Fava Beans: To Peel, or Not to Peel?

Once again, it's confession time.

I love fava bean season so much that, at the first sign of the bundles of young green shoots on farmers' market tables in the spring, I get a little giddy thinking of them stir-fried with garlic and tossed with pasta and preserved lemon, or slathered with oil and roasted, served alongside a beautiful grilled, pasture-raised chicken thigh. Then there's the knowledge that in just a couple of weeks, it'll be time for the pods to start appearing, their strange, off-green, blobby exteriors revealing pale green kidney-shaped beans pillowed in a porous white cushion.

Young favas in the field, perfect for shoots.

That's about when I remember that to prepare these little beany delights, I have to strip them out of their pods, boil them in a salty pot of water, then spend what seems like hours in the tedious task of popping them out of their skins to get a paltry—albeit decidedly delicious—pile of the bright green, shiny jewels.

I know, I'm whining.

Shucked beans ready to boil and use!

But, wonder of wonders, this year my friend Nancy Harmon Jenkins, part-time resident of Italy and author of well-regarded books on Italian cuisine like Cucina del Sol and The Four Seasons of Pasta, saved me (and you) from hours of whinging.

In a post on her blog, she excoriates Americans who insist on peeling the skins from their beans:

"What a waste of time! What a waste of flavor!

"Where does this weird practice come from? I suspect from the French professional kitchen where chefs are constantly challenged to come up with new tricks and trucs to keep their enormous brigades de cuisine in operation. In Italy, where restaurant kitchens are run much more economically, no one has to dream up tasks—there are enough to go around and more.

Pasta with albacore and favas.

"But why do Americans insist on this? Every food writer except one (me) says you have to peel beans. Then they go through elaborate rigmaroles to show you how to do it. No wonder fava beans are not exactly popular despite their magnificent, slightly earthy flavor, so very different from string beans or limas. Every spring or summer I feel like climbing up in the pulpit and shouting: YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT—IN FACT, IT IS COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE!!!"

Which, as you might imagine, got my attention. And came in mighty handy when my neighbor called offering a grocery bag full of freshly harvested favas from his garden. Let me tell you, I never relished preparing beans more—just shuck, boil in a pot of salted water for ten minutes and they're ready!

Read the rest of Nancy's post to get her serving suggestions and more cultural trivia about these delicate denizens of early summer. For me, I used some of my neighbor's beans in a pasta tossed with preserved lemon and albacore, sprinkled with chive blossoms and chopped chives, then used the rest to make the following dip for a party. Though when everyone oohed and aahed over the amount of work it took to peel all those beans, I was torn about revealing my secret. (Psst…I did.)

Fava Bean Spread

3 c. shucked beans
2 cloves garlic
1/2 fennel bulb, cut in half, cored and roughly chopped
1/4 c. parsley, coarsely chopped
1/4 c. mint, coarsely chopped
1/3 c. fresh lemon juice
3-4 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt, to taste

Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Drop in fava beans and cook for ten minutes. Drain and run under very cold water (or ice bath) until cool.

Put beans, garlic, fennel, parsley, mint and lemon juice into the bowl of a food processor. Turn on and while its running drizzle in olive oil until puréed. Adjust lemon juice and olive oil and add salt to taste. Serve with slices of rustic bread or crackers, or on toasted slices of baguette (à la bruschetta).

Lamb Raised Right: Braised Lamb with Fava Beans

When I first started this writing gig I had no idea of the opportunities I'd get to meet amazing, caring, thoughtful people who've dedicated their lives to providing their families and communities with food that is, as Slow Food likes to put it, "good, clean and fair." In terms of meat animals like cattle, sheep, pigs and chickens, it means that they've been raised humanely, on pasture, where they can live with other animals, feeling the soil under their feet and the sun on their backs. These farmers feed their animals none of the genetically modified corn and soy that most conventionally raised animals are raised on.

Really, it's exactly the picture of the farm that we all carry around with us from the stories read to us as children.

Les and her dogs at Jo-Le Farms.

