Friendships can be complex things that have many foundations. Sometimes we’re keenly aware of them; sometimes they’re never consciously acknowledged. Mine with fellow southern food writer John Martin (Hoppin’ John) Taylor is founded on a lot more than a passion for good grits.

One of the passions we share is a deep love for Genoa and its surrounding province, Liguria—the region of Italy popularly known as the Italian Riviera.

John’s roots to the place run much deeper than mine. He actually lived in Genoa for a couple of years and frequently returns to it; my own stay was a short half year, and though I’ve returned to Italy several times, I’ve never been back to the place that has shaped so much of my spirit in my imagination.

Moreover, John’s Italian is easy and fluent and he understands the unique linguistic twists that are the Ligurian dialect; my Italian is halting and limited mostly to cooking terms. The Ligurian dialect leaves me completely bewildered. Because of this, he gets subtleties of the place that are mostly lost on me.

Still, my own love for the place, and for its cooking, is deep.

All this comes to mind because John has been posting pictures in an on-line album of a recent sojourn to Genoa with his partner, Mikel. Those pictures brought back a flood of memories—of sight, smell, and taste—and with them a poignant longing that at present can be soothed only in my kitchen.

Living, however briefly, in Genoa paralleled my awakening to cooking as something other than a playful hobby. In those days, my budding love for cooking was equaled only by my naïve ignorance of it.

Our cook, Ilda, was not a culinary genius; her culinary prowess was that of any other ordinary Genoese housewife. And yet, every moment at her table, from the first bite of focaccia, fragrant with oil and crunching with a topping of coarse salt, to the heady aromas and flavors of spaghetti alla carbonara and pesto, was a revelation.

One especially revealing dish was a simple stew of veal, peas, and tomatoes. For someone who mistakenly thought good cooking had to be complicated, its simple elegance was a wakeup call. It had no wine or herbs; its only seasonings were shallots, salt, and pepper. Its three key ingredients were pretty much left alone to bring out the best in one another.

Ilda made it often, probably because stewing cuts of veal and canned tomatoes were relatively cheap and we were a bunch of college-aged men with large appetites. All we knew or cared about was how good it tasted.

With John’s pictures gnawing at my heart, I’ll make that stew and let its flavors soothe the ache—until the lucky day when I can taste it again with the Ligurian sun glinting off my fork.

Veal Stew with Tomatoes and Peas

Because we were there in the fall, Ilda made this with frozen or canned peas. Since fresh peas are now in season, it’s worth going to the trouble of using them if you can find them, but don’t substitute fresh tomatoes on the mistaken notion that they’ll be an improvement. They won’t: they don’t have the same depth of flavor, and at any rate, are not yet in season, so the fresh plum tomatoes available in our markets are not yet worth the trouble and expense.

San Marzano tomatoes are pretty widely available nowadays, but if you can’t find them, any good quality canned Italian-style plum tomatoes can be substituted.

Serves 6

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 large shallots or 1 medium yellow onion, trimmed, peeled, and chopped fine

2¼ pounds boned veal chuck or shoulder, cut into 1¼-1½-inch cubes

Salt and whole black pepper in a peppermill

2 cups canned whole San Marzano tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped, with their juice

2½ pounds whole (unshelled) green peas, or 1 pound frozen petit peas

1. Put the oil, butter, and shallot in flameproof casserole, Dutch oven, or braising pan. Turn on the heat to medium and cook, tossing occasionally, until the shallot is colored pale gold.

2. Wipe the veal dry and add enough of it to cover the bottom of the pan without crowding it. Brown it well on all sides and repeat with the remaining veal. Season it with salt and pepper and return it all to the pan. Add the tomatoes, bring it to a simmer, and reduce the heat to a bare simmer. Cover and gently cook until the veal is fork tender, between 1-and-1½-hours.

3. Meanwhile, shell the fresh peas, if using, or let the frozen peas thaw while the veal simmers. When it is almost done, add the peas and simmer until they are tender, as much as 20 minutes for large fresh peas or as little as 5 for thawed frozen peas. Taste and correct the seasoning. The stew can be made up to 2 days ahead and gently reheated; like most stews, this actually seems to improve it.