The garden has arrived at that happy state where the plants are growing faster than the bugs can eat them. Please don’t let this be a jinx when I say that things are looking like we’re headed for a bumper crop.

The beans are robust and reaching unflinchingly toward their teepee supports. The tomatoes are vigorous — Dad’s Sunset and Mexico Midgets, which were put in the ground first, sport delicate flowers. The peppers are inching along, the Hungarian Black, Sheepnose pimento, Mini red bells and the chocolate jalapeno, but they’re always slow. The only undecided plant is the white eggplant – it has just three leaves and seems nonplussed by all the activity surrounding it.

And the herbs! Those are busting out all over. Dill has opened its umbrella seed heads, and the basil had to be snipped back to keep it from flowering. Cilantro too is bolting, and the parsley is lush and bright and nearly wild. The nasturtiums are sprawling over the edges of their pots, and thyme is crawling along the underbrush, filling in all the spaces. Oregano and marjoram are the size of woodchucks, which have, blessedly, left them alone.

Is it wrong, do you think, to lop off the tops of herbs just before they put on their seeds? I suppose in some way it probably is. Wandering the rows and shaving back the bushy greens, I couldn’t help feeling, as I often do, that I’m somehow cheating the plants of their purpose. From the moment they cracked open their own shells and spread their first false leaves, they were on a trajectory to producing seeds that could produce seeds that could produce…. How I feel then is not unlike what I feel when I inevitably turn up half a worm with my garden spade. My consolation? These plants will soon outrun me. If they’re growing faster than the aphids can eat them now, by months end they’ll be getting vertical faster than I can dream up a new take on pesto.

This herbaceous abundance will surely shape the culinary concoctions that greet here over the next many delicious months. Today’s post is a celebration of this treasure trove.

I was aiming for something that would let each flavor stand out against the other ingredients. I also have to admit that I was aiming for an easy recipe with minimal ingredients, something cool and quick and fully within the capacity of a one-legged woman to whip up.

Yes. I tripped over a goat/fell off a boat/slipped on some beans/lost the blindfolded relay (which is your guess?). That one-legged woman is me. And so, I’ll be gimping along for the next several weeks, my leg in a cast and my hands full of crutches. How long is not known – and here I’ll ask you to please send healing thoughts and wishes my way. I’m a great believer in the power of our energy and intentions to shape the world, and I’ll take all the help I can get. These crutches are making me crabby!

What this means for you, dear reader, is minimalist recipes.

The recipe(s):

You may remember, from my Frito Burrito post, that I have a weak spot for the salty snack. Turns out, lima beans go well with Scoops!

You also may recall that I am loathe to stick heirloom beans in a food processor. Push the red button and at once they’ve lost their identifying shapes and traits. I don’t feel as bad when I’m using a plain looking bean, and today I used two plain beans, one heirloom, one not.

The heirloom is the Gigandes, a large, flat, creamy green Lima from Purcell Mountain Farms. Like so many heirlooms, it has many aliases, and is sometimes referred to as a butter bean, a curry bean, Madagascar bean, lab bean, and cape pea. Flavor-wise, this bean is both acidic and creamy.

This bean has racked up some frequent flier miles. Native to Central America, it made its first stop in Peru. Spanish explorers took it along to Europe, where it was suited to the temperate climate. Later the slave trade carried it to Africa, where it continues to be an important part of the diet and culture.

I thought the greenness of the bean would work well with the sharp greenness of the herbs, but my taste buds said otherwise. It worked better if the “green” flavor was cut in half with another kind of bean. So… I got out the can opener. No, not a can of heirlooms. I used cannelini beans, because they have a rich, creamy texture – perfect!

It was hard to know where to start with the herbs, and so I ended up making three batches of herby bean dip, each featuring a combination of fresh green leaves and a mixture of the two beans. I also wanted to experiment with texture, and used yogurt and goat cheese.

These dips are all fantastic on Frito Scoops, of course. But they’d be just as nice on toasted bread, whole wheat pitas, crackers, veggies. My favorite use so far? As a sandwich spread. So get crazy!

Two Beans Three Ways: Herbed Bean Dip

8 ounces (about 1 cup) cooked Gigandes, or other lima beans
8 ounces cooked cannellini beans
3 cloves garlic, minced
Zest of one lemon
Juice of one lemon
4 ounces of plain yogurt, or 4 ounces goat cheese (optional)
1/3 cup fresh Italian flat-leaf parsley
1 teaspoons salt, or to flavor
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Olive oil if needed

Fresh garden herbs:
2 tablespoons chopped thyme or lemon thyme
4 large nasturtium leaves plus 1 or 2 of the flowers
– or -
1/3 cup fresh basil
– or -
1/3 cup fresh oregano leaves
1 tablespoon fresh marjoram
(Note: my favorite combination was the fresh basil, with the goat cheese)

Place the limas and the cannelinis in a food processor, along with the garlic, lemon zest, lemon juice, yogurt or goat cheese if using, parsley, salt and pepper. Puree until smooth and creamy, adding a bit of olive oil if necessary to achieve a smooth texture.

Add the fresh herbs and puree again until herbs are minced and worked into bean spread.

Adjust salt and pepper as necessary, and serve! Easy peasy.

(Vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free)

Forever, it was cold and rainy here. Until it turned hot and rainy. We hurtled right over the top of spring, never even nicking the surface, and landed thick in the misty quicksand of a Midwestern summer. The air feels like something that just won’t die, clinging damply and frantically to everything that moves.

