Fabulous Fava Beans

When I say broad beans, people usually screw up their faces and declare their disgust. When I say fava beans, they look intrigued and want to know more. I don't consider it pretentious to speak Italian when talking about these beans. The Italians know how to cook and eat, and they have charming words for their veges... who am I to argue?

I planted the seeds at the end of summer, remembering how last year's wonderful surpise winter crop cheered me up no end. And it's happened again.

These troopers have produced massive pods, in spite of the cold, dark, hail and complete neglect... except for a bit of staking when the wind was whipping around out there.

It was a cold night after a long day at work, and we'd planned a quick pasta with a creamy sauce. I was sure there was a bag of salad leaves in the fridge, but no. So I grabbed the torch, pulled on my gumboots, ventured out and started poking around the pots and plots to see what I could find. What a haul. A crisp hot radish, a sweet crunchy fennel bulb, all sorts of greens, and the first fava pods.

The favas were so green and tender, I didn't bother peeling them. I just popped them in the pasta water as it started boiling, and hauled them out after a few minutes.

They featured in the pasta dish, which was based on this old faithful simple cream pasta recipe.

The salad was bitter, sweet, hot and crunchy, folded into some grassy olive oil, salt and a few drops of the sharpest sherry vinegar. There was one just like it last winter, and as luck would have it, it comes with detailed instructions.