Why am I so convinced that pasture-raised meat is better? Well, everyone's heard the phrase "you are what you eat" when it comes to junk food versus healthy foods. But I heard a phrase a few years ago that goes "you are what you eat eats," and it kind of blew my mind. In other words, if the animals we eat have a diet of the food that they are intended to consume—found in healthy pastures—rather than commodity grains laced with antibiotics and chemicals, then it follows that they'll be healthier animals and the meat and milk they provide will be healthier for us to eat.

Ben Meyer butchering lamb.

Not to mention that raising animals on pasture is better for the environment and actually sequesters carbon in the soil rather than contributing to climate change or groundwater pollution from waste products. (Read Nicolette Hahn Niman's Defending Beef: The Case for Sustainable Meat Production for more on the subject.)

And when it comes time to die, the larger animals are either killed in their pastures instantly with a swift shot behind the ear, or trucked a short distance to a humane processing facility where they aren't waiting in fear, listening to the panicked sounds of other animals.

It had been awhile since I'd bought a lamb (really a nearly-year-old sheep) because I hadn't found a farmer nearby who had pasture-raised sheep available. But when I visited my friends Kendra and Ivan at Shimanek Bridge Farm, who raise cattle, pigs, chickens and turkeys on pasture, they introduced me to their neighbors, Les Carter and her husband Jon of Jo-Le Farms, who raise—get this—pastured sheep!

Meat from one lamb.

Les mentioned that they'd be slaughtering a few of their sheep in the near future, and I nearly jumped into her arms. She promised to call when it was time, and a couple of weeks later she contacted me to let me know when they'd be available. I then called my friend Ben Meyer of Old Salt Marketplace to see if he'd help me butcher it, a process I prefer because I get to decide whether I get chops versus racks and bone-in or boneless roasts.

Animals like goats and lambs are generally small enough to carry in the back of my Mini Clubman, Chili, so I pulled up in front of Ben's place and he graciously carried it inside for me. An hour or so later I walked out with a cooler-full of cut and wrapped chops, ribs, shanks and roasts, and I saved out a big bone-in shoulder roast for our first lamb dinner in some time.

Braised lamb with favas.

Braised lamb is the easily one of my favorite ways to cook and eat a lamb roast, though I've had several grilled boneless leg roasts that run a close second. Braising is also one of the easiest methods for cooking lamb, since all you have to do is add some vegetables and liquid to the lamb in a pot and cover it for two or three hours in the oven. The lamb slowly melts into fall-off-the-bone tender chunks, the liquid and meat juices meld into gravy and the vegetables and any herbs give it a marvelous depth. I added a pound of fava beans from Ayers Creek Farm, a cup or so of tomatoes I'd just roasted, and that night we sat down to our first lamb dinner in quite some time.

And now there are so many more lamby meals to look forward to this winter, thanks to the hard work of Les and Jon. I can't wait!

Braised Lamb with Fava Beans

1 lb. fava beans, soaked overnight
4-5 lb. bone-in lamb shoulder
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 yellow onion, roughly chopped
3 large carrots, quartered and cut crosswise in 1/2" pieces
3 large cloves garlic, smashed
3 large bay leaves
5 sprigs of fresh thyme or oregano
6 c. chicken or lamb stock
1 Tbsp. salt plus more to taste

Preheat oven to 375°.

Heat olive oil in large Dutch oven over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Add onion and sauté, stirring occasionally, until it is tender. Add carrots and garlic and sauté until tender. Add lamb, bay leaves, herbs, salt, fava beans and stock. Cover and place in oven. Check every half hour or so to make sure there is still liquid; if it has all been absorbed, add water or stock. Braise for 2-3 hours until meat is ready to fall off the bone.

Remove meat, bay leaves and any stems from herb sprigs. Cut or pull the meat off the bones and chop into serving-sized pieces. Place in serving bowl and ladle beans, vegetables and gravy over it. Serve with hunks of artisan bread for sopping up the juices.

Check here for more recipes for lamb, then read farmer Les's recipes.

Fleeting Pleasures: Fava Bean Salad

I got a text from neighbor. It read, "Want some Fava beans?"

I immediately texted back, "You betcha!"

A few minutes later I was standing in his back yard with a grocery bag watching him shelling some English peas—this guy is a consummate home gardener—and we chatted until he finished. Then he handed me at least a three-pound bag of luscious pods bulging with those brilliantly green early summer treats.

