Here’s an experiment: the next time you’re chatting with a friend, mention that you’re going to make lima beans for supper. Nine times out of 10 the response you’ll get will be a furrowed brow. You’ll sense the word “yuck” careening through their synapses. Despite the current bean renaissance, the poor lima bean often goes loveless.

I’m inordinately fond of beans of all kinds, but I’ll admit to childhood memories that give me pause. Canned limas, with their pasty texture, metallic aftertaste, and gray-green pallor were an injustice to a legume that would rather be known as a mild, buttery affair, worthy of its nom de guerre, the butter bean. The small green ones are most often referred to as lima beans, while the larger, flat, cream-colored ones are typically called butter beans, but the two are the same species.

The universe has recently seemed to be sending me a strong signal to bring this bean into my kitchen repertoire. Christopher and I have run across lima beans repeatedly during our winter travels. In northern Spain, we had truly giant limas cooked with tomatoes, onions, and pork, and in the south, we were served a delicious warm dish of limas cooked with celery and flavored with smoked paprika. On the coast road from Melbourne to Sydney, Australia, we had them stir-fried with sesame. And most recently, we ate them sautéed with cavatelli and dried tomatoes at the restaurant Palm and Pine in New Orleans.

Limas are native to the Americas, having been grown by Indigenous peoples for thousands of years, preceding even the cultivation of corn. The bean was so important to the Moche people who thrived in what is now northern Peru during the first millennium C.E. that it was frequently depicted in their painted pottery, the beans sometimes rendered anthropomorphically, complete with faces and feet, according to notes on a vessel at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The name “lima,” as you might expect, refers to the city of Lima, Peru, which was a major center for the trade of these beans during the long period of colonization. Crates of the beans shipped to Europe were labeled with their city of origin, and the name stuck.

Records at the USDA’s National Agricultural Library, which, when I checked online last week, had yet to hear the roar of Elon Musk’s chain saw, note that the lima bean was a member of the “three sisters” of Indigenous American cuisine, along with corn and squash. You might know limas as an ingredient in succotash. What you might not know is that succotash is a bastardization of the Narragansett word msickquatash, a dish that became common in colonists’ kitchens.

I grew up eating lima beans in a stew seasoned by ham hocks, made by my Louisiana-born mother. But looking for a spring rendition that could make sense now, when we haven’t even planted beans in our Truro garden yet, I consulted a true apostle of beans, my friend Joe Yonan, who sent me back to his book, Cool Beans.

His recipe for Baby Limas With Preserved Lemon and Butter gives fresh lima beans a Mediterranean twist with a sauce of yogurt, parsley, and, oh, good: the preserved lemons left over from tagines I made this winter. To his recipe I added garlic, more fresh herbs, and dukkah, a crunchy Egyptian spice and seed mix that I happened to have on hand.

I also added peas, but blanched asparagus or sugar snap peas would also be welcome. I decided to up the salad quotient and serve the dressed beans over some spicy arugula, which is poking up in the garden right now, and top the whole thing off with crisp, thinly sliced radishes. It’s a combination that fairly hollers spring.

Fresh limas would be ideal for this dish, if you can find them come summer. For now, Yonan recommends frozen beans, but I couldn’t find any. I did, however, have a bag of Camellia brand dried limas that we brought back from New Orleans. These big limas have a luscious creamy texture and mild flavor.

You need to be careful about the consistency of the beans. They’re easy to overcook, and here you want a soft, buttery, but still firm-ish bean, so monitor them carefully. (Though if you do go past the point of no return, they could lead to a delicious garlicky puree to serve with crackers.)

I was so vigilant about mushiness that the first time I cooked these dried limas I didn’t allow them quite enough time and they turned out grainy. I also recommend that, between soaking and cooking these beans, you remove the thin skin that the water will loosen from the bean. This takes only a few minutes and greatly improves the texture of the dish.

Once you have your ingredients prepared, this salad takes only a few minutes to put together.  Serve it to skeptical friends and watch their noses unwrinkle and their brows unfurrow as childhood memories are washed away and the lima bean is redeemed.

SPRING BUTTER BEAN AND HERB SALAD
Makes 4 servings

For the salad

4 cups of large cooked dried lima beans, or blanched frozen beans
⅔ cup blanched fresh or frozen peas, sugar snaps, or asparagus
½ Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
¾ cup of a combination of soft herbs such as dill, parsley, mint, or chives, chopped
3 cups of arugula or other spring green
½ cup good feta cheese, coarsely crumbled
Thinly sliced radishes and lemon wedges for garnish

For the dressing

½ cup plain whole-milk Greek yogurt
2 garlic cloves, grated or pounded
½ cup finely minced preserved lemon
1½ Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
Salt and black pepper

1. Prepare the beans: soak, then remove skins and simmer dried beans according to package instructions. Or blanch frozen lima beans. Set aside and let cool.
2. In a separate bowl, stir together blanched fresh or frozen peas (or asparagus or sugar snap peas), the chopped fresh herbs, and a half tablespoon of olive oil with a big pinch of salt and a generous grind of pepper.
3. Prepare the dressing by whisking together the yogurt, garlic, preserved lemon, olive oil, and a big pinch of salt until well mixed. Gently fold the beans into the dressing to coat, being careful to not smash the beans.
4. Distribute the arugula on a large serving plate or individual plates. Arrange the dressed beans on top, drizzling any extra dressing over the top. Next distribute the herbed peas or asparagus. Sprinkle the salad with the feta, if using, and garnish with the dukkah (don’t skimp!) and sliced radishes. Finish with a sprinkling of flaky salt and a generous squeeze of lemon juice.

 

DUKKAH SPICE MIX
Makes about one half cup

2 tsps. coriander seeds
1 tsp. cumin seeds
1½ tsp. sesame seeds
⅓ cup shelled pistachios, almonds, or hazlenuts, roasted and unsalted
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. dried mint
¼ tsp. fine salt

1. In a small skillet, toast the coriander and cumin over medium heat, shaking the pan occasionally until the spices are fragrant, just a minute or two. Transfer spices to a bowl and toast the sesame seeds for 30 to 60 seconds until just aromatic, adding them to the same bowl to cool.
2. Use a small food processor or a dedicated coffee grinder to grind the nuts, oregano, mint, salt, and cooled seeds into a rough crumble with some of the nut pieces larger and some smaller.