Rolling sun-drenched hills with sandstone villas dotting endless acres of vineyards is the postcard version of Tuscany. And truly, there is plenty of all of that to go around. In the right season, that is. Go in February and it’s another story. That’s how and why I found myself sopping wet and shivering at a tiny table in Osteria Su Santa Trinita.

It wasn’t where or when I was supposed to be, but it turned into a fortuitously delicious stopover. Which, of course, is the best part of travel, whether you journey a mile or a continent. On this particularly damp and cold evening, the restaurant’s longtime chef and owner Vladimiro Gori took pity on me, welcoming me inside though he wasn’t even open yet.

I was in Prato, a town known for its textiles and dishes such as hearty ribollita (a bread and vegetable soup) and biscotti-like cantucci biscuits. But what I actually ended up falling in love with was the simplest of chickpea dishes, a bowl of beans whose speed and ease of prep defied the flavors it delivered. Honestly, not since I’d traveled to the Middle East to learn the fine art of hummus had I swooned so completely for a chickpea dish.

As Italians so often do, Gori insisted on feeding me. There were the usual suspects of salads and breads and cheeses and pastas, of course. But it was his ceci e acciughe—or chickpeas and anchovies—that got my attention. A simple bowl of chickpeas, sauced with little but their own cooking water and copious olive oil in which he’d cooked down anchovies, red pepper flakes and garlic. Sprigs of rosemary and crisped sage leaves studded the affair.

The eating was as simple as the cooking—a spoon and some crusty bread. The flavors were anything but simple. So deeply savory and almost creamy, but all punctuated by gentle hits of heat and garlic. The rosemary and sage perfumed everything. It was so good, I insisted he demonstrate how he made it. And I’m glad I did. Because it was then that he explained that while bread is the classic accompaniment, he often instead tosses the chickpeas with pasta. Something small, such as cavatelli or orecchiette.

Which is exactly what we did at Milk Street. The combination—as classically Tuscan as those postcard hills—is deeply comforting, even if you aren’t drenched and shivering from a winter storm.