The Cycladic island of Santorini is celebrated for its breathtaking rocky cliffs; its blue-domed, whitewashed architecture; and its caldera, