Fava Bean Raptures

Thoughts on the work of nourishment & the best salad recipe of literally ALL TIME

Preparing fava beans is a labor intensive process. Well…maybe labor is a dramatic word choice. It’s not exactly hard to do. Is labor hard by definition? Or can it just be repetitious, and time consuming, and multi-stepped? Probably it needs to be hard too to be considered labor.

For me, the hardest part about making fava beans was the fact that I bought almost five pounds of them (all cased up in their cushioned pods) from a stand at the farmers market for $12/lb., when I could have gotten them for $5/lb. From the stand around the corner. The one I passed first, but passed by because I wanted to see what other fava beans might be out there. I simply didn’t imagine that one farm would have the audacity to mark their favas up that much. It’s all organic. It’s all from the same dirt, more or less.

Once the beans were in my possession, the job was not hard. It was, however, repetitious, time consuming and multi-stepped. First they had to be disrobed. The pillowy pods had to go. Like sleeping bags zipped all the way up but more comfortable, like giant green hotel robes. Also without the zipper. I read one article on preparing fava beans that claimed the side seam on the pod could function as a zipper. Snap the top just right, and you could pull down along the seam and “unzip” the pod—they claimed! Either they were lying, or I never got the hang of it. Once or twice (maybe three times) I pulled down on the side string with marginal success, and the pod opened cleanly, but only after applying pressure with a fingernail to the seam.

Most of the time, I was ripping and tearing the poor pods apart, clawing desperately to get to the BEANS! To squeeze them out like edamame, or gently pull them off their little tethers. Yes, each bean had its own faucet shaped tether, holding on like a leech on human skin (I happily imagine, without actually knowing what that looks like). Except, I presume instead of sucking out the nutrients, these little tubes feed the beans so that they can get big and strong. The spongy pods were discarded, hollowed out into a trash bag hung over the knob to my favorite burner (front left corner). They took up a surprising amount of space in the bag.

The most compelling thing about the pods, however, was how soft they were. Soft on the outside, with a little fuzz of hair, cushiony like a Tempurpedic pillow. And they looked like that on the inside too—lined in clean white and foamy padding. Cool to the touch with moisture, but not actually wet. It made me almost emotional to think about how protected the beans were. That nature had colluded to whip together sinew upon sinew, to create a safe place to grow. It’s a miracle.

Once all the beans were out of their pod homes, chalky green in my big yellow kitchen bowl, I waited for my water to boil. I scooped ice cubes out of the freezer into my other big kitchen bowl—this one metal—and filled it up at the sink. Hot and cold, like the people who go in the sauna and then into an ice bath. That’s what my beans did. Three or four minutes in the hot, then a nice, good soak to stop them from overcooking.

Surely that’s the last step, and we can stop talking about fava beans? NOPE! Because favas are not only podded they are also shelled. I well up again just thinking of nature’s care—keeping these beans safe. Once they were sufficiently cooled and drained of their icy water, it was time for the now-softened, white, surprisingly thick, outer membrane of a shell to come off. Or rather, for the bean to come out of it. The easiest way was a pinch at the side to puncture the pouch, then a light squeeze. Just like this, one by one, my beans were freed. Still firm but soft enough to eat, smooth and coated in a slimy starchy film. My precious, precious beans!

I realize I might sounds like a crazy person—a fava worshiper (which I am), but I found the preparation process to be somewhat spiritual. It was so much work (not labor) to get to the part I could eat. But that part is there, created in such a way that I can actually digest it, and it nourishes my body. And the human brain (my brain) is wired in such a way that someone took a look at this weird, long, furry pod and said, “I’ve got to get in there.” And they were probably astonished, just like me, to find something so, so, so green inside. Four or five times greener than the outside. The work of nourishment is the best kind of work, and it’s nice to get in touch with that.

In this case, it was all the sweeter because I wasn’t just feeding myself, I was also feeding my friends. I was sharing the gift of the favas with the people I love. Yep! Wednesday was the Summer Solstice, and your girl threw a dinner party. I know you were probably worried for a minute there in the midst of my fava bean raptures—had I totally lost the plot? But no! Fear not! The best part is yet to come. We did dinner picnic style (though we ended up eating inside due to mediocre weather). Everyone seems to be all over the place in the summer, so it was a happy excuse to trap all my friends in one place before we all scatter again.

So what did I do with my fava beans? Well, I’m going to tell you right now(ish). It all started few weeks back when I was at I Sodi enjoying a lovely dinner with my lover. I Sodi is indisputably one of the best restaurants…ever? I highly recommend stopping by before they move locations, and the whole vibe changes. It will be potentially detrimental. But I’m getting sidetracked again! The star of the show at that bar-side meal, was the fava bean salad. I became obsessed. Can’t you tell? Here’s how I recreated it:

✧ 2(ish) pounds of fava beans¹
✧ 1 bunch of radishes (smaller radishes work best because the slices will be more similar in size to the favas)
✧ 1 bunch spring onions
✧ Mild, semi-soft cheese like fontina or provolone
✧ Lots of basil
✧ Handful of mint
✧ Lemon & olive oil with salt and pepper for dressing

My measurements are not super helpful, I know, but I’m not a pro at this recipe writing thing. Use your intuition. The fava beans should be prepared as outlined above. The radishes and spring onions should be cut on the mandoline—best kitchen tool of all time. The cheese should be cut into little teeny tiny cubes. The basil julienned, the mint rough chopped. All of it gets thrown into a bowl and drizzled with lemon, olive oil and salt and pepper. Go slow on that part because you don’t need much. Mix mix mix! I prepared mine the night before, which I think makes it better because it really marinates. It was great the next day too. And probably would have been great today if there were any left, which there’s not.

Along with the salad, I made my famous chicken cutlets. My grandmother, Baba, taught me how to make them, and I have it on good authority that mine might be the best in the world. My chicken cutlets are one of the few things that I have absolute confidence in. I never doubt myself, and I never worry. They will be good, and people will love them. It’s nice to have something like that in your life—or a few somethings if you’re lucky.

Slice the chicken breasts thin. I usually make three cutlets out of one breast. Pound them out, salt and pepper, flour, egg, breadcrumb & panko mixture (half and half) with Italian seasoning, in that order. Make sure to really press the breadcrumbs into the chicken. Fry on medium high heat in an oil with a high smoke point (vegetable or canola or avocado).

Rounding out the meal, was a delicious pasta salad from the sunday stack . I actually discovered this recipe during one of my stints on the old devil app (Instagram), but was sooo delighted to discover that Katie also has a Substack. My friend Holly said it’s the best pasta salad she’s ever eaten because “it was like a whole, real pasta, with meat and cheese and everything else.” That’s the stuff, baby!

Recipe here:

girl, MORE pasta salad?!

For dessert, we had berries and cream. Strawberries to be exact. They were absolutely delicious—like candy. For anyone who knows me, that’s a shocking thing to hear out of my proverbial mouth. For anyone who doesn’t, I used to be an extremely picky eater. Up until a few months ago, I barely ate vegetables and didn’t eat fruit at all. Ever. Then I got hypnotized, and it opened up my entire world. It’s possibly the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. But that’s a story for another time. Strawberries are GOOD!

Happy summer everyone! Eat well and feed your friends!

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1. I really recommend making it with fava beans because of the reasons outlined above, and also because they’re delicious, BUT if you’re pressed for time or can’t find fava beans (or afford them—god knows I can’t) I did make the same salad in a trial run with a mix of edamame and green peas. It was also delicious.