It’s been a wild and wacky time where I live; many if not most of you know that, in order to sustain my food-and-blogging habit, I have a day job as an editor at what was once the world’s largest publisher. It makes for a very busy life: I work, and then I come home and cook, and then I work some more. But rumors have been swirling lately around the possible demise of my group’s situation, as Dickens would have called it, and while I’ve been pretty philosophical about the whole thing, the prospect has manifested itself in (for me) some strange meals. Like yesterday at lunch, I drove up to this crazy-expensive take-out place in Bedford NY (where I suppose Martha might be lurking alongside of me, poised to order her chopped salad. Chopped. Whoops. Must be a Freudian slip.) to pick up one of my favorite lunches: a salad with Korean barbecue-glazed tofu, all wrapped up snugly in rice paper. But instead, I by-passed the place and wound up with a burger and fries from Johnny Rocket’s. The other night, Susan and I wound up at a very well-known restaurant in Tribeca, she had the applewood smoked ribs, I had the “Baja” fish tacos, and both of them were remarkably horrible (separately, and together). By the time we got home, I could hear my beleaguered arteries creaking shut, and I vowed to go on a vegan binge for a month.

Not so much.

But it is what it is, as I’m fond of saying, and at times like this—when the future is seriously uncertain—I tend to pillage my pantry for the most elemental food I can find, which is exactly what I did over the weekend. There, piled on the shelves attached to the pantry door, were bags of beans—but not just any beans: Rancho Gordo beans. Indian Woman beans. Christmas Lima beans. Like manna from heaven, like a gift from the gods, they were perched there, beckoning me to slow down from my metaphysical careening from scenario to scenario. But it was late-ish on Sunday night, I had to be at work the next morning, and I wanted to do right by the beans that I chose to make—the Christmas Limas because a) they taste like chestnut and I love chestnuts; b) they’re very pretty; and c) my Daddy loved limas, and right now, I want my Daddy.

I pulled out that infrequently-used tool-of-winter, my pressure cooker, and forced a quick soak on them for a few minutes while I poked around for a lima bean recipe (they tend to be hard to find, because they’re always treated like an afterthought), and hit on Lima Bean, Sorrel, and Parsley from Deborah Madison‘s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, and that seemed perfect (sorrel is exploding in my garden right now), even though it called for regular limas and my limas were anything but regular.

After the beans were done soaking, I put them back into the pressure cooker with a bay leaf, a bit of salt, and a few sprigs of thyme, some water, and I brought them back up to high pressure for 8 minutes while I chopped up a smallish leek, a handful of parsley leaves, a garlic clove, and nearly all the sorrel that I had growing in the box on my deck. When the beans were done, I drained them, reserved their cooking liquid,  heated some olive oil, and slowly cooked the vegetables in my favorite clay pot. The beans went in a little while later along with some of the cooking liquid, and it all simmered together until I had this mass of tender goodness, which I spiked with a dash of half-and-half (Deborah suggests cream). And then I piled it up on a piece of toast and poured myself a small glass of red wine.

Clay pot. Dried beans. Stuff on toast. Red wine.

On the one hand, this is cold weather cookery (although a pressure cooker is great for warm-weather cooking, since you don’t steam up the kitchen). On the other hand—and regardless of the fact that I used my pressure cooker because I wanted to hasten the process from overnight to a little under an hour—it’s cookery that speaks of slowing down, of stepping off the high speed train, of remembering that a bag of beans and a few fresh vegetables are the makings for simple, frugal comfort in the highest, regardless of which way the winds are blowing.

Christmas Limas, Sorrel, and Parsley Stew on Toast

(adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison)

The sorrel in this dish plays a lovely, lemony high note to the meatiness of the limas (which are also just plain beautiful). We served this dish hot, for dinner, but it was delicious cold the next day.

Serves 4

1 cup Christmas Lima beans, soaked overnight or quick-soaked in a pressure cooker

1 bay leaf

1 sprig thyme

salt, to taste

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 small leek, white part only, minced

1 handful of parsley, leaves only, minced (about 3/4 cup)

1 bunch of sorrel, leaves only (about 24), rolled and minced

1 tablespoon cream (or half and half), optional

1. Place the soaked beans in the pressure cooker, along with the bay leaf, thyme, and salt, and cover with 4 cups of water. Seal, bring the pressure up to high, and maintain it for  8 minutes. Allow the pressure to release naturally by removing the pot from the heat.

2. Meanwhile, in a medium-sized clay pot or saute pan set over medium heat, warm the olive oil until shimmering, and add the garlic and leek. Cook until tender, stirring frequently, about six or seven minutes. Drain the pressure cooker over a bowl, and reserve a cup of the cooking liquid. Discard the bay leaf and thyme sprig.

3. Add the beans to the pot and give it a good stir to combine all of the vegetables; moisten the mixture with the bean liquid, about two tablespoons at a time (it shouldn’t be soupy). Add the parsley, and cook for about 15-20 minutes. Add the sorrel to the pan, and stir to combine, until the sorrel “melts.”

4. Spike the dish with the cream, if using, taste for seasoning, and serve on a slice of warm, whole-grain toast.