I am in more or less the same position as with last week’s recipe, only this time the pods contain broad beans, which are slightly easier to read than peas. This is because the pods are longer and become softer and floppier as they age, so you can see and feel if the beans inside are large and hard, which, like peas, is because their sugar has turned to starch, and which makes them more suited to longer cooking. The other thing about broad beans is their opaque jackets, which thicken as the beans age and get more bitter, but they can be removed by picking them off with a nail, or by dunking the beans in hot water for a minute, then in cold water and squeezing the jackets off and across the worktop. Even older, larger beans can be enjoyed raw or lightly cooked; they are brighter, too, like green tiddlywinks.

As well as dealing with pods, I have been reading about broad beans in recipe books and stories, looking out in particular for references to how they are consumed in spring, which in Italy is often alongside young sheep’s cheese – a great combination, as is broad beans and lancashire cheese. It turns out, though, that the mentions I have enjoyed most are to be found in England, and in George Eliot’s Adam Bede. One instance is when Adam, having walked past the leafy walls of scarlet beans, late peas and bushy filberts, strides over a “superfluity of broad beans” in Mrs Poyser’s garden; another when he eats cold broad beans out of a large dish with his pocket knife, and finds a flavour that he would not exchange for the finest pineapple.

In the absence of a “superfluity of broad beans” or starchy bullets, there is the fallback of frozen broad beans, which are even better than frozen peas in terms of maintaining flavour and consistency. Both fresh and frozen are suitable for this week’s recipe, in which orzo (the pasta shape, as opposed to Italian orzo, which is barley) is treated like rice in risotto (only requiring less attention), cooked with spring vegetables and finished with butter, parmesan and lots of lemon zest.

Like risotto, it is wise to add enough water to achieve a wavy consistency, because the mix will inevitably settle into a thicker dish – not that that’s a problem.

Orzo with peas, broad beans, asparagus, parmesan and lemon

Serves 4
1 small bunch asparagus
1 onion, peeled, cut in half, one half left whole, the other half diced
3-4 tbsp grated parmesan, plus a piece of rind
Salt and black pepper
2 tbsp olive oil
Butter
1 glass dry white wine
350g orzo, or risoni
1.2-1.8 litres asparagus broth (see method; optional), or light vegetable stock or water
200g peas, fresh or frozen
200g broad beans, fresh or frozen
Finely grated zest of 1 unwaxed lemon

First prep the asparagus: break off or use a peeler to cut off the tough ends – keep these trimmings for an optional asparagus broth . Break off the very tips and set aside, then cut the remaining stems into 2mm-thick rounds.

If you want to make the asparagus broth, put the asparagus trimmings, the half-onion, a parmesan rind and a pinch of salt in a pan with two litres of water, bring to a boil, then turn down to a simmer and cook for 40 minutes.

In a heavy-based pan on a medium-low heat, warm the olive oil and a walnut-sized knob of butter, then add the diced onion, asparagus rounds and a pinch of salt, and cook, stirring often, until the veg have softened a little. Turn up the heat, add the wine and let it whoosh for a minute, then add the orzo and stir so it glistens. Set a time for the recommended pasta cooking time.

Add a litre of asparagus broth, light vegetable stock or water, stir, then turn down the heat and leave to simmer gently, stirring every now and then so the orzo doesn’t stick. Halfway through the pasta cooking time, add the peas, broad beans, asparagus tips, a pinch of salt and more water, if needed – the consistency should be dense but fluid and creamy. Stir and taste often.

Once the pasta is al dente, pull the pan off the heat, beat in another walnut-sized knob of butter, the grated parmesan and lemon zest, then serve.