"Eat your lima beans!"
It's almost a cliche for parents to berate their offspring for not finishing their limas. But as a kid, the whole scenario baffled me. Why were adults yelling at children, forcing them to eat something that was already insanely delicious? They might as well be yelling at them to finish their chocolate chip cookies.
I just didn't get it. Who could resist the pillowy softness and generous size of lima beans? As I grew up, my obsession only deepened. Lima bean soup. Lima beans in succotash (no, edamame are not an acceptable substitute). And (my favorite, this) just-boiled limas, topped with an enormous hunk of melting butter and a showering of flaky salt. Why eat a baked potato when you can enjoy dozens of mini potato-like beans, all drenched in a silky sauce?
Pressure-Cooker Gigante Beans in Tomato Sauce
But little did I know that the best (and biggest) beans were yet to come. It started with the giant gigantes beans at a Greek restaurant—easily twice the size of my beloved limas, and dressed with an olive-oil-drenched tomato sauce. And it suddenly dawned on me: I like big beans.
Now, the biggest beans you can usually find at the supermarket are large limas—the gateway drug of the big-bean world. But thanks to folks like Steve Sando, founder of bean mecca Rancho Gordo, even bigger beans were in my future. Those fat white gigantes beans from Greece, and even more luscious, plump Corona beans from Italy. Speckled, chestnutty Christmas limas. And hot-pink and dark ebony Scarlet Runner beans, which exude a gorgeous, flavorful broth when cooked.
But you can't just jump into the Escalade of beans and start driving. These mega-beans require some intel to bring out their best. The main challenge? Cooking them so they're tender and buttery within, without letting their skins disintegrate. Luckily, Steve Sando was on hand to help.
Skip the overnight soak.
"Folks soak their beans for 24 hours, and then tell me they take forever to cook. I think that might be because the beans are actually starting to sprout at that point," Sando says. Instead, he recommends a 4-6 hour soak, max.
Set up your aromatics
You could do what Sando does and start by sautéing aromatics like onion, celery, and carrot in the pot. "And if you want to take a holiday, add some cubed pancetta," says Sando. "It's the greatest thing on the planet." Or you could just toss in a bay leaf or branches of rosemary or thyme after you've added the soaked beans and covered them with 2 inches of water. Either way, remember—you're not just cooking beans, you're making bean broth. And as Sando says, "Bean broth is free soup."
Next, show those beans who's boss.
We're used to recipes telling us to simmer those beans low and slow, and Sando agrees—except for the first 15 minutes of cooking. "This is my new secret: Start with a 15-minute hard boil to let the beans know you're in charge. Then you turn down the heat to a gentle simmer." You'll cut down on cooking time without compromising bean-skin integrity. Big beans will take anywhere from 1 1/2 hours to 4 hours to cook through. Hold off on the salt until they "start to smell like beans," Sando says. That way, the skins will be tender and the beans will be seasoned all the way through.
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