PicoBlog

Pastina is having a moment. Tiny dots, stars, tubes, rings, bows, even letters of the alphabet are suddenly everywhere, a reminder that all old things become new again. Pastina is not one pasta but many, a genre of infinite shapes made to tumble in broth, crowd a spoon, and zoom airplane-style into children’s mouths. No one region can claim pastina; though some variations are more cherished in particular places (like anellini in Sicily), they are found everywhere, loved by everyone. Although today’s pastine are typically factory-made and dried, their ancestors were fashioned from thickly rolled fresh pasta sheets, cut minutely, and likewise cooked in broth.

Like the joy of eating teeny tiny pasta, the craving for a steaming bowl of broth in winter is universal. In Italy, broths are called brodi, and they are not only a backbone of the country’s cooking, but also one of the most common ways to serve pasta. In addition to pastine, tortellini in brodo are, perhaps, the most famous example; similar hat-shaped cappelletti are also brodo-dwellers, as are Romagna’s sfoglia lorda. Unstuffed shapes like sorpresine—“little surprises” and tortellini lookalikes—and tubular garganelli can be found in brodo, too, not to mention pasta scraps like maltagliati (meaning “badly cut”) and tiny squares called quadrettini and quadrucci. Italian broths are clearer than stocks, more akin to consommé, though they’re often clouded with a shower of Parmigiano-Reggiano before serving.

I’ve been itching to develop a pastina in brodo recipe since it took over my Instagram feed several months ago. Some of the most popular videos show pastina cooked in broth and finished with butter and Parmigiano—easy, creamy comfort food. Others start with a quick, scratch-made vegetable broth in which carrots, celery, and onions are simmered until tender, then removed, puréed, and reintroduced into the liquid before being ladled over precooked pasta. I was particularly drawn to the latter idea of repurposing the vegetables, but I also wanted create something a little different.

Which brought me to my favorite brothy panacea: chicken soup. Chicken soup isn’t just a Jewish thing, but it is a very Jewish thing. I’d wager someone in every Jewish family can make chicken soup—affectionately, Jewish penicillin—with their eyes closed. Sometimes it’s crowned with matzah balls, other times with meat dumplings called kreplach, and often with thin or wide egg noodles or little soup nuts called mandels. It’s present on holidays and special occasions, but also casually served on Friday nights for Shabbat dinner, or other days of the week, and especially when someone’s under the weather. Chicken soup runs in our blood.

Pulling the thread still further, my mind then wandered to another version of chicken soup, not Jewish, or Italian, but Greek: avgolemono. I first tasted avgolemono—literally meaning “lemon-egg,” referring to both a sauce and a particular chicken soup with rice—when I was probably about ten, at our local Greek diner. At the time, it was one of the most exciting soups I’d ever had, rich and luxurious (not brothy; it’s thickened with eggs), and uniquely bright from a heavy hit of lemon juice. Like pastina in brodo and Jewish penicillin, avgolemono is designed for winter and sick days, a dish that warms the body and the soul.

So, finally weaving all these strands together, today’s recipe is inspired by not one but three of my favorite sick-day soups. It starts with an adaptation of my grandmother’s chicken broth, which becomes the base for cooking pastina (I opted for stelline, little stars). Then, drawing on the Italian and Greek techniques, the soup is fortified with puréed vegetables and thickened avgolemono-style with eggs. The whole thing comes together with big pieces of shredded chicken, lots of lemon, and a dose of dill. Three traditions, three worlds, three soups colliding, reminding us that we’re not so different after all.

You could save this for the next time you’re feeling under the weather, but I promise it’s worth making on any cold day—like today, or tomorrow, or the day after that.

Serves 4

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