A few big spoons of small white Navy beans that were waiting in the fridge all cooked up, oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, and we were there. Grab the Parmigiano Reggiano–that we can afford since we grown our own and eat beans–some homemade Tangled Up Focaccia and we were there. On the deck with a glass of wine eating first class peasant food and loving it. Indeed, we don’t have to be gourmet to eat well, no?

Breakfast. This morning. Out came a clean pot and in went organic polenta from the bulk bins for a new batch of porridge. Stir, stir, stir. Then to the garden to round up what have you. A couple scallions. A handful of young fava beans. Back in the hippie kitchen. Choppity- chop for the veggies and into the pot they went. Just a quick stir and then covering to let hot golden polenta turn the greens al dente.

Fry an egg. Grab a couple roasted chiles. Ultrafast. Healthy. Thrifty. Local/Seasonal. Me and Swish were ready to feast.

Oh–and that last fava that turned up in my pocket unchopped and uncooked. I just chomped that down au naturelle, tender and young freshly picked as it was…

In case you haven’t appreciate what a radical tune Jimmy Crack Corn is before, here are the lyrics:

When I was young I used to wait
On master and hand him his plate
Pass him the bottle when he got dry
And brush away the blue-tail fly

Chorus

Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care
My master’s gone away

When he would ride in the afternoon
I’d follow him with my hickory broom
The pony being rather shy
When bitten by the blue-tail fly

Chorus

One day he rode around the farm
Flies so numerous that they did swarm
One chanced to bite him on the thigh
The devil take the blue-tail fly

Chorus

Well the pony jumped, he start, he pitch
He threw my master in the ditch
He died and the jury wondered why
The verdict was the blue-tail fly

Chorus

Now he lies beneath the ‘simmon tree
His epitaph is there to see
Beneath this stone I’m forced to lie
The victim of the blue-tail fly

As far as crust goes, it’s my usual whole wheat pastry-organic butter version at a ratio of one part flour to a half part butter. For this crust I used a cup of flour to a stick of butter plus a couple good pinches of salt. Here’s more on the technique if you need it.

A quick swab of the cutting board. And the deal’s done–plenty of time still to listen to Pure Prairie League’s Amie, isn’t that right Sandy?

As you can see, when fava beans are fresh picked young and tender, they are beautifully ready to go straight from the pods. No second peeling needed at all. I discovered this simply by working with fava beans from my own garden, and then was gratified to see Italian and Spanish cooks echoing my experience in their books.

With the double peel debate settled, then what to do with fava beans? First is to think of them like a fresh bean. Once you do that you can rock and roll just like I do in Hippie Kitchen. The official recipe is called Fava Bean Sass, a dish made by flash cooking the favas then tossing them with spicy peanut sauce that includes diced apple and shredded carrot to sweeten things. So simple. So delicious. So thrifty–especially if you planted favas in February and are now about ready to harvest them.

The main thing that makes a measure free hippie kitchen work, though, is getting on a roll with things. So once I’ve got a new vegetable or recipe idea in tow, I play-play. If you try this I think you’ll find that eating with the seasons–as in fava beans for days on end while they are the happening thing–does not get boring.

The second round with favas I suggest on page 54 of Hippie Kitchen is incorporating them into a grain salad with leftover millet, radishes, and raisins. A little dressing and you have a balanced spring primavera in one bowl.

Fun, you say, but there’s more favas coming through the door daily. No problem, flash cook them as always with spring onions and green garlic. Spoon the works into warm corn tortillas and top with blue cheese. Then name this Fava Bean Heaven.

———-I hope I’ve piqued your interest in these early summer beans. They are great since along with the peas they are among the first food to grace our gardens and appear in the markets. And if you aren’t growing them just yet and do have to buy favas that need double peeling, don’t give up. Once they are flash cooked, they pop right out of their casings whether the cook does it all ahead or people do it themselves–together at the table while they slow down to relish the harvest whether it’s in a hash, warm salad, or pizza pie.

I don’t have the recipe written up just yet, but I did dutifully put dried apricots in along with walnuts. Just the kind of muffin people would think is fun alongside the salad.

But, after behaving so well momentarily, I went back to my usual approach to cooking. I was on a muffins roll, but I certainly didn’t mess with the muffin tins again, pain in the neck that they are–both in fussing around with the knife to get each muffin out (and no I don’t want to use those paper cup thingies) and in washing the tins.

So it was back to cast iron as usual. My small pan since it was just me for breakfast. And yes, the center wasn’t quite done because of the size of the pan. And yes, I ate it anyway. And yes, it tasted as good as those chocolate lava cakes that came to be all the rage in precisely the same fashion: someone underbaked the cake and said, “This gooey part is the best!”

