favas

More snow yesterday. I shouldn't complain, it not sticking and all, but it's COLD. I've been on deadline and the only thing I've done housewise is broadcasting fava beans for green mulch in the garden. Fava beans, if they had an advertising campaign, would bill themselves as "Europe's First Bean." Look, here is an illustration from Italy in the 14th century to prove it. I shamelessly stole it from an absolutely wonderful medieval food blog, where you can read the checkered history of fava beans, how Pythagoras felt about them, plus try out a few old recipes.

As with all ancient foodstuff, the fava bean is associated with otherworldly legends. I missed the traditional day in Italy to plant them, November 2 (All Souls' Day), which gave the title "beans of the dead" to the fava, and I'm a bit too early to plant them on the other traditional day in Europe (probably the northern parts thereof since it's so late): Good Friday. I failed to plant them in the night, another superstition for good luck. Some cultures cast fava beans for divination (favomancy), and others plant them as magic beanstalks to reach up to a giant's castle.

Favas were seen as both good and evil. On the dark side of the force, they were seen as the vessels that held the souls of the dead. Other mortal danger associated with fava beans includes favism, a serious chemical intolerance of something in the bean that creates anemia in some people of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean descent, and, of course, the reputation they have as an accompaniment to human liver, with a nice Chianti. The pods are said to be toxic.

Regardless of the reputation, the Italians eat young favas with watercress and pecorino. I'm seriously jonesing for some fresh spring greens these days, so you can bet I will, too. Favas have pretty little white and black flowers, and the young beans are tender and just as green as can be. I will be planting "Sandy" peas as soon as it stops snowing/raining/freezing, a variety that features masses of pea tendrils, which I will saute in just a tiny touch of sesame oil and salt and serve on a big platter as an accompaniment to fish or maybe fresh tofu with ginger and scallions. I may throw in a few favas for texture. No liver. Likely no Chianti, either.


When my favas get to be about 3-4 feet high, I'm going to chop some of them down and mulch them into my garden as a nitrogen fixer. Now is the time to start amending your soil, if you haven't already. Home Depot has clearance sales on right now with fertilizers for roses, fruit trees, and acid-loving plants, if you're into chemicals, and I've been seeing the big garden center trucks puttering around my neighborhood, dropping off piles of rich black compost here and there. Spring can't be so very far away, can it?

Images courtesy of thorngrove's medieval food blog, life in Italy's recipe for fava bean salad and a green mulch project in process at Mastergardener.org.