Do me a fava, will ya?

By Mike Osborne

Inquiring minds want to know what I've been cooking out here in El Lay. I have to say this test kitchen gig is fun and challenging, and the short answer would be, I'm making all kinds of crazy stuff. Since Los Angeles is the second biggest city in the nation there are ethnic neighborhoods all over the place, and we make recipes from any and all of them. I've prepped Japanese noodle bowls, Chinese dumplings, home cooking from the Philippines, Armenian and Cuban baked goods, Danish pastries, a trio of Chili, salads, soups, and pate. It's a blast.

One aspect of the job I have thoroughly enjoyed is the grocery shopping. The regular grocery chains aren't limited to one or two dominant players like we see in much of Texas. There are easily two dozen big grocery concerns represented here, each of which has its niche. Then there are the ethnic markets. Pick a nationality and there's a neighborhood grocery store that caters to its culinary whims. The access to authentic ingredients is truly astounding, especially if you've grown used to shopping in Waco. I have been like the proverbial kid in the candy store. Just familiarizing myself with ingredients I had formerly only read about is an invaluable benefit of my time on the west coast.

Even more, I have enjoyed shopping at farmers' markets. California produces a huge percentage of the fresh vegetables consumed by all Americans, much of it grown on industrial mega-farms, but there is a segment of small local growers that is alive, well, and prosperous due to increased public support of these weekly markets. There are well over 100 Farmers' Markets currently flourishing throughout the Los Angeles area. My favorites are the Santa Monica Wednesday and the Hollywood and Vine Sunday market. The smallest one I have seen is downtown on the lawn of City Hall and is 10 times bigger than what we have in Waco, which isn't saying much, but most of the markets encompass several city blocks. The variety is inspiring to cooks who are flexible enough to work with seasonal ingredients. That's the kind of cooking challenge that I truly relish. Instead of setting out with a hard and fast shopping list, I like to wander and see what looks the best, then formulate an impromptu menu plan.

Some of the vegetable stuff that's been exceptional lately includes fava beans, the fattest stalks of asparagus I've ever seen (some are an inch in diameter), baby artichokes in soft shades of aubergine, and breakfast radishes. I'll tell you about a couple things I've worked on at the Times and then share an embellishment of my own.

When asparagus is at the point of perfection like it is now, you don't have to do much to create a memorable dish. With a couple pounds of jumbos I trimmed off the tough butts to get the all the stalks an even length and then peeled them starting about an inch below the thick tips. I used kitchen twine to make one pound bundles and then steamed the asparagus for about eight minutes, just to the point of fork-tenderness. I blotted the stalks dry with a dish towel and then arranged them on a warm serving platter with the tips all facing the same direction. The sauce couldn't be more simple. I browned some unsalted butter until it got that hazelnut smell, and then off heat, I squeezed in some fresh lemon juice and a couple tablespoons of fresh chopped herbs (I use equal parts Italian parsley, chervil, chives, and tarragon). I drizzled that over the pile of asparagus and then hit the whole shebang with a good pinch of coarse fleur de sel. It was pretty damn good just like that and didn't require too much time or effort. It was almost too easy.

On the other hand, fava beans are anything but easy. Until the discovery of the New World, favas or broad beans, were just about the only beans available to our European antecedents. You have to shell them, like black-eyed peas on steroids, to get them out of their big spongy pods. Then you have to blanch them for three minutes or so in boiling saltwater. Then you shock them in ice water to stop the cooking. Then you have to slip each bean out of its milky green toxic skin. You scratch the skin with your thumbnail and squeeze from the other end and out pops an emerald green bean that looks like a more intense lima. What I'm telling you is you really have to want to eat fava beans to justify the time and aggravation. From a pound of fresh favas you'll end up with maybe three ounces of edible beans. The upside is they're something of a rarity to the average American palate, and they taste really good.

So, what to do with a couple cups of favas? How 'bout this. Use most of 'em to make a coulis, a puree. I used a couple tablespoons of the blanch water in a blender with the beans and then strained it. I'd reserved a handful of whole beans to use as a garnish. Next, I had some beautiful mushroom quenelles to mess around with. The quenelles, each about two-inches long, were made with duxelles and a choux paste panade. Light pillowy clouds of football shaped earthy fungal flavor were the result. They had been poached in vegetable stock and chilled. I rolled 'em in panko and fried them in clarified butter until golden. I had some blanched baby artichokes and asparagus tips and tiny little white enoki mushrooms to play with, too. The whole plate came together like this: A pool of bright green fava coulis is at center plate. Three golden quenelles are positioned at 12, 4, and 8-O'clock. Garnishes of favas, blanched asparagus tips, purple artichoke halves, and tiny white mushrooms are scattered about. Then a drizzle of soft yellow, buttery, vin blanc sauce goes right in the bulls-eye. It is a bright and colorful plate that celebrates spring with flavors that sing in perfect harmony, and all the ingredients came from the farmers' market, locally grown, a day from the field, and at the peak of quality. Can it get any better than that?

That's what's been cooking in El Lay lately. Tell me what is happening in your kitchen. Share a recipe. Tell me tales of triumph and despair. My inquiring mind wants to know. As we say in the bidness, "Chow."

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