I was about to thank him and leave when he asked, "Could you use some fennel? I've got lots."

"You betcha!" I answered.

Fava Bean Salad

3+ lb. fava bean pods
2 cloves garlic
1/4 c. fresh mint, minced
1 serrano pepper, seeded and minced
Juice of 1 lemon
1/4 c. olive oil
Salt to taste

Bring a large pot of well-salted water to boil. Put the pods—remove any debris or leaves and separate any that are attached—in the boiling water, allow it to return to a boil, then reduce heat to a good simmer for 15-20 minutes. Drain and run cold water over them to cool until you can handle them easily.

Split the pods open and remove the beans. If the beans are large, the skins around them may be woody, so taste one with the skin on first. I removed the skins from around the larger beans but left them on the smaller ones—they add a nice flavor and it'll endear you to any Italians in the crowd. Put all the beans into a mixing bowl with the rest of the ingredients and stir to combine. Adjust lemon juice, olive oil and salt to taste.

Do Me A Fava…

Their color couldn't scream spring any louder. And with a delicate, earthy flavor and creamy texture, these little beans are like little nuggets of gold. Add in the labor of peeling them from their skins, and they're elevated to the level of food fit for the gods. I like them boiled whole in salted water, popped from their pods and tossed with good olive oil, a sprinkling of mint and a whisper of garlic and salt. Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food likes them whizzed into a spread for bruschetta.

While favas have been cultivated for at least 8,000 years, nobody's figured out an easy way to get them out of their skins. Of course, for most of those millenia, people left the skins on the beans, and my friend Nancy Harmon Jenkins makes a good case for doing just that. [Her very funny post is well worth the read. - KAB] But other cooks I like argue convincingly that the time and labor spent is worth it.

Whether to skin your favas depends on how you plan to eat them. American farmers tend to let them get too big, but if you grow your own or can find small favas (pods thinner than your finger, with beans about a half inch long), spend a sunny afternoon acting like a Roman. Shuck the beans and eat them raw with a some good pecorino (sheep's milk cheese) and a crisp white Vermentino. Or make the classic Spring vegetable stew called vignarola. Traditional versions leave the beans unpeeled, but others [like this one from Chef Cathy Whims of Nostrana] call for naked favas.

Bruschetta with Favas & Arugula

Making a spread with favas is one of my favorite ways to get more out of the time spent dealing with them. Sometimes it's just a few ingredients, like this one with mint and garlic. But if I need to feed more than a few people, I'll add a few more things.

Start with pound of favas in their pods. Split open the pods, remove the beans and drop them into a pot of well-salted boiling water. Cook for about a minute, drain, and run some cold water over them until they're cool enough to handle. Use a fingernail to nick the skins and squeeze out the bright green bean. You'll end up with about a cup of shelled beans.

Combine them in your food processor with a cup or so of fromage blanc (or other soft goat cheese), a few tablespoons of pecorino Romano, a couple of cloves of chopped garlic, about 2 cups of arugula, a half cup of fresh mint, a couple of pinches of salt, a splash of Katz Viongier Honey vinegar and 3-4 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Process until you have a coarse puree, taste and add salt, vinegar or oil as necessary. Toast or grill some good bread, drizzle with a little olive oil and top with the fava spread.

More Fun with Favas

Contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood knows a good thing when he reads it, and Anthony Boutard's recent rant about favas goaded him into action. I think he's onto something!

Grilled Fava Beans

I’d read about grilling favas for a few years, but didn’t try it until after reading this screed from Anthony and Carol Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm:

“The American food establishment has deemed that favas are edible only when the seeds are peeled. In our experience shelling the beans raw, then blanching and peeling the seeds is tedious and unnecessary, and robs this amazing vetch of much of its flavor, nutritional value and fiber. Worse yet, a simple, hearty staple has become a fussy, special occasion food, and a daunting one at that.”

I was guilty of promoting the shuck, blanch and peel again approach, and the Boutards’ advice is unfailing, so I decided to follow it. Mostly anyway. They go on to suggest 12 minutes of boiling in heavily salted water. But the Weber was lit, there was a pile of favas and I tossed them on the grill, pods and all.

