Winter in Tuscany: Olio Nuovo, Ribollita, and Italian Eternity

Some find it surprising that I cherish my mid-winter visits to Tuscany. Spring and summer may be when most fall in love with Italy, when it matches the popular imagination—bathed in sunshine and brimming with natural beauty. But in winter, stripped of its postcard-perfect glow, Tuscany reveals itself more fully. It is a season of quiet, of bare vineyards and woodsmoke, of countryside kitchens where simmering soup and fresh olive oil offer warmth and nourishment against the damp and cold.

This year, as I traveled to San Casciano for the annual evaluation of our olive oils, the fullness of Italian cultural heritage was on my mind. Truthfully, it has been for decades, first as a student in Siena, then as a professor, and now as an olive oil producer; this heritage that is built as much on artistic masterpieces as it is on food traditions, will never grow tiresome to me.

January marks a key moment in the olive oil calendar: roughly eight weeks after harvest, the new oils have settled and are ready for tasting. At AIRO, (Associazione Internazionale Ristoranti dell’Olio) a panel of experts has gathered to assess our oils and to help me refine my understanding of how to make my oil even better. This year, the oils scored above 90, a satisfying and promising result. But beyond the numbers, the real pleasure was in tasting the oil at its freshest—vividly green, intensely fragrant, and bursting with a peppery bite that will soften slightly with time. In winter, when fresh produce is scarce, new oil is a vibrant reminder of the land’s generosity. More than a product, olive oil is one of many threads in the fabric of Italian culture, woven into daily life with the same quiet permanence as the stone villages and terraced hillsides where millennial olive trees grow.

My journey with olive oil began nearly twenty years ago, and in 2021, I enrolled in my first milling course. I was one of only two women in a room full of experienced millers, all there to sharpen their skills. The week was both daunting and exhilarating, but by the end, apprehension had given way to camaraderie, and I left with friendships that now bring me back each year. This year, with our tasting complete, we headed to a small trattoria where a fire crackled in the hearth and bottles of fresh, local oil stood on every table. Our leisurely conversation unfolded over soup, a Tuscan staple in the thick of winter.  Ribollita, the most famous, is built from the simplest ingredients—stale bread, white beans, cavolo nero—and gains its depth from time, patience, and, of course, a final, generous pour of aromatic oil.  

Once back in Florence, I took a day or two to reconnect with the art and architecture that draw the world to Italy en masse. With the summer crowds long gone, the city felt much like the one I first encountered in 1973. I lingered before Masaccio’s frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel and Fra Angelico’s Annunciation at San Marco, grateful for the rare solitude in front of such beauty. They seemed eternal, just as powerful and moving as when I first saw them over fifty years ago. Yet, in the larger context of my trip, I couldn’t help but reflect on how equally essential Italy’s everyday traditions felt to me—the meals, the markets, the agriculture—the rhythms that root Italians to both past and future in a way even great art cannot.

In the end, my mind wandered back to the trattoria, to the bowl of ribollita shared with my fellow olive oil makers. Like olive oil itself, ribollita was born of necessity, shaped by what the land—the truly eternal—provides. It is an expression of season and place, made richer by the hands that pass it down.

For nearly fifty years, whether in a classroom, a tasting room, or a kitchen, my purpose has remained the same: to share this heritage, to help others see what makes it extraordinary. Because Italian culture is not just something to admire—it is something to live, in the warmth of a bowl of soup, in the peppery bite of fresh oil, in the rhythm of traditions that endure.

La Ribollita

Considered the queen of Tuscan soups, ribollita (literally “boiled again) is less a fixed

recipe than a way of repurposing leftover vegetable soup, thickened with day old

bread. In centuries past, stale bread was a cornerstone of la cucina povera or peasant

cooking because it added substance to diets otherwise lacking in nutrition.

Ribollita is more about method than exact measurements, making it wonderfully

adaptable and easy to prepare. A true Tuscan version includes cavolo nero (Tuscan

kale) and white cannellini beans. However, any vegetable soup made with a soffritto -

finely chopped onion, celery, and carrot sautéed in olive oil - can serve as its foundation.

Traditionally, the leftover soup is placed in a pot, topped with thinly sliced onions and a

generous pour of olive oil, then boiled again (ri-bollita) deepening its flavors. The result

is heartier, richer – even better than the day before.

Ingredients

For the soffritto:

- 4 tbl. (or a generous pour) of Luretík Meridione olive oil

- 1 onion chopped finely

- 1 stalk celery chopped in the same manner

- 2 to 3 carrots chopped in the same manner

For the soup:

- 500g dried cannellini beans soaked overnight in water or 2 cans cannellini beans

            drained and rinsed well

- 4 tbl. or a generous pour of Luretík Meridione  olive oil

- 1 onion coarsely chopped

- 1 stalk celery chopped in the same manner

- 2 to 3 carrots chopped in the same manner

- 1 bunch Tuscan kale, leaves stripped from stalk and chopped

- 1 to 2 tbl. tomato paste (optional)

- Potatoes, cabbage, or any other available vegetable may be added.

- 1 loaf dried bread cubed

Preparation

• Rinse the previously soaked cannellini beans and place them in a large pot. Cover with water and bring to a quick boil.

• Reduce heat and simmer for around 40-60 minutes until beans are cooked but still hold

            their shape.

• Reserving the cooking liquid, set roughly half the beans aside and puree the other half, returning the purée to the cooking water.

• Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a separate pot. Add the soffritto, sautéing until soft.

• To this pot add the liquid from the beans and the purée.

• Add the coarsely chopped carrots, celery, onion, kale, tomato paste and any additional

            vegetables, stirring well.

• Add salt and pepper to taste, then simmer the soup until it begins to thicken, 1-2 hours.

• Layer the bread cubes in a soup tureen or place in individual bowls, then ladle the soup

over the bread. When the bread is fully soaked through, finish with a generous dash of Luretik

Meridione or Toscana olive oil and serve hot.

The day after…… 

Remove the leftover soup from the refrigerator and cover the surface with thinly sliced onions and a dash of olive.  “Fatela ribollire…”  “Bring to a boil again” and serve piping hot.

*Note: Although the classic recipe does not include parmigiano, it is common to use

a sprinkling of parmigiano to enhance the soup’s flavor.