Fav-ulous, Just Fav-ulous here in our Bordeaux Kitchen

We’ve just begun our last week here, and while my blues haven’t left me completely, they have abated sufficiently that I know Pater and I can make the most of our remaining days in Bordeaux.  — Thank you so much foryour thoughtful responses to my last post.  Thanks also to my friend Lisa at Amid Privilege for mentioning that post (and the reader support it elicited) in her Saturday Morning post about the value of real, sincere, meaningful praise (however hard we find that to accept).

Because you’ve all been so kind and supportive and wise, I thought I’d share a favourite non-recipe for a meal that’s been sustaining us regularly here in our (temporary) Bordeaux kitchen.  I don’t imagine fava beans will be showing up at the market when we get back to Vancouver next week — if I remember correctly, we won’t see them until at least July, and your markets might be the same (or you’re in another hemisphere where gardens are sleeping for the season).  In which case, we’ve substituted other fresh beans and we’ve also been known to drain a can or two of cannelini beans — it’s a very forgiving non-recipe.

Quick disclaimer: If you’ve been reading here for years, you’ll have read other posts about preparing fava beans. Here, for example, and here. The (non) recipes offered in those earlier posts are different, and there are photographs of the process. But yes, I’m repeating myself — seems inevitable as I come to the end of my eleventh year blogging. 

So then, if you’re lucky enough to have fava beans — we’ve been buying them at all the markets, Marché des Capucins, Marché des Quais, Marché Saint Seurin, Marché de Créon — start with a good kilogram of them and first, open the pods to nudge the beans into a bowl. Your pile of empty shells will comprise far more biomass than the surprisingly small accumulation of green beans, and you may wonder if you paid too much for compost.  . . But you might also notice how connected you feel with your senses — that particularly verdant, slightly musky fragrance of beans; the satisfying kinetic sensation of unzipping the pod along its seam;  your finger pad brushing the velvet lining of the pod’s interior as you scoop the beans out.

Sometimes, those of us who prepare food complain that it takes so long to prepare and is consumed so quickly. But in the case of fava beans (as with shelling fresh-from-the-garden peas), I find the process of preparing them to be a satisfying consumption of its own, almost a pre-tasting.

Okay, enough kitchen philosophy. Next stage is to bring a pot of salted water to a boil (“salty as the ocean” was the lyrical instruction I once read regarding bean-cooking). Enough water that they’ll be able to roll around a bit, but not so much that it will take forever to boil. Once the water’s at a good boil, dump the beans into it and wait for the water to boil again, a rolling boil with all the beans bouncing ’round on the surface. As soon as that’s happening, drain them and then plunge them into a bowl you’ve already filled with cold water (ice water’s even better).  Note: I used to boil the beans a handful at a time, according to instructions I’d read which told me to wait for the beans to come to the surface, then scoop them out into that cold-water bath, and add another handful to the boiling water.  Lately, I haven’t been taking those steps, and honestly, I haven’t noticed any under- or over-cooked beans.

If the fava beans you’ve been lucky enough to acquire are really young, you might be able to get away without the next step — for the first few weeks here, we were leaving the skin on most of the smaller beans. They’re getting much heftier now, though, and the skin is thicker, more fibrous. So the next step, once the beans are cool, is to gently squeeze the skin off each bean.  The first reward for this extra labour? The sweetest green you’ll ever eat, seriously! Plus more fodder for your compost bin — next year’s humous, if you’re a gardener. . .

Finally, now that you have your (shockingly small, it’s true) bowl of shiny green half-moons,  you can toss them in a salad bowl with a chopped tomato, a cup of chopped cucumber, 1/2 a sweet onion, diced, and a chopped avocado. Pater adds olive oil, salt & pepper to taste, and the juice of half a lemon. But you will adjust to taste, of course. And perhaps report back any recommended improvements. We’ve been known to add fresh chopped mint, and I’m thinking one of these days I’ll probably add a cup of cooked couscous. . . or quinoa. . . . And hmmmm, what about adding a few artichoke hearts, quartered?