I turned them enough to get the exteriors pretty charred, then pulled open the blackened pods, swiped the unpeeled beans through extra virgin olive oil and flor de sal and ate. Amazingly good, and there is a lot more flavor.

The process is a bit messy, so I’d suggest doing this when you’re eating outside (like that’ll ever happen). Grill a few pounds for a party, put them on a big platter, and let everybody peel and eat.

Farm Bulletin: Challenging Convention

Contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm is not afraid to look culinary canvention in the eye and challenge it to a staring contest. This bulletin takes on the notion that shelling fresh fava beans is the only proper way to prepare them. You will find him and his wife Carol at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market every Sunday from 10 am-2 pm.

Everyday Favas

The American food establishment has deemed that favas are edible only when the seeds are peeled. In our experience shelling the beans raw, then blanching and peeling the seeds is tedious and unnecessary, and robs this amazing vetch of much of its flavor, nutritional value and fiber. Worse yet, a simple, hearty staple has become a fussy, special occasion food, and a daunting one at that.

The best way to prepare favas for everyday use is to bring a large pot of water to the boil, add a handful of salt, a quarter cup or so, and then throw the whole pods into the water. Cook them for about 12 minutes, until the pods are limp. Drain and leave to cool for 20 minutes, or until they are comfortable to shell. A gentle squeeze and the seeds will slip out of the pod. Favas cooked in this manner are free of bitterness and strong flavors. The combination of the heavily salted water and cooking the seeds in the pod makes skin of the bean nutty flavored, and the fresh favas become a much more satisfying dish than the naked cotyledons touted in the food magazines.

These fresh favas can be sauteed with some garlic and olive oil. Our friend Katherine Deumling, a happy convert to this method of preparing fresh favas, has a recipe for favas in yogurt, a very traditional way of serving them. For this year's farm field day, we prepared a ful made from a combination of fresh and dried favas, along with some chickpeas. The ful was seasoned with some olive oil, lemon, garlic and cumin.

We must credit Mimi Serafi, the mother of our sister-in-law Shirin, who taught us this simple Persian approach to cooking favas. It works and has improved our life. Can't ask more than that.

Spread the News

Speaking of gorgeous greens (What? You weren't? But it's spring!), contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood is dreaming of what he can do when those lumpy, spongy pods start hitting the markets in the next few weeks.

I haven’t actually purchased any any fava beans yet this year, and the local crop is still at east a month away. But favas (fave is the plural in Italian) from further south should be available. I had some at a winemaker’s dinner last week—beautifully prepared and hosted by the winemakers Jan-Marc and Barbara Baker—cooked simply in good butter.

When I have the time to sit and and shuck, parboil and peel a pile o’fave for myself, I’ll make this. Since a pound of fava pods yields maybe a cup of the edible inner bean, this spread stretches them so you don’t need to shuck quite so many.

Fava Mint Bruschetta

(Always, always pronounced brew-sketta.)

For enough for four people, start with at least a pound of pods, although another half would be better. Split open the long pods with your thumb and strip out the beans, still in their tight, pale green skins. This will take about 30 minutes if you’re fast.

Get a medium saucepan of water boiling, toss in a little salt, and add the beans. Let the water return to a boil, cook another minute, then drain and run a little cold water over the beans so you can handle them. I find the easiest method for getting the bean out is pinching the skin open at one end and gently squeezing until the bright green bean pops out. It’s fine if the beans split, and most will. Plan on another 10-15 minutes for this.

Combine the shucked, peeled fave in the food processor with at least a cup of tightly packed fresh mint, a couple cloves of garlic, a splash (about a tablespoon) of Katz Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc vinegar (the sweet note works well with this), a long pour of good extra virgin olive oil (at least a half cup) and pinch of sea salt. Process, taste, adjust salt, oil, or vinegar and process again to a uniform but slightly coarse paste.

Toast or grill good bread (New Seasons wheat levain is my daily bread, Ken’s or other good loaf fine), spread with fava mix, drizzle with a bit more oil, and eat.

Horn of Plenty

This time of year I can't stay away from the farmers' markets, and apparently I'm not the only one judging by this installment from contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood.

