Hoppin' Peas For New Year's Eve

We all need good luck in 2025...and it starts wih these peas!

All about Eve…New Year’s Eve, that is. Fireworks in our little village, funny costumes depending on the theme. Years ago when the costumes were hats, our local pharmacy owner stuck pill containers, needles, surgery masks, cosmetics, vitamin tapes, you name it, to his constructed hat and won the contest.

Another year, my honey went as movie director Spielberg in large, tortoise-shell glasses and an Oscar around his neck while I donned a lurex jumpsuit, blond wig and painted my face with gold makeup to go as the victim in James Bond’s Goldfinger.

Better to call it Coldfinger that night as it was freezing and only the little stands of oysters, champagne, patés and casoulets helped us stay the course.

But I, from about the age of 2 or 3, have been assured of fortune, love and health by simply eating a spoon of black-eyed peas, without which no southerner could face a new year safely! We’re going to need a LOT of those for 2025, that’s for sure.

A piece I did for The American Magazine long ago elaborates on this.

Hoppin' Peas

Since I was first given real food, which was most likely in our family around the age of 6 months (!), I have had my black-eyed peas on New Year's Day for good luck. And I've not missed a New Year's since. It must work, for what could be better fortune than to live in the beauty of Rome and all of its magic corners?

You may serve steamed collard greens with your peas to signify greenbacks—the peas are 'coins'. And according to Wikipedia, if you leave three peas on your plate when you are finished, then the New Year ahead will be filled with luck, good fortune, and romance.
New Year's Day without black-eyed peas (piselli con occhi neri in Italian, les doliques in French) is, for a southerner, is like wearing white shoes before Easter or making milk punch without Wild Turkey bourbon. You'll also find that hardly anyone in Europe knows what you are talking about when you panic at not having found your peas somewhere to prepare before New Year's.

For years I brought my black-eyed peas from Texas when we visited family in Rome and then, a few years ago, discovered (along with tortillas, hot sauce and green chiles) that Castroni has had them all along. Surely there are not that many pea-eaters to warrant stocking the shelves with them, but evidently enough "sutheners"wanted them (Gore Vidal? Tennessee Williams?) and voilá, there they sit next to the cannellini and lenticchie, awaiting their ham hock, if you can find one.

In the south, everyone and his mother will have a recipe for black-eyed peas, but mine is simple and benefits from the presence, in Rome, of really good chunks of prosciutto (not sliced), found in manageable sizes in supermarkets. You might find a zampone, smoked pig trotter, to stand in for a ham hock, or a stinco (pork shank) but I've not seen a smoked one and stinco will stick out of most pots, making a great stir-er but not very practical.

A 500 gram package of black-eyed peas makes enough for four to six fortune-hunters and then some, as they are really quite addicting and can be tossed into future soups or used in the recipes below if you feel there is too much excess.

I cook my peas in a large, heat-proof casserole. First, cover with cold water and wait, preferably overnight but you can do this in the morning and cook them in the evening as well.

Pour off all of the water after you soak them and with it will go, we hope, some of the substances that can make any bean or pea slightly…er…indigestible. Now add water to the pot just to cover the peas and add 2 cups of white wine or beer. Add 1 sweet onion, chopped fine, a stalk of celery and a carrot, split (to be removed later) and a good fist-sized piece of bacon, smoked ham or prosciutto. Bring the peas to a boil. Skim off the grey stuff that comes to the surface, discard, lower the fire to let the peas simmer, covered, for about 1 1/2 hours. Check the liquid level and add broth if needed. When serving, each bowl gets a little of the "pot liquor" as it is called in the south, so you don't want to dry out the peas.

They should be tender to the bite when done. Take out the carrot and celery and discard (well, I eat the carrots with a little salt). Heat 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil in a small pan and add to it yet another sweet onion, chopped fine, 2 or 3 garlic cloves, chopped fine, a couple of sage leaves, chopped, and a very small hot pepper. Let these take on a bit of color and then add them to the pot.

Simmer the peas another 30 minutes on low heat, without the cover.

When the peas are tender, take out a cup of peas and put them in a blender or food processor, then add this to the mix. This will thicken the wonderful juices in the peas and give a nice texture to the whole shebang.

I serve chopped cilantro with my black-eyes, which is also nice to serve with Hoppin' John—black-eyed peas, cooked rice, sautéed bits of bacon or ham, and sautéed chopped onion, or for Texas Caviar. Mix 2 cups of the cooked black-eyes, whole, with 1 small raw sweet onion or scallions, a small jalapeña, a clove of garlic, 1/2 cup of sweet bell pepper and cilantro, all chopped fine. You may use fresh corn kernels, cooked, and cooked black beans if you like. Toss with olive oil and wine vinegar or lemon juice to taste.

It's a helluva lot cheaper than Beluga…