Needless to say, I’ve been reluctant to light up the stove, let alone consider engaging the fire-belching dragon I call Oven. Although watch, when, deeper into summer I cackle in the face of adversity and delve into a dog-days baking frenzy. I’ll turn off the AC and open the windows and dial up the oven until the next door neighbors are protesting the backwash of brackish heat downdrafting from my kitchen.

But I’m not there yet. So, this weekend I teetered on the tallest stool I could find, and stretching precariously, groped around in the dark bowels of my above-the-cabinets cabinets, until I had my crock pot in my hands. It needed a good cleaning, but that was done soon enough.

Still, I was having trouble deciding what to do with it once it was scrubbed down. Hot and spicy, an urban rendition of the Mexican field workers chewing habaneros to stave off heat-induced apathy? Or did I want something cooling, something that could shut that dragon’s mouth for good?

Never one to settle, I chose both.

The Recipe
Only a recipe like this one could come of heat-wrought apathy and ADD. And from being in a hurry to return to the book I was reading (and will be reviewing here later in the week — Heirloom: Notes From an Accidental Tomato Farmer, by Tim Stark). I looked around my kitchen, looked at the crock pot. Took an armful and shoveled it all in.

Not quite so crudely as that, since I did chop things and I put some thought into the spice combination. I wanted flavors that would shock me awake, not through a spicy assault but rather by taking me aback. I wanted to marry the irreconcilable. I aimed for smoky, spicy, sweet, citrusy, lively, full-bodied with a hint of … licorice. Plus some lemon zest olive oil, and a garnish of cucumber to cool things down. Try this, just as I have it here – trust me on this. I won’t let you down (and you can tell me if I do).

The heirloom appaloosa bean is related to the pinto bean (do these beans look equine?) and it is also sometimes referred to as the Anasazi bean.

The Anasazi people were a Southwestern tribe, making their home in Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona more than 1,000 years ago. The civilization disappeared abruptly, leaving few clues to their whereabouts. Anthropologists now believe that the civilization had a split outcome. Some members migrated and were absorbed into other cultures; it is believed that descendents of these people live in New Mexico and parts of Arizona today. The rest of the population ascended into the high mesa tops during the 1200s. The only reason for a people to choose such harsh and unarable conditions is to escape enemies. It seems, however, that warfare was all around them. Under environmental stress and living so remotely, it is believed that the tribe families resorted to raiding one another’s supplies and, eventually, to cannibalism. This, however, is a topic of hot and serious debate among the scholarly community, and no conclusions have been reached.

I can, however, speak definitively about the appaloosa bean. For one, it looks like it should taste of licorice. It doesn’t, but that didn’t stop my imagination from magnifying the flavor imparted by toasted anise seed. The appaloosa bean actually has a sharp, piney, slightly herbaceous flavor.

The thing I love best about this heirloom bean is that it holds its curved bean shape even after it’s cooked. The thing I like least about it is that the way it accomplishes this is by refusing to soften at all, so even after the beans were well cooked, they were a bit dry and mealy under my teeth.

I’ll take it though, because (and maybe this should be my favorite thing about them) they were surprisingly easy to digest. Apparently, the appaloosa bean contains just 25% of the complex carbohydrates that make beans equal to gastric distress, so this is a good one to try if beans cause you pain (but honest, eat enough and your body really does adjust).

What else? Don’t forget the lemon zest olive oil and the cucumber for a cooling garnish  — the lemon is the liveliest flavor here. And with that, let’s cook!

(Remember, this is a crock pot recipe, so you’re starting out with uncooked beans.)

Smoky-Sweet-Citrus-Spicy-Cool Appaloosa Beans for a Hot Day

8 ounces dry Appaloosea beans (or substitute a dry black bean)
6 cups water
A whole lot of garlic – say, 7 or 8 cloves, peeled and minced
1 medium white onion, peeled and diced
1 jalapeno pepper (seeded for less heat, or with seeds to kick it up a notch)
3 canned chipotle peppers, plus a bit of their sauce (you can also use dried chipotle)
1 large bell pepper, chopped
1 14 oz can fire-roasted tomatoes, diced
1 teaspoon anise seeds, toasted (see below)
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, plus ½ teaspoon dried (or 1 teaspoon dried if fresh is unavailable)
1 sprig of fresh rosemary (if available – if not, skip instead of using dried)
2 bay leaves
1 ½ teaspoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon sugar
1 dash of liquid smoke
Garnish:
Lemon zest-infused olive oil
Cucumber slices

There are two ways to soak dry beans before cooking. You may place them in a pot and cover them with water and let them sit for 8 hours or overnight. In a pinch, you can cover them with water, bring them to a boil, let roil for 1 minute, then remove from heat. Let them soak for an hour, and then you’re ready to roll.

Place soaked beans in crock pot, along with garlic, onion, jalapeno, bell pepper, chipotle, and fire roasted tomatoes. Add water.

On a stove top, heat a small non-stick skillet. Place the anise seeds in the skillet and cook, stirring or shaking occasionally, until they are toasted. They will turn a shade darker and will begin to crackle when toasted. Remove from heat.

Add anise seed, coriander, rosemary, thyme, bay leaves, cocoa powder, sugar and liquid smoke to crock pot. Stir ingredients well, then turn crock pot on high. Let heat up, about 20 minutes, then turn heat to medium. Allow to cook till beans are soft and water is absorbed, about six hours. About halfway through, stir well then replace lid tightly.

While mixture is stewing, grate the peel of one lemon to obtain the zest. Add this to 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil.

Before serving, stir stew again. Remove bay leaves and rosemary sprig. Garnish with cucumber slices and drizzle with lemon zest olive oil.

Cool beans will get you through the dog days of summer. Never miss a post — Subscribe now to Becky and the Beanstock!