The vehicle shift was just the tip of the iceberg of course. The apricots and walnuts were gone. In their stead were two green apples, meat from half an acorn squash, and poppy seeds.

Which brings me to the real gist of this post: using your great big winter squashes. So many ways here besides freshly baked. Baked winter squashes whether acorns or spaghettis or butternut go into everything and anything: quick breads, warm salads with wintergreens and raisins, and pudding like custards or pies. Then again think sauces or gravies and get creative. Smash some of your winter squash into a roux of butter and flour, and whisk in milk. You’ll have a rather interesting brew for your broccoli.

I was reading in Rick Bayless’s work the other day and he noted how exceptionally creative Mexican cooks are. I snorted because in my mind he missed the point. It’s not Mexican cooks per se, it’s impoverished cooks. As in necessity breeds invention.

I know it’s been this way for me, divorced as I am from the land of crinkly packages in part because it’s too expensive. Without all those goodies around, I have to cook from scratch. Have to make use of things in the refrig like great big winter squashes. And in the process I discover over and again all kinds of delightful ways to spin food.

It’s like the difference between being a spectator at a sport and the actual players. The former sits and consumes and gets dull. The latter is up and active and engaged. She plays a vital roll in what comes down. She feels good. She’s empowered.

These little stovetop cornbreads are quick, warm, crowd pleasers. On tours I make them round, stuffed with cheese or refried beans drawing on gorditas and empanadas as my guide.

In April 2010, though, Justine, a Facebook pal from Southern California, shipped a box of avocadoes from her tree, and inspired these corn crescents.

Details

~Use the usual ratio of one teaspoon leavening to a cup of cornmeal/flour. On the cornmeal/flour ratio, it’s generally three to four parts meal for each part flour. One to two tablespoons of butter for each cup of masa/flour softens the dough nicely.

~Taking time to knead your dough some makes for cakes that puff some when fried.

Laurel Robertson, who wrote Laurel’s Kitchen with Carol Flinders, is some kind of woman. This salad is adapted from their pages where they titled it “Astonishing.” I’ve made it many times over the years, and it’s my privilege to translate it into a measure free format.

What I especially like about this vegetarian and vegan approach to a spinach salad is that it springs from the more traditional approach which relies on hot bacon fat to wilt the greens. So smart of Laurel and Carol to figure out a different approach to a warm dressing—a dressing that not only succeeds in taming your fresh garden spinach but also one that is pretty darn sexy with its polite pour of dry white wine.

Flash cooking is the heart of my kitchen scene. It nets me plenty of fresh seasonal vegetables in short order–warm salad style. I’ve talked about it many times here on the blog, but people resonate with the idea so, that we did a video. It’s a 6 minute clip from chopping the onion to chowing down. There’s also a section devoted to it in Hippie Kitchen: 43-45. Think stir fry without the oil, Asian vegetables, or Asian flavors.

On Vinegared Milk, Buttermilk, Yogurt, and Beer—

You can buy buttermilk which is already sour and certainly genteel. But vinegar’s always on hand in my kitchen and making my own soured milk is cheaper. All it takes is a spoonful of vinegar to clabber a cup of milk—or if the truth be known I add the vinegar to the egg, milk, and oil, letting it do its thing right in the bowl.

There’s also yogurt which in addition to sour power has all those healthful organisms. Since it’s thicker than milk, add a little water if you go this route. Or you can skip milk products altogether and use beer like the Wild West’s grizzled prospectors did, either flat from the night before or splurging with a fresh bottle.

On a Roll with Corncakes—

I often add spaghetti squash and minced cilantro to corncakes, skipping the cheese altogether as pictured on p. 53.

Another twist is departing from the cornmeal and using leftover quinoa. An egg beaten into a half cup of salted quinoa and a little vinegar and soda yields a great batter for spooning onto the griddle.

Here a Chick, There a Chick—

Hens who get to peck around like on Old MacDonald’s Farm might be a minority at this point in history, but as Bob Dylan sang in his rusty 1960s voice, “the times, they are a-changin.” In response to pressure from the Humane Society of the United States, Ben and Jerry’s has pledged to stop using eggs from hens who live out miserable lives in batteries of cages stacked ten high in cavernous barns.

Such ideas are not new for Ben and Jerry’s. The company’s United Kingdom plant that produces ice cream for Europe has used cagefree eggs for years now. That’s because British consumers have a record dating back to 1876 of insisting farm animals be treated humanely even if they all aren’t out on Old MacDonald’s any more.

“This new ethic is conservative, not radical,” maintains Professor Bernard Rollan, who is widely recognized for pioneering the field of animal ethics and policy during the 1970s. “It is a return to the roughly fair contract those who have husbanded animals for virtually all of human history have had with animals. That of taking great pains to put one’s animals into the best possible environment one could find to meet their physical and psychological natures.”