I can’t stop buying the early season vegetables, intensely green, oozing chlorophyll and wonderful with just oil and salt (and sometimes a bit more). I get nettles whenever I can, and the tender tops of fava beans have been a revelation. I’ve grown favas, and I wish I knew you could eat the tops when they were taking over the garden.

My own garden provides sorrel, an astringent herb with a lemony tang. Soup seems to be what most recipe sources make from it, but I like adding it to salads, salsa verde and anything with fish. Last week I combined some with a couple of other early season vegetables for my never-ending parade of fritters.

Sorrel, Nettle, Fava, and Spring Onion Fritters

Start by carefully (tongs or gloves) dropping a bunch of stinging nettles (bunch loosely defined as a clump about the size of cantaloupe) into boiling water. After a minute or so, fish them out and let them cool and drain (save the water for soup or nettle tea). Chop finely.

Dice a spring onion finely; do the same with about as much fresh sorrel as you have cooked nettle (maybe a well-packed cup or so). Ditto the fava leaves and flowers. Combine the vegetables with a couple of eggs, bit of salt, maybe a quarter cup of grated Parmigiano, and enough breadcrumbs to give the mix some body without drying it out too much (roughly half cup, but test the mix to make sure it holds together). Adding a healthy scoop of fresh ricotta, maybe adjusting the bread crumbs up as well, makes these even better.

Use a pair of soup spoons to form walnut size fritters, slide them in enough hot extra virgin olive oil to cover the bottom of a heavy skillet, gently flatten, and cook until browned on both sides. Sprinkle flor de sal over the cooked fritters and eat immediately.

Farm Bulletin: Do Me a Fava

Until spring arrives (soon, so soon!) there are still the delights of the braising pot to explore. Contributor Anthony Boutard shares two recipes for a soup and a stew made from dried fava beans.

Here are a couple of good recipes for dry favas in the winter.

'Ncapriata
Adapted from Astray Recipes.

This traditional southern Italian dish is most often accompanied by wild chicory, but any fresh winter green will be delicious. We also substituted celeriac for the more traditional celery because it makes a creamier soup. Yield: 4 servings.

8 oz. dried fava beans, soaked for 12 hours
1 med. celeriac, peeled and chopped
1 med. onion, chopped
2 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. fruity olive oil, or more
12 oz winter greens, cleaned and chopped
1/3 c. water
1 Tbsp. salt
3 Tbsp. fruity olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced

Drain the beans and slip them out of their skins. If the skins cling too tightly, boil them for 5 to 10 minutes and then skin. Put peeled beans in a pot with celeriac and onion. Add just enough water to cover and bring to a simmer. Add the 2 teaspoons salt, cover and cook for 20 to 25 minutes or until the beans are very soft, adding more water if necessary. Drain and mash by hand, or in a processor, with the 2 Tablespoons olive oil.

Bring the water to a boil, add the greens and 1 Tablespoon of salt, cover & cook until the greens are soft but not mushy, 5 minutes. Drain. Warm the 3 Tablespoons olive oil in a skillet and slowly sauté the garlic just until it is golden and soft. Do not let it brown. Add the greens and swirl them around in the oil. Serve on a platter, spooning the garlic-infused greens over the favas.

Macco di Fave

The following is an adaption of a recipe for this dish on the website Cibo Che Passione. This dish makes a very thick, creamy soup and will feed 4.

1 med.-lg. onion, finely diced
1 c. dried fava beans
1/2 c. tomato purée or one ripe summer tomato, diced
1/4 cup olive oil, or to taste
Fresh ground pepper
1 tsp. salt
2 1/2 c. dried egg noodles, or more
Pecorino or Parmesan cheese, grated
1 tsp. sugar, optional

Soak the beans in plenty of water for 12 to 24 hours. Remove the skins, rinse the beans and put them into a heavy pot with the onion, tomato and salt. Add enough water to generously cover. If the puree is not sweet, you can add the sugar.

Bring to a simmer, lower the heat to low and cover. Cook until the beans are totally soft and disintegrating. Stir to break up the beans and mix the ingredients.

In a separate pot, cook the noodles in plenty of salted, boiling water till they are al dente. Drain them and stir in the oil. Add to the bean pot and cook gently until the noodles have finished cooking. Serve dressed with the pepper and grated cheese.

