Name: Umbrian Lentil Soup with Pasta
Prep time: 15 min
Cook time: 50 min
Total time: 1 h 5 min
Yield: 4 servings
Cuisine: Italian
Ingredients: 1 cup dried brown lentils, rinsed; 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil; 1 small onion, finely chopped; 2 medium carrots, diced; 2 celery stalks, diced; 3 cloves garlic, minced; 5 cups vegetable broth; 1 cup ditalini or small pasta; 1 can (14 oz) diced tomatoes; 1 teaspoon dried thyme; 1 bay leaf; Salt and black pepper, to taste; Chopped fresh parsley, for garnish

Let Me Tell You About This Soup…

If you turn up at my house in winter, odds are you’ll catch a whiff of something bubbling away on the stove—that’s probably this Umbrian Lentil Soup with Pasta. Funny enough, the first time I made it, I doubled the lentils by accident (don’t follow my distracted ways), but nobody complained. It’s the kind of thing I toss together when it’s raining outside and I can’t be fussed to go shopping, because honest truth? This soup loves a pantry raid.

I got hooked on this dish after a friend from Perugia insisted it was a “get-well-soon” miracle—cures grumpy moods and slightly existential Tuesday blues, apparently. I’m not sure on the science, but it’s good enough for me. Also, if you’re imagining something all fancy and restaurant-level complicated, relax; this one’s homespun through and through. You can even taste the occasional wonky-cut carrot (which just adds, you know, ‘rustic charm’).

Why You’ll Love This—Or At Least, Why I Do

I make this when it’s too cold to stand near the fridge for long, or when the kids are “starving” at exactly 4.15pm. My family loses their minds over this (the good kind, not the argumentative kind!), mostly because it’s filling and somehow tastes even better reheated. Plus, it doesn’t mind being ignored for a few minutes while I yell at the dog or check the post.

Also, can I just say—if you’re the sort who sometimes forgets the garlic until the very end, I’m with you; I’ve added it suspiciously late and nobody noticed. Lentils are forgiving little things.

The Not-So-Fancy Ingredients

200g dried lentils (honestly, I grab any kind; brown or green, though my grandma swore by Castelluccio, which you can hunt down online if you’re feeling bougie)
2 celery stalks, chopped (I’ve used frozen in a pinch, or left it out when my fridge was a graveyard—nobody noticed)
2 carrots, diced (big, small…who’s judging?)
1 onion, diced
2–3 garlic cloves, minced (yes, I’ve used the jarred stuff, don’t tell Nonna)
400g canned diced tomatoes (sometimes I blitz in fresh tomatoes, but tinned works totally fine—San Marzano if you’re feeling fancy)
1 bay leaf (optional, but it does make me feel professional tossing it in)
A sprig of fresh rosemary or 1 tsp dried (but I use thyme if I’m out, and it’s not a disaster)
1 litre vegetable stock (bouillon cube is just fine)
100g small pasta—ditalini, tubetti, or just smash up spaghetti (my daughter loves helping with that part!)
Olive oil, for cooking
Salt and freshly ground pepper (though I skip the pepper for the kids and then sneak extra into my bowl)
Grated Parmigiano Reggiano, for serving (or honestly, any hard cheese—shh)

How I Throw This Together (with Some Winging)

First—quick rinse your lentils! I didn’t used to bother, but the one time I bit into a tiny pebble…just trust me here.
In a big, heavy pot (or just a normal saucepan—whatever fits), pour in a generous glug of olive oil. Chuck in the onions, carrots, and celery. Sauté until everything smells good, about 7 minutes. This is where I usually sneak a taste, even though it’s still just vegetables and oil.
Add the garlic and rosemary (or thyme, or nothing if you forgot). Stir while thinking appreciative thoughts about Italian grandmas. Don’t worry if things look a bit stuck—once you throw in the tomatoes, it’ll loosen up.
Tip in the diced tomatoes, let it all mingle for a minute or two, and then add in your lentils. Stir everything together, tell yourself this is going to be great (because it is).
Pour in the stock and drop in the bay leaf. Bring to the boil, then immediately turn down to a lazy simmer. Cover the pot and let it do its thing for about 30-35 mins, until the lentils are soft but still hold their shape. (At this stage, it always looks a bit weird and murky, but keep the faith.)
Fish out the bay leaf (don’t forget!), and season with salt and pepper—but maybe less salt if your stock was already salty.
Add the pasta and cook, stirring now and then to stop the bottom catching. It takes 7–10 minutes, but check early; overcooked pasta is not the vibe here.
Taste, adjust, and basically—when you’re happy, you’re done. If it’s thick, add more water or stock. If it’s thin, let it bubble without the lid a bit longer.
Ladle into bowls and crown with plenty of grated Parmigiano Reggiano. I like a little drizzle of olive oil right at the end, just for flair. Or show-off factor. Either way.

