When I think of pappa al pomodoro, I think of my dad. He’s the reason I tried the dish in the first place, while I was a college student studying abroad in Florence, Italy. Dad had flown in to visit, and one night, after hours of exploring the city, the two of us sat down at a cozy trattoria in the Piazza Santa Croce. He spotted a dish on the menu starring two of his favorite foods—bread and tomatoes—and ordered it on a whim.
I was skeptical of this choice. All semester long, I had relentlessly pursued a goal of eating as much fresh pasta as possible, and the humble bowl of ruddy porridge that arrived at our table was a marked departure from that diet. But at my dad’s urging, I helped myself to a spoonful. It was velvety and hearty, yet lively and fresh, and I was an instant convert. For the
