Fava Bean Puree for pasta or crostini

Fava Beans are a sure sign of Spring in Italy and they are ubiquitous this time of year. They are a powerhouse bean, meaning they are full of protein, iron and fiber, and are sometimes called the "meat of the poor."

In Rome, fava beans are eaten as a rite of Spring in a special meal on May 1st when they are prepared in a salad with soft pecorino cheese as Romans head out to the countryside. Some people even carry a fava bean for good luck and it is believed that in doing so, one will never be without the essentials of life.

In a variation on the Roman recipe, I made a puree that can be eaten on crostini (toasted bread) or as a pasta sauce as I did today.

Fava Bean Puree

Widely adapted from Bonny Wolf (NPR's Kitchen Window Archive)

I suggest using a pasta with ridges that will hold the sauce well. I used cavatappi, which incidentally means corkscrew. Because I like to vary the types of grain we eat, this pasta was made with Kamut (read an interesting history of kamut here.) For a vegetarian dish, omit the pancetta but add additional pecorino cheese or some salt.

2 lbs (1 kilo) fresh fava beans (once shelled, this should render 2 cups.)

2 tablespoons crème fraîche

freshly ground pepper

1/4 cup pecorino romano cheese, plus more for sprinkling

1/2 cup pancetta, cubed

Remove the fava beans from their pods and set some water to boil. Boil the beans for 10 minutes and drain. While the beans are cooking, fry the pancetta until lightly browned and drain on paper towels. Put the hot beans into a food processor along with the crème fraîche, pepper and pecorino cheese. Blend until smooth. Combine the puree with the cooked pasta and sprinkle with pancetta and additional pecorino romano to serve.

This makes enough for 2 - 3 servings.

If making crostini, toast a high quality bread and spread with the puree, then sprinkle the pancetta on top.

Tricolore for my Colonel

Today Italy is celebrating 150 years since the unification and the tricolor flags are slung over balconies everywhere, soaking up a good dose of Spring rain.

Since we are about three months from our departure date, I am starting to wonder if anyone will notice when we are scooped up, flown off and deposited on another soil, far from here. Living abroad, observing people is a pass-time. I'm not sure if they are aware they're being watched, studied and wondered about by a complete stranger.

One of the figures who has caught my attention is a gentleman who lives in a building adjacent to ours. I often see him passing through the gate that connects our two properties. I've always wondered about him, where he's coming from, what he does, details like who cooks for him, or whether he prepares his own meals. He looks about 85 years old, yet he's always dressed in a suit, an overcoat, a proper gentleman's hat and a touting a briefcase. Always impeccable, not a string out of place. He walks with measured steps, you could set a metronome to his gait.

He had never looked up at me, until yesterday when I encountered him with Roman as we were milling around downstairs getting some air. He fumbled for the correct key to open the gate to his building and Roman passed through before him, “broom broom-ing,” eager to explore another property with parked scooters and colorful cars. I thanked him and we passed through. As he walked towards his building I called out “buona sera” and he turned and tipped his hat at me, uttering “di nuovo, buona sera” (good evening, again) as if in his mind he had already wished me a good evening.

I imagine his apartment. A table with a place setting already laid out, a Corriere Della Sera folded just so for him to read. I imagine an old radio or record player playing something soft in the background. Maybe opera. He's not like the other old men I see all over our neighborhood. They stand in groups smoking, talking idly, loudly, never going anywhere, not moving for us to get by on the sidewalk. This man is different. Engaged somehow, yet withdrawn. Always coming or going. Alone. Polite. From another era. I keep thinking about the tip of the hat. I wonder again what he'll have for dinner.

If you want to find out something about someone in Italy, ask the portiere. I mentioned my mystery man to our doorman Alfio and he raised his eyebrows in recognition. “The Colonel,” he said. It turns out he's a retired Colonel from the Italian army and he goes to a military mess hall nearby to have his main meal every day. “He's a widow?” I ask. “No,” Alfio tells me, “he's alone.”

This man served his country and I wonder what he's thinking today and what this day means for him.

In the spirit of the tricolore, I made this radish leaf pesto and topped it with fresh bocconcini and rosy tomato slices.

Radish leaf pesto

Inspired by Chocolate and Zucchini's recipe

I used the leaves from two bunches of small, young radishes. If you get them very fresh, you can also use radish leaves in a salad of mixed greens. It feels great to find a use for something that I used to just throw away. These greens make a terrific pesto that would add a zing to pasta, pizza or spread on a sandwich. As for the quantities, you can wing it and make it just to your taste.

Wash the radish leaves well and place them in the food processor with a small garlic clove, a handful of pine nuts and whizz until processed. Drizzle in some olive oil and then stir in some freshly grated parmesan cheese.