Even to children, the old fable known as Stone Soup can seem an impossibility—how can anyone be fooled into thinking you can make soup from a stone? Yet for generations Tuscans have done something like that in the form of a dish with a similarly grim name: acquacotta. It means "cooked water."
Like stone soup, there's no real recipe for acquacotta—it's made from whatever you can scrounge up to toss into it. The name makes clear, though, that in the past it wasn't uncommon for it to be little more than boiled water with whatever weeds, shriveled and rotten root vegetables, sprouting garlic, and lichenous scrapings one might have managed to pry off the rocks in the fields. In such times of difficulty, it probably smelled of little more than the desperate will of survival.
In other years and especially into the present, it's safe to assume that acquacotta was a less meager victual, and instead was filled with a season's bounty that could fill bellies and nourish bodies. These more generous versions tend to be how it's made today, even if the ominous name has stuck. As with so many things, there are countless versions of acquacotta that vary with the locale, the seasons, and the cook, but the one I'm sharing below is most associated with the Maremma, a coastal region that runs from southern Tuscany down into northern Lazio.
Centuries ago, before it was drained by order of one of the Medicis around 1600, the region was predominantly marshland, and a malarial one at that. I've read in some Italian cookbooks that the Maremma's acquacotta was often garlic-heavy, not only because the people loved garlic but because the mosquitos that carried malaria hated it. Eating bowls of garlicky acquacotta might just have meant the difference between life and death. That said, today's renditions of acquacotta Maremmana are not necessarily pungent with garlic, though they are built on an aromatic base that includes onions, celery, garlic, and red pepper flakes (for a touch of heat). The goal is to cook the aromatics until meltingly tender and sweet with a mild, clean flavor, which you can accomplish by gently frying them in olive oil, occasionally adding a splash of water or broth to cool the pan down any time the ingredients start to sizzle and brown. You keep repeating this process, simmering down the liquid until the vegetables start to fry, then hit it with another splash of water when the browning gets going.
About that liquid: As the name suggests, you can (some may argue should) use water, but of course you don't have to. You could use a light vegetable broth instead for just a bit more flavor. It works either way.
Once the aromatics are melted down, tomatoes typically go into the pot—canned most of the year, though you can switch to fresh in the summer—and it's all simmered together briefly until the flavors meld. Most bowls of acquacotta Maremmana that I've seen actually verge on thick-vegetable-stew territory, not so much brothy soup (though brothier ones do exist), a fact that is helpful for the next stage of this dish's prep: poaching eggs in it. The eggs are cracked and gently slipped into the chunky stew and left to cook until the whites set, at which point you have a generous and flavorful one-pot vegetarian meal that's packed with vegetables, protein, and enough fat to quiet an empty stomach.
Spooned into bowls with garlicky toasts waiting to soak up the juices and topped with grated cheese, olive oil, and black pepper, it's a lot more than the name might lead one to expect, a fact that I'd prefer not to quibble with. I think we can all agree it's a good thing this "cooked-water soup" is in reality not watery nor soupy at all.
In a large sauté pan or braiser, heat olive oil over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add onion, smashed garlic, celery, and red pepper flakes along with a large pinch of salt and cook, stirring often, until softened and just beginning to brown, about 8 minutes. Add broth or water in small additions (about 1/4 or 1/2 cup at a time) to moisten vegetables and prevent browning, and continue to cook, stirring often and adding more liquid only after it has cooked off and vegetables have begun to fry again, until vegetables are meltingly tender, about 25 minutes.
Add canned tomatoes and their juices, crushing them either by hand just before adding or in the pan using a potato masher, making sure to leave some tomato chunks remaining. Thin with additional broth or water as needed (roughly 1 cup) to make a chunky but brothy soup, add basil, and season lightly with salt. Simmer until flavors meld and soup thickens up again, about 15 minutes. Season once more with salt, if needed.
Crack eggs and gently slide into simmering soup. Season eggs lightly with salt, cover pan, and cook until whites are set and yolks are still runny, about 5 minutes. Discard basil sprigs.
Meanwhile, rub toasts with remaining clove of garlic, then arrange toasts in serving bowls. When eggs are ready, gently ladle soup and eggs (it will be thick and chunky, more stew than soup) onto toasts. Garnish with a drizzle of olive oil, grated cheese, and freshly ground black pepper. Serve.
Special Equipment
large sauté pan or braiser
Make Ahead and Storage
Soup can be prepared through step 2, cooled, and stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat gently and proceed with the recipe at step 3.
Leftovers do not store or reheat well, but in a pinch, they can be safely stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days and gently reheated on the stovetop or in the microwave.
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