Broad beans

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

LATIN NAME

Vicia faba

ALSO KNOWN AS

Ful or fava beans (when dried)

SEASONALITY

June–July is peak season

MORE RECIPES

Hempy hummus; Little Gem with crushed broad beans and Parmesan; Garlicky pea ravioli with brown butter; Risi e bisi with pea shoot pesto; Scallops with cauliflower purée and green peppercorns

I’m not one to put all my produce in one basket but, if I had to name my favourite vegetable of all, broad beans just might be it. When picked young and cooked lightly, these emerald green niblets are exquisite: a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet. Lubricated with a lick of butter and piqued with pepper, they’re a veg treat like no other.

Unfortunately, these beans don’t hold up well to the storing and travelling involved in selling them on any scale. It’s not impossible to get good broad beans in the shops, but it’s all too easy to find yourself with a bagful of rather limp and weary examples, or with pods containing giant beans well past their sweet and silky youth. Farmers’ markets and veg box schemes can be a decent source – though it’s not always possible to ascertain how much time has elapsed since they were picked, which is a crucial factor in their deliciousness. At any time outside the mid-summer peak bean season, frozen broad beans, usually processed straight after picking, can actually be a better, sweeter bet.

Although broad beans may be harvested as early as late April (for a polytunnel or greenhouse crop) and as late as September, the main season is generally June and July. Wherever you’re buying, look for bright green, firm, slightly glossy pods. It’s normal for a few black fronds from the withered flower to remain at the stalk end, but any brown on the stalk or pod itself suggests the beans were harvested when over-mature.

A few pioneering pick-your-own farms offer broad beans, enabling you to access the beans at their fresh, young best. But if no such place exists near you, your best bet is growing your own. Climbing upwards rather than spreading outwards, they can be raised in a fairly tight space. They will grow on most soils and do as well in a large container as in an open bed.

Some varieties (particularly any called ‘Aquadulce’) can be autumn-sown directly into the soil for a May crop. But don’t worry if you miss this window. If you start sowing (under cover) in February, then plant out your seedlings in late March or early April, you should have sweet little beans by early June. Later sowings will take you through to September – and you certainly won’t find good, fresh broad beans in the shops that late in the year.

One of the wonderful things about home-grown beans is the generosity of the harvest. Before a single bean can be seen, the plant will give you a treat. It is horticultural good practice, once the flowers have just wilted to black, sooty curls, to pinch out the little cluster of leaves at the top of the plant. This directs the energy of the plant into the developing pods. But it’s also your first harvest: those leafy bean tops, wilted in butter, are a delicious side dish. They also make a fine filling for a tart or omelette.

Sometime around late May, the swelling green pods start to tip from an upward to a downward trajectory. As soon as they are 5cm or so long, you can pick them and cook them whole, pod and all. And then, when the dangling pods start to reach hand-span length, you can finally begin the beanfeast itself. Inside the pods, you’ll find ranks of tiny beans, smaller than a thumbnail. When this young and fresh, you can eat them raw, but cooking (just 2 minutes in lightly salted simmering water) will bring out maximum sweetness. Sometimes I just pour boiling water from the kettle over podded beans, leave them for a minute, and drain. The first pick of the year, prepared like this, and tossed with an indulgent knob of butter, is a high point of early summer.

Such is the pod’s ability to camouflage itself among the leaves and stalks of the plant that you’re always confronted, at the last few picks of the summer, by bulging pods containing hard, swollen beans. This is the point at which a home-grown bean is most like the majority of shop-bought ones. Large and starchy rather than sweet, they are past the stage at which a simple buttering renders them exquisite. But worry not: remove them from their pods and drop them into boiling water. The amount of time they’ll take to reach tenderness depends on size and age, but start at 3 minutes’ simmering and work up to 10. Drain them and, when cool enough to handle, slip them out of their leathery grey skins. A bit of a faff this may be (or a soothing, meditative kitchen task, depending on your view), but it makes all the difference. It’s only the very youngest, smallest beans that don’t need skinning.

Rather than trying to turn mature beans into a delicate salad or side dish, purée them into a creamy broad bean hummus. Just whiz the cooked, skinned beans with a scrap of crushed garlic, a squeeze of lemon and a glug of your best olive oil. Here, their starchy nature is an asset. Soup is another delicious option for the same reason.

Broad beans are also known as fava beans. And, when mature beans are allowed to dry fully (something else you can do with your own crop), they become the ful of Middle Eastern cuisine – used for classic dishes including garlicky ful medames.

When buying broad beans in the pod, remember there’s a huge volume discrepancy between bean and pod. You’ll need a good 1kg of full pods to yield 300–400g naked beans. The great pile of green-skinned, velvet-lined debris that you’ll amass when podding can be alarming. It does of course make great compost fodder but you can also cook up a light stock with at least some of it: add onions, celery, bay leaves and peppercorns to boost the flavour.

BROAD BEAN AND FETA FALAFEL

It might be a bit of a crime to blitz the very youngest, sweetest broad beans into falafel, but for slightly older beans, this works an absolute treat. The slight bitterness of the beans is offset by the sweet saltiness of the feta cheese – though you can leave that out if you prefer a vegan falafel. Makes about 12

400g podded broad beans

6 spring onions (about 75g), white and pale green parts only, trimmed and finely sliced

1–2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 tsp ground cumin

Finely grated zest of 1 lemon

1 tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley or mint

1 tbsp plain flour

60g feta or feta-style cheese, such as Homewood, chopped or crumbled

Olive or rapeseed oil, for frying

Sea salt and black pepper

Bring a pan of water to the boil. Drop in the broad beans, return to a rolling boil, then drain. You don’t want to cook the beans much (they should still be quite firm), but you do need to be able to get the skins off. Let the beans cool, then slip them out of their skins.

Put the beans into a food processor with the spring onions, garlic, cumin, lemon zest, parsley or mint and a pinch each of salt and pepper. Blitz to a coarse purée, stopping a few times to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Sprinkle in the flour and blitz briefly, to work it in.

Tip the bean purée into a bowl, add the feta and work it into the mixture roughly with a fork; you still want bits of feta to be visible.

Take a dessertspoonful of the mix, roll into a ball between your palms, then squash gently to form a patty, about 5cm in diameter and 1.5cm thick. Repeat with the rest of the mix.

Pour enough oil into a non-stick frying pan to just cover the base, then place over a medium heat. When hot, add the falafel and fry for about 8 minutes, turning a few times, until golden brown on both sides and steaming hot in the middle. (Alternatively, you can brush the falafel with oil and bake them at 200°C/Fan 180°C/Gas 6 for 20 minutes, flipping them over halfway through.)

Leave to cool at least a little before serving. Like any falafel, these are delicious with hummus and/or yoghurt, a tomato salad and some warm pitta bread.