Fava beans and a nice Chianti
Who can think of fava beans without Hannibal Lecter’s quote from “Silence of the Lambs?” “A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” Or perhaps you know the tribute quote from “Dumb and Dumber.” No matter; it’s never a good idea to associate a food item with cannibalism.
I confess I’d never eaten fava beans before this weekend. We just don’t travel in the same circles. But I started thinking about a Greek bean dish called “Gigantes,” which are giant white beans often baked with tomato sauce. These beans are proprietary to Greece, and there are no agreed-upon substitutes - perhaps large limas or butter? – Foolishly thinking this, I picked up some fava beans thinking they would suffice.
This is where my inexperience with fava beans was exposed. Like tamarinds (see last week’s article), it turns out that favas are one of those foods that leaves you scratching your head how it was ever determined they were edible.
It’s not like you can eat them raw; they’re hard as rocks. Eventually it was learned that they must first soak for 24 hours. But then there is one more step: you have to boil them after all that soaking – fortunately not long, about 20 minutes. So now you can eat them, right?
Not yet. After being soaked and then cooked, a fava bean is still nearly inedible. It has a husk that must be peeled off to reveal the bean inside. How easy is that peeling? Glad you asked! One recipe foolhardily boasted that a fava bean can be squeezed and popped right out of its skin into your mouth. Sure, if you slice it around the perimeter first with a sharp blade, and have a mouth that doesn’t mind staying open for five minutes at a time.
In summary, to be even remotely edible, a fava bean must first be soaked, boiled, and peeled with the aid of a razor sharp implement, all over a two day period. After all that, it’d better be worth it, right?
BRAAAP! (Sound of game show failure.) Wrong again! One fava bean, to put it charitably, is like a tiny, mealy potato that might feed an ant family. In other words, after all that work, it is not only just a small bite, but it has little taste on its own and needs major enhancement to reach even tolerable status. To this end, I experimented with everything from olive oil, salt, and lemon, to Cajun spice. Not to mention a few drops of Beano.
In the final analysis, fava beans are all right. With a few glasses of Chianti, they might even be part of a meal to remember.
Nick Roumel is a principal with Nacht, Roumel, Salvatore, Blanchard, and Walker PC, a firm in Ann Arbor specializing in employment and civil right litigation. He also has many years of varied restaurant and catering experience, has taught Greek cooking classes, and writes a food/restaurant column for “Current” magazine in Ann Arbor. He occasionally updates his blog at http://mayitpleasethepalate.blogspot.com/.
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