Roberta Corradin describes the unusual combination of legumes and seafood in a pasta dish sure to throw husbands and mothers-in-law in a state of shock

There come those precarious moments in every life which drive us to cling to the firmly-planted roots of stability. So, for example, you invite a gentleman friend to stay for a couple of days and there you are! one year later, with a gold band on your finger, and half a kilo of chickpeas (garbanzo beans) soaking in water because there's a mother-in-law for lunch the next day.

...One long year later, there you are again, wrestling with a screaming toddler on your arm as you put another half a kilo of soaked chickpeas to boil in 3 litres of water.

Something about a covered clay cooking pot makes it a sort of Pandora's box which puts any poor mortal's curiosity to the test. Roman cooks warn sternly against peeking under the lid during the four hours the legumes have to cook over a low flame.

The moment does eventually satisfy that very natural curiosity: cooking time never passes in vain. You discover that in the course of those four hours, some arcane alchemy has moved part of the chickpeas to strip off their hulls and bob around in the broth like a party of skinny-dippers, then dissolve.

Nature can be helped along a bit--those modest few remaining can be separated from their coverings by stirring them up briskly with a wooden spatula, leaving a few whole in the covered pot before turning your attention to the clams, and to your firstborn who is trying to slaughter his little brother in the crib.

Italian mothers-in-law take their roles quite seriously. It's up to their daughters-in-law therefore to resort to any means possible in order to defend themselves. With the passing years, you learn to set aside a few clams in their shells as proof of their authenticity, and as hard evidence to discourage the slightest suspicion of frozen food abuse. About a kilo of clams should be cleaned in running water, then opened in a skillet with garlic and dried red peppers to taste.

With little ceremony the clams join the chickpeas, who traditionally await matrimony in their clay pot. This marriage of earth and sea may leage aghast mothers-in-law and bridegrooms, but its foundation is solid enough to withstand even their critical taste test. Strain the liquid off the clams through a cheese cloth before adding it to the chickpea stock along with some minced parsley and a sprig of marjoram. Add salt if needed.

There comes a time in every married life when your mother-in-law's birthday arrives, and her son -your husband,- says "come on, make us something really good." Pasta and chickpeas is something really good--and really special: an antique Roman soup on its way to extinction. As it's not a panda we're dealing with here, the WWF can hardly be expected to intercede. So it seems it's up to us...

In warm summer weather, the soup is served tepid, after 8 oz. of short pasta (ditali, ditalini) cooked separately in boiling water has been added. Each soup plate should be topped with a swirl of olive oil and freshly ground pepper. And the cook receives her due for splendid performance in the face of adversity: a dozen friends to stay for the weekend, a large number of potential in-laws, a passle of lively children, the acquaintance of some lovely divorce lawyers and, thank god, the security of immutable, traditional recipes.