Ramen Fasul
Some dishes try to impress you with fancy ingredients and complicated techniques, but this one just shrugs and says "I'm beans and noodles, deal with it." And honestly? That confidence is exactly what makes it work. This is the kind of meal that Italian grandmothers have been making for centuries when the cupboard was looking pretty bare but the family still needed feeding. The cannellini beans break down just enough to make the broth thick and satisfying, while those carrots and celery add this subtle sweetness that makes you realize why the holy trinity of vegetables exists in the first place. It tastes like comfort food that doesn't need to apologize for being simple—just pure, honest flavors that somehow add up to something way more satisfying than the sum of its parts. The ramen noodles soak up all that tomatoey, herb-scented broth like they were born for this exact purpose, which they definitely weren't, but who's keeping track? It's the kind of dinner that costs about three dollars to make but tastes like you actually know what you're doing in the kitchen.
Beans hum old stories—Rosemary sails miso seas—Noodles join the tale
Let Me Tell You...
It was the end of the month and my bank account was looking about as barren as my refrigerator, which is to say completely pathetic.
I was standing in my kitchen doing that thing where you open the pantry door and stare at the same three cans like they're going to magically transform into something edible, when I spotted that lonely can of cannellini beans I'd bought with good intentions and promptly forgotten about.
Next to it sat a package of ramen noodles, looking smug and cheap, like it knew it was about to save my sorry ass from another night of cereal for dinner.
Sometimes the best meals come from desperation and a refusal to admit defeat.
The whole cooking process felt like I was channeling some ancient Italian wisdom through my broke-ass kitchen.
The soffritto of onions, carrots, and celery started filling my apartment with these incredible aromas that made me feel like maybe I wasn't completely hopeless at this whole adult thing.
When I added those beans, they started breaking down and releasing their starchy goodness into the broth, creating this thick, satisfying base that tasted like it had been simmering for hours instead of twenty minutes.
The rosemary went in next, and suddenly my kitchen smelled like a Tuscan hillside, if Tuscan hillsides had ramen noodles and student loan debt.
When I finally sat down with that bowl, I had to admit I'd accidentally created something pretty spectacular.
The beans were creamy and satisfying, the vegetables had this sweet, earthy flavor that made me remember why people get excited about simple ingredients, and those ramen noodles were soaking up all that herby, tomatoey goodness like they'd been waiting their whole lives for this moment.
It was comfort food in its purest form—no pretension, no fancy techniques, just honest flavors that somehow added up to something that tasted like home, even though I was eating it alone in my studio apartment.
By the time I finished that bowl, I was convinced I'd discovered the secret to happiness, or at least the secret to eating well when you're broke.
The empty bowl sat there like evidence that sometimes the best meals come from making do with what you have instead of what you wish you had.
That ramen fasul became my go-to poverty meal, proof that good food doesn't require a trust fund or a fancy pantry—just a willingness to see potential in humble ingredients.
Now whenever my bank account is looking sad, I make this dish and remember that being broke doesn't mean you have to eat like you hate yourself.
Ingredients
- 8 ounces dried ramen noodles (2 bricks, seasoning packets discarded)
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 small yellow onion, finely diced
- 2 medium carrots, peeled and diced
- 2 celery stalks, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional, for heat)
- 1 (14-ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
- 1 (15-ounce) can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
- 3 cups low-sodium vegetable or chicken stock
- 1 tablespoon soy sauce
- 1 teaspoon lemon juice
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- Kosher salt, to taste
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
- 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese (plus more for serving)
- Crusty bread, for serving
Preparation
- Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook ramen noodles for 2–3 minutes until just tender, drain, rinse under cool water, and set aside.
- In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion, carrots, and celery, and sauté for 4–5 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook for 1 minute more.
- Stir in oregano, thyme, and red pepper flakes; cook for 1 minute until fragrant.
- Add diced tomatoes, cannellini beans, stock, soy sauce, lemon juice, black pepper, and salt. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook for 8–10 minutes to meld flavors.
- Stir in parsley and half the Parmesan. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed.
- Add cooked noodles to the pot, tossing gently to combine and heat through.
- Divide ramen and broth among bowls. Top with remaining Parmesan, parsley, and desired toppings. Serve with crusty bread.