We were invited to a small plates dinner party the other day, which necessitated the making of small plates. Given that The Husband and I rarely partake in any food-related adventure that could charitably be described as “small,” this complicated matters slightly. In the end, we just decided to make regular plates, only less of them, to varying degrees of success. (Actually, the only non-success was the eggplant ravioli, which fell apart in the pan and generally caused trouble. I readily admit that I only half-remembered the recipe, and also skipped some steps in the made-up version of the recipe that exists solely in my mind, so maybe this isn’t much of a surprise.)
As for the more successful plates, The Husband made his glorious hummus, and I whipped up some herbed goat cheese and ricotta-covered figs (which made use of the basil-goat cheese-ricotta blend from the disappointing eggplant failure). I also made the following bean recipe, which I was really quite pleased with. It’s based on a dish from a restaurant in DC that was a regular date-night fixture when The Husband and I were wooing (being wooed? flinging woo?); given that said restaurant is also a tapas bar, it seemed like as good a place as any to nick a recipe for a small plates party. We originally served it plain, but I discovered today that it goes well in a pita pocket with some tomato, pickled peppers, and feta cheese (some leftover homemade hummus is probably a good thing, too).
The original dish called for gigante beans, which given our track record, we strangely do not have. I substituted Christmas lima beans, which aren’t as creamy as gigante beans, but are faintly nutty and, I think, preferable to your bog-standard limas, and they worked well. Given that I used hoighty-toighty heirloom beans, I cannot comment on the feasibility of using canned or frozen lima beans; I would think that, as long as they could hold their shape and still have a bit of bite to them, they would be fine. I don’t know that baby limas would work as well, though—you want a hearty bean that brooks no guff and tolerates little-to-no sass.
To start, cook one cup of dried Christmas lima beans (or bean of your choosing) in whatever method you prefer (I advocate the pressure cooker, as always, because I am incapable of forethought in these matters) until tender. While the beans are cooking, thinly slice eight or nine cloves of garlic (or even 10 or 11—be brave with your garlic, and you can sleep soundly knowing that you are safe from vampires) and chop up a good handful of fresh dill.
When the beans are good and ready, heat up a good couple of sloshes of olive oil in a sauté pan. (Note: When cooking with olive oil, don’t use some fancypants, expensive oil, because the heat will ruin it; I always keep a bottle of mild, moderately-priced Italian extra-virgin olive oil on hand for the few occasions where we are either using (a) a lot of olive oil [see hummus] or (2) cooking with olive oil.) Be generous; you want these beans to be slick. When the oil is ready, add the garlic and stir, cooking just until the garlic is fragrant, then add the beans and stir to coat. Once the beans are glistening, add three-quarters of the dill, along with a good, large pinch of salt, and stir. Cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and let simmer for five or so minutes. Taste for additional salt (beans can take a good amount), and add the remaining dill. Mix together and serve.
Depending on the flavorfulness of your cooking oil, you might want to drizzle some good olive oil over top, to get that lovely grassiness (which goes so well with the nuttiness of the beans). For a slightly more substantial take, a dollop or two of yogurt (or labneh) mixed through would certainly be welcome, but there’s really no need to gussy this up; your beans are beautiful just as they are.
Also, on the same day I learned that these beans go well in a pita, I learned that Pancakes does not like being near a pool. Have you ever seen a cat hyperventilate? It's disconcerting. However, high on the list of things Pancakes does like is his new tunnel.
I'm starting to regret giving him yet another place from which to launch guerrilla attacks at my ankles, though.
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