Fava beans

 

The broad beans on the roof are still only eight inches high, but I am growing them for their shoots, anyway. So I must cheat and buy a bagful from Pacific Gourmet or Atlantic Fruit and Veg (aka Mr Lee's) to satisfy my spring-time cravings for beans cooked simply with dill and terrace mint.

Shell them into a pan, add some water, a bunch of mint, another of dill, a squeeze a lime over and clap a lid on. Bring them to the boil, lower the heat and simmer till tender. Then add salt and pepper to taste. And a slosh of olive oil to emulsify with the lemon. I take the beans out, and reduce the liquid that is left until is quite creamy, then pour over. My idea of green heaven. And I LIKE the skins. When I was little, and my mother grew rows of them in Bloemfontein, I would eat them with my fingers at table and pop them out of their skins into my mouth, then eat the skins separately. I was not a well child.

Life is too short to shell individual fava beans. And I prefer a fruity white wine with these, rather than the Chianti. Hold the liver.