Farm Bulletin: The Meaning of Beans, Pt. 2

In Part 1, Anthony informed us about the difference between Fabaceae, Vicia, Vigna and Phaseolus. Part 2 gives us the skinny on shell, wax and bush beans, plus a long-kept secret recipe for dried favas.

Shell or dry beans. These are beans grown for their seeds, rather than the pod. That is, they are grown to be shelled. Typically, they are shelled when dry, and can be stored for several months.

Fresh shell beans are beans that are harvested when the seed has developed and perhaps nearing maturity, but not dry. Also called "shelly beans" in some regions. Typically, green bean varieties do not make good fresh shell beans, and visa versa. Flageolet, cranberry and cannellini are examples of good fresh shell varieties. They have a tough, tasteless pod and would not be welcome as green beans. All three are acceptable as dry beans, though we prefer them fresh shells. There is also a middle point in the drying referred to as "demi-sec."

Wax beans. Yellow snap or string beans. The yellow color is similar to bee's wax, hence the name.

Bush bean. As the name suggests, it is a bean variety that has a bushy habit. They produce beans in a shorter time than pole beans, and the beans tend to be ready about the same time. The beans that are bush beans include: garden beans (snap, wax and string, fresh shell and dry, green and wax) and bush limas. The tepary beans do not climb, per se, but have a viney habit, sprawling across the ground. This shades the soil around the plant.

The primary virtue of bush beans is that they can be harvested by machine. The machine is called a "Pixall Super Jack." Modern bush snap beans have been bred using a toughness gene that allows them to be stripped off the vine and then spewed into a big trailer where they are piled eight feet deep. A pretty impressive feat in endurance, but not necessarily a culinary virtue. We have found that even the best of the bush beans cannot hold a candle to the best of the pole beans, either in terms of flavor, or tenderness and texture. We wait patiently for the pole beans to mature.

Ful Medamas

Linda Colwell kindly gave us her now-legendary interpretation.

1 lb. favas, soaked in water for three days (refrigerated), changing water twice
3 Tbsp. olive oil
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 med. onion, chopped
2 tsp. turmeric
2 cardamom pods
1 dried Aci Sivri pepper, broken (or any semi hot dried pepper)
1/2 preserved lemon*
2 c. fresh chopped tomatoes or tomato sauce
1 c. pitted mixed green and black olives, chopped
1 c. chopped cilantro
Water or chicken broth to simmer favas
Salt

Once the favas have soaked, heat the olive oil in a deep pot. Sauté the garlic and onion with a pinch of salt. Add the turmeric, cardamom pods and Aci Sivri peppers to cook for 10 minutes slowly. Add the chopped preserved lemon, chopped tomatoes and the favas. Cook 5-8 minutes to begin simmer, add broth or water. Simmer favas over low heat and gently until favas are tender. They should be cooked in the middle but not falling apart. Finish with a seasoning of salt, stir in the olives, and chopped cilantro.

* For a fast version of preserved lemon: Cut a lemon in half cross wise and slit the sides to the end of the fruit. Sprinkle liberally with kosher salt and place in freezer over night. Prior to using, thaw lemon, rinse off salt and chop.

Seasonal Greens

There's something about the color green that just shouts spring to me. It happens when I see the first tentative tendrils of my white bleeding heart popping out of the ground, followed by the hostas and anemonies, and then the farmers' markets start up with garlic shoots and tender baby lettuces.

And, my obsession with rhubarb notwithstanding, there's that very short, very special moment when fava beans can be found at the markets and on the menus of many restaurants. The trick seems to be finding very fresh pods with firm, round beans inside rather than faded, floppy things that have lost their luster to too much time in transit.

Yes, there is that notorious three-step prep, but, hey, the season is short and the agony doesn't last long. Just remove the beans from the pods, boil them for a minute or two in plenty of water, then shock them in ice water to stop the cooking process. Terrific in salads or tossed with pasta, they also make a vivid seasonal risotto. I like them as a fava bean spread on fresh slices of baguette or on crostini brushed with olive oil and garlic and topped with a tiny mint leaf.

So steel yourself and get in while the getting's good. You won't regret it!