Let’s Talk Minestrone—And Fond, Messy Memories

Okay, real talk. I’ve made minestrone in just about every kitchen I’ve ever had—including that disastrous semester when my college flat’s stove only had the two back burners working (never figured out why; just learned to adapt). But this minestrone soup? It’s the one I go back to. I learned this mostly from my mum, who’d just throw things in a pot while talking on the phone to her sister in Italy—so, the recipe is a little like me: not always fully organized, but it’s full of love and stories. Also, there’s no greater reward than being greeted by that herby aroma—except maybe the first slurp when it’s chilly out. So, yeah, let’s get to it.

Why You’ll Want to Make This, Honestly

I whip up this soup when we’ve got half a produce drawer left, or someone is feeling sniffly, or heck, sometimes just because I find some bendy carrots and a forgotten can of beans. My family goes nuts for it—except for my youngest, who does this thing where she fishes out the zucchini and just eats the pasta (kids, amirite?). Sometimes I’ll sneak in a parmesan rind and nobody notices but the flavor is spot-on. I don’t always measure, and the world hasn’t ended yet. Oh, and if you’ve ever been let down by a bland minestrone, this will totally redeem the whole concept for you. I promise. Probably.

The Stuff You’ll (Mostly) Need

Olive oil (good glug, but I’ve used canola in a pinch—sshhh, don’t tell Nonna)
1 onion, diced (red, yellow, or a couple of shallots—use what you have)
2 carrots, peeled and chopped (or one freakishly large carrot—just eyeball it)
2 celery stalks, diced (if you hate celery, leave it out. No one will chase you down)
3 garlic cloves, minced (confession: sometimes I use pre-chopped garlic form a jar if I’m feeling lazy)
1 zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced (or yellow squash; or both if you’re feeling wild)
1 small potato, cubed (totally optional but I like the texture)
1 can diced tomatoes (roughly 400g, but I sometimes just use a jar of passata)
1 can cannellini or kidney beans, drained (my gran swears by Borlotti, but honestly, beans are beans here)
1 cup chopped green beans (fresh or frozen, honestly!)
6 cups veggie broth (from a box, cubes, or homemade if you’re feeling cheffy—either way)
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried basil
A handful of fresh parsley, chopped (or dried, no stress)
Salt and pepper to taste
1 cup small pasta—ditalini, macaroni, or whatever stubby shapes you find (I once tossed in broken spaghetti—it worked fine!)
Parmesan, for serving (not essential but so good)
Totally optional: A parmesan rind, spinach or kale, a squeeze of lemon, or a pinch of chili flakes if you like a kick

Alright, How Do I Actually Make It?

In a big ol’ pot (at least 4-5 litres—I once tried using a small saucepan and, uh, don’t recommend), heat a good splash of olive oil over medium heat.
Chuck in the onions, carrots, and celery. Stir around for 5-7 minutes ‘til the edges go soft but not brown. This is where I tend to daydream, so don’t worry if you lose track of time.
Add the garlic, zucchini, and potato. Give it a stir and let it all mingle for another couple minutes. If it starts sticking, just toss in a bit more oil—or some water, if you’re feeling virtuous.
Pour in your tomatoes and all their juices, dump in the beans and green beans (and potato, if you forgot earlier—no big deal).
Now add the veggie broth, oregano, basil, parsley, salt, and pepper. If you’ve got a parmesan rind, this is the moment. Bring the lot to a gentle boil, then immediately lower the heat and let it simmer, uncovered, for maybe 15-20 minutes. Sometimes it looks a bit weird at this point, but trust me—it all comes together. This is where I usually sneak a taste (yes, before it’s done!) just to check saltiness.
Once the veg is mostly tender, toss in the pasta. Simmer, stirring now and then so it doesn’t glue itself to the bottom. 10 minutes, maybe slightly more, depending what pasta you used.
If you fancy, throw in a handful of spinach or kale right at the end. Stir til wilted.
Fish out the parmesan rind, if you went that way, and serve in big bowls. Don’t forget the grated parmesan. And maybe a twist of black pepper.

A Few Notes—Learned the Easy (and Hard) Way

Honestly, any bean works, except maybe baked beans (I tried once. Would not repeat.)
Soup too thick? Splash in more broth or water. Too thin? Let it bubble uncovered for a bit longer, but don’t get too fussy.
If you’re out of fresh herbs, dried is absolutely fine. I sometimes sprinkle in some Italian seasoning, and nobody yells.
Don’t freak out if your pasta gets a little mushy—it’s still delicious. Actually, I think it’s even better when it absorbs the soup overnight.

Variations—What Actually Works (And What Doesn’t)

Once I did a spicy version with chorizo and chickpeas—my friend Liz swore it was the best ever. My partner said it was “interesting”—so your call.
Sometimes I’ll skip the pasta and drop in pre-cooked rice. It’s decent, but I still like the chew of little pasta shapes. (Just make sure you use less broth if skipping pasta.)
Tried using sweet potato instead of regular potato. Not my vibe, if I’m honest. It turned kind of sweet and weirdly orange—but you do you!
For a vegan version, just skip the cheese (and use olive oil, not butter of course).

What If I Don’t Have Fancy Equipment?

Look, a big sturdy pot is great, but I have made this in a battered soup pot, a Dutch oven, and once, hilariously, in an ancient rice cooker. If you don’t have a colander to drain your beans, just use the can lid—carefully! If you don’t have a ladle, a mug works in a pinch. Improvisation is the spice of life (or at least soup).

How to Store Leftovers (If There Are Any)

Technically, you can keep leftover minestrone in a sealed container in the fridge for about 3 days. But honestly, in my house, it never lasts more than a day—sometimes it’s all reheated for lunch over the sink. Freezes well, too, though I do find the pasta gets a tad mushy after thawing. Not a dealbreaker, but good to know.

Here’s How We Love to Serve It

Big bowls, lots of freshly grated parmesan, maybe a drizzle of olive oil. Sometimes, if I’m feeling proper, a hunk of crusty bread (or whatever slice-y bread we managed to scrounge up). For some odd reason, my brother puts hot sauce in his portion—no accounting for taste. Oh, and on cold nights, we’ll even have second bowls in front of the telly.

Pro Tips—Aka, Learn form My Goofs

Once, I tried rushing and dumped the pasta in way too early, so it just turned to mush—don’t be me. Wait until your veggies are mostly soft.
Taste for salt after the parmesan goes in. That cheese is salty and can sneak up on you.
If you go heavy on potatoes or pasta, it can soak up the broth, but that’s not really a problem… more like a happy accident (just add a splash of water when reheating).

FAQ—Because Apparently People Ask Me These More Than I Expected

Can I make this gluten-free? Yep—just use your fave gluten-free pasta, or even skip it and use canned beans for extra bulk.
Can I prep this ahead of time? Absolutely. Actually, I think this tastes better the next day!
Do I have to use all those veggies? Oh gosh, no. Use what you have. No soup police are coming.
How do I make it richer? Drop in a parmesan rind while simmering. Failing that, a knob of butter at the end isn’t traditional, but yum.
Can I add meat? Sure, but then it’s not really classic minestrone. Sausage or pancetta—just cook it up with the veggies at the start.

Well, there you have it. Every time I make this I think I’ll freeze a portion. But then, honestly, it’s gone before I remember. Give it a go and let your kitchen smell like home for an afternoon!

The Best Minestrone Soup