, raise the heat to medium-high, and bring to a brisk simmer. Cook for 5 to 7 minutes, or until the liquid reduces by a third. Add the stock, return to a simmer, and cook for about 30 minutes. 3 Meanwhile, cook the pasta in lightly salted boiling water for 6 to 8 minutes, or until barely al dente. The cooking time may vary according to the pasta. Drain. 4 Add the zucchini, the squash, and both kinds of beans and stir. Simmer for about 5 minutes, or until heated through. Add the drained pasta and let it heat in the soup for about 5 minutes. Stir in the basil and season to taste with salt and pepper. Remove from the heat, garnish with Basil Pesto, and serve. Minestrone is eaten all over Italy and, not surprisingly, varies from region to region. In Genoa it has cabbage and in Florence pork and chiles, but everywhere it has vegetables and usually pasta. My grandmother was from Naples and so my version is very close to hers. When I was a kid, my mom sometimes added leftover chicken to the vegetable soup for a main course.  serves 6 to 8 note To cook the beans, soak 8 ounces of each kind of bean in enough cold water to cover by about 1 inch for at least 6 hours or overnight. Change the water two or three times during soaking, if possible. Drain the beans and put them in a large pot. Cover with enough fresh water or chicken stock to cover the beans by 2 inches. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 1 to 1½ hours, until the beans are softened but still hold their shape. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Do not overcook. Drain and set aside or cover and refrigerate for up to 24 hours.