A Few Rambling Notes That Might Help

This soup is one of those that thickens as it sits—sometimes to the point of being closer to porridge by day two. I add more stock when reheating, and actually, I think it tastes better the next day.
I never soak my lentils first (except once, accidently, and it made zero difference except to my patience).
If you use really tiny pasta like pastina, check it early or it’ll vanish into mush. Learned that one the hard way.

Variations I’ve Actually Tried (And a Fail)

One time I swapped in chickpeas for lentils thinking I’d invented something genius—eh, it was edible but definitely not this soup.
Swirl in a spoonful of pesto before serving for a herby kick; totally unnecessary, but delicious.
If you’re feeling meaty, diced pancetta in the initial sauté is seriously tasty.
I once added a glug of red wine before the stock. That was…okay. Maybe not worth repeating. You do you!

What You’ll Need—But Improvise if You Must

Biggish pot or Dutch oven (I swear by my grandma’s battered old one, but a regular saucepan will do. Actually, I once had to make it in a wok. It didn’t complain.)
Cutting board and sharpish knife—although I’ve used my bread knife when the other was MIA
Ladle, but a mug works too if you pour slow

How to Store This—If It Lasts!

Pop leftovers into the fridge in an airtight container; they’ll keep for up to 3 days, though honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a day! Reheats nicely on the stove or in the microwave (I just add a splash of water).

How We Serve This (And Other Ideas)

I plop down the whole pot, let everyone help themselves, and put out a basket of crusty bread (and occasionally, a slightly too-dry focaccia I made the day before). If I’m feeling proper, I scatter chopped parsley over the top; if not, just bring the cheese to the table and let people go wild. One uncle insists a squeeze of lemon does wonders—he’s probably right.

It’s not strictly necessary, but a glass of red—something sturdy, nothing posh—makes it extra comforting. Or that’s what I tell myself anyway.

Pro Tips—Learned the Slightly Hard Way

Don’t try to rush softening the lentils by turning up the heat. I did once, and they sort of burst and made it oddly grainy. Patience is a virtue—or just go do something else while it simmers!
Always check the salt at the end. Somehow, the stock cubes seem to have a mind of their own and sometimes the soup comes out saltier than your average British summer.
If you forget the bay leaf, the world doesn’t end. But remember to fish it out, or someone will get a mouthful of ‘surprise leaf’.

Questions Folks Have Actually Asked Me

Can I freeze it? Sure! Just maybe undercook the pasta a little first—it does go softer after thawing; not a crime, just a heads-up.
What if I only have red lentils? Eh, they work, but the soup will go a bit mushy, sort of like dal. Still tasty! But not exactly classic.
How spicy can I make this? I suppose as spicy as you want. Personally, I just add some chili flake to my bowl at the table. There’s no police here—add hot sauce if you want, too.
Any sides you recommend? Well, other than bread, sometimes I make a green salad or, if I’m honest, just open a nice olive oil tin for dipping. I love this olive oil guide when choosing.
Do I need to use Parmigiano? Nah, any hard grating cheese will do (I’ve even used a bit of mature Cheddar once in a pinch—blasphemy, but it worked).

So there you have it—my very un-fancy, tried and true, slightly inconsistent (in the best way) Umbrian Lentil Soup with Pasta. Give it a go and make it your own. If you’re after more homey Italian recipes, I love perusing Inside the Rustic Kitchen too. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear the soup calling—probably boiling over, knowing my luck.

Umbrian Lentil Soup with Pasta