SUMMER WINE AND FOOD
Vegetables
Beans means broad
Simon Courtauld
family discussion was held a few
years back when I decided to reduce the size of the vegetable patch. Which vegeta- bles, I asked, were so immeasurably better when grown at home that we could not con- template having to get them from a shop instead? There was really no argument about the first choice — new potatoes, which I remember the Duchess of Devon- shire selecting as her luxury on Desert Island Discs; she also named her favourite variety. 'Foremost' is the one that we have grown for the past few years; the flesh is white, and the flavour so sublime that, with chopped fresh mint, it is — pace the Rev- erend Sydney Smith and pâté de foie gras —
my idea of heaven, with or without the trumpets.
There was less agreement over the supe- riority of other vegetables from one's own garden. Spinach got a vote, also baby car- rots, leeks and runner beans; but for my part it would be a pretty miserable year without home-grown broad beans.
Our crop this year will be a bit late, because the jackdaws helped themselves to the first seedlings, but this only makes the anticipation more intense. I am waiting impatiently for the white flowers to wither, signalling the appearance of the first green pods.
There are three ages of the broad bean: first, when the pods are about two inches long, secondly, when the beans are the size of a fingernail, and, lastly, as they are sold in greengrocers and supermarkets when, to be edible, the shells of the beans need to be removed. It may possibly be thought extrav- agant to eat the pods, but they are full of nourishment and delicious when eaten raw with salt (very suitable for an Ascot picnic next week).
At the second stage the beans are best lightly boiled, with butter and parsley, though some people will insist on smother- ing them with a white sauce. The French are said to prefer their broad beans with savory, a strong-smelling herb slightly remi- niscent of rubber tyres, which rather over- whelms the delicate flavour of the small beans but may improve the larger ones. Oddly, the French do not really understand this vegetable: rather than pick the beans when young and at their best, they wait until they are fit only to be puréed, or dried and stored. Used thus, the broad bean has for centuries been a staple both in Europe and North Africa, and it is still well-known in the East, from where it is said to have originated. But in America, where all kinds of pulses are grown, I have never come across the broad variety.
Faba vulgaris is the bean's Latin name, a point of slightly more than academic inter- est because the Romans were familiar with the vegetable and thought it was responsi- ble for blurred vision. Italians are, for some reason, the principal sufferers from another malady associated with broad beans, and known as favism, which apparently leads to anaemia and jaundice. Fortunately we seem to be immune to this nasty Mediter- ranean disorder.
Broad beans and ham go particularly well together, and they are also a great success with goat's cheese — a treat to look for- ward to in the coming weeks. There is in southern Spain a Digby Anderson-style soup made with dried broad beans, tripe, pig's ears and blood sausage; and I was interested to discover recently a Spanish hotpot with young broad beans in the pod and globe artichokes.
Best of all, however, are the little beans, about half an inch across and eaten within hours of being picked, together with new potatoes and a leg of English lamb. There are, of course, those who would rather have fresh peas from the garden; that is all very well, but they must be picked at the right size. When I have grown peas, I have never succeeded in getting enough at one picking; most of them then get eaten during shelling. Commercially frozen peas, so uni- form in size, retain their flavour, whereas frozen young broad beans do not.
When this broad bean season is over, we shall be moving house, to a place as yet undecided, but where broad beans will be the first priority for a new vegetable garden.
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