Still more from Northern California

One of the things that I always bring back from our trips to San Francisco, are fava beans. We will have them in NYC, in due course, but fava beans are my favorite vegetable, and given the chance to have them ahead of schedule, well, it's just too tempting.

Loving fava beans, of course, makes people ask questions like "DUDE. Do you know Anthony Hopkins?" or "DUDE. Do you drink chianti with them?"

PLEASE. There were fava beans before Anthony Hopkins. In fact, there were fava beans before just about any other cultivated vegetable. The Romans ate them. So did the Greeks. In fact, because of one of their rather, ahem, "gassy" characteristics, it was believed that the souls of the dead were contained within the beans, and it took their, ahem "passage" to be released to go to their eternal reward.

Kinda cool idea, don't ya think? Favas were also probably the first legume used in felafel, before being replaced by the much more economical and much less labor intensive chickpea. But look at that green color in felafel before he tosses it into the hot oil. That's not the color of chickpeas. It's not food coloring, it's probably parsley, but why do you think it's green in the first place?

My love for fava beans goes all the way back to childhood. Nana would make them for the two of us, usually with toasted bread. Years later, when I was in law school, I was absolutely ecstatic about finding them in a vegetable market. In what was a daily call to my mother (let's not go there), I told her how excited I was. She paused, and then, through clenched teeth, advised me "I did NOT send you to law school to eat like a peasant. EAT STEAK."

Whether she sent me to law school or not is arguable, but what is not is that I would rather eat fava beans than steak any day. But my mom's reaction is understandable, because, socially, well, before they became chick, "poor people" ate fava beans. They were inexpensive, and incredibly labor intensive (I'll explain that in a minute). So if you had someone at home, doing nothing but housework (like my Nana), you could take the time to do them. "Professionals," however, had no time for this kind of thing.

To the labor intensiveness: favas come in very thick, spongy pods. Sometimes, but not often, you can get them really, REALLY young and then if you grill the pods, you can scrape the flesh off of them, but you hae to be lucky to get them this small. Once they develop any kind of "sponge," those pods are really inedible. And once you get the beans out of the pods, they are encased in a skin that has to come off. THAT's where the labor comes in. You can sit there and peel them, painstakingly (which is the job that a lot of beginning cooks get in restaurants), or you can parboil them and dump them in ice water, and peel them. I came up with an approach once, which it turns out Paula Wolfert, the great Moroccan food expert, also uses. She takes the beans out of the pods, freezes and thaws them, and then just pushes them out of the pod. You need some patience for this, but for folks like Annalena, it is worth it.

You can be disappointed with the yield from fresh favas, if you're not prepped. A pound of favas will give you just a bit under a cup of beans, when podded and peeled. For some people, this is just not worth it. To me, the flavor has an intensity and uniqueness that makes them indispensable; however, it also means that you'll very rarely see a "side order" of fresh fava beans (dried ones, cooked are another matter). They are combined with other vegetables, like peas or asparagus and artichokes, in various combinations. Romans puree the three with stock in their famous "vignarola" soup, and they are mixed with other vegetables in various "spring vegetable ragouts." At this time of year, I love cooking them with green garlic and olive oil, until they are very soft. Normally, I add some stock or water to the olive oil, and sort of "boil/saute" them. As the water/stock boils away, the beans soften. Then the olive oil does its magic and permeates the beans, making them so good you'll want to eat the whole pot. If I'm there, you'll have to fight me.

In my little piece on "Woodward's Garden," some entries below, I talked about Dana's treatment of them, as a mash, with some salsa verde mixed in with them. That one was new to me, and I'm going to try it. Under scallops perhaps, or perhaps on some really good toast.

Yes, they're work, but can ya tell I love them? Annalena has very limited freezer space, but this is one veggie that she stocks for the winter. Not many, perhaps five, one pound bags, and then she doles them out sparingly during the winter. A breath of spring when it's freezing out, is always welcome.