Let me know what you think, would you? We’re going to brave the heat (a predicted 32 Celsius today, a titch cooler than yesterday, and far too warm for me) and the crowds (everyone’s come to Bordeaux for le pont  (the long weekend built on Ascension Thursday, apparently) to stroll through the market by the Garonne again. Given that we only have a week left here, I’m going to be very careful around the cheeses — still haven’t finished last week’s purchases. . .

à plus tard,

xo,

f

7 Comments

  1. hostess of the humble bungalow
    2 June 2019 / 7:48 pm

    I am not sure that I have ever tasted Fava beans…now I must try and find some so that I can make that dish!
    It sounds tasty.

  2. Madame Là-bas
    3 June 2019 / 2:58 am

    I haven't had fava beans either but with tomato, avocado etc., I'm sure I would enjoy them.

  3. Anonymous
    3 June 2019 / 8:43 am

    Your little fava bean sketch is so cheery. It has been your influence of water color dabbling that caused me to ask my artist BIL for basic water color lessons for my birthday. He finally delivered almost a year later while I was home in Maine and it was so much fun.
    I knew absolutely nothing about it and am pleased now to even consider what negative space is and to learn what all the types of brushes do. I had so much fun;the inspiration to give it a try came totally from you,though.
    I inspect your painting with real interest, loving, especially, the circles of pre-painted areas that you use pen and ink over just recently.
    Thank you for the inspiration.
    P.S. I wonder how much fava beans taste like edadame?
    Soak up the last few days in France.
    A.in London

  4. Anonymous
    3 June 2019 / 12:15 pm

    Such lovely thoughts about the time we spend creating our food. Thank you.

    It will be fun for me to armchair-imagine y'all's last week in Bordeaux. I hope it will be sweet.

    Ann in Missouri

  5. Georgia
    3 June 2019 / 12:30 pm

    I am back home with my laptop so will see if I can comment successfully again. Have been reading all the posts and comments with interest.

    Pasta with fava beans and fresh peas…the taste of early summer. I make a salad like that often but with chick peas…less special and seasonal but still tasty.

    Enjoy the rest of your time away and the trip home…and be sure to eat that cheese before you leave…no matter the cost, digestively (I could be speaking from recent experience here)…

  6. Linda
    3 June 2019 / 5:59 pm

    Thank you for including a link to your Marché Saint Seurin post – I popped over there and had a nostalgic interlude.
    Broad beans (what we Brits call fava beans) are the most delicious of beans. I have just planted out my third row from home sowing today, and am wondering if I can squeeze in a further sowing to eke out the season. Hmmm, just checked it and it seems I'm too late with our short summer.
    Please have some cheese for me!

  7. materfamilias
    4 June 2019 / 7:53 am

    Leslie: They don't generally show up at the grocery stores, but you can usually find them at Farmers' Markets.
    Mme: It's hard to go wrong with that combo, right?
    A: I'm so glad you were inspired to try painting for yourself — isn't it satisfying? So funny, in retrospect, that I let five decades go by thinking I simply couldn't. As for the edamame/fava beans — I'll have to do a side-by-side cmoparison — for me, the whole edamame experience has much to do with the kinetic thing, popping the warm soybeans out of the pods, all of it well salted, and when I prepare them at home, I drop the frozen pods from the bag into the boiling water. Surprisingly, the taste of the soybeans themselves hasn't registered very strongly in my memory.
    Ann: Three last days now. . . .thank you,
    Georgia: Here you are again! So pleased the comments are working for you — and I hope your trip went well. Mmm, yes, the simple pastas are such a gift for featuring fresh vegetables. . . Working on the cheese, and very lucky to have a companion whose digestion is rarely daunted 😉
    Linda: Clever you with three rows of fava beans. I envy you that harvest! Congratulations on the launch of your new enterprise, by the way! And yes, I'll happily have some cheese for you and perhaps you won't mind if I add a glass of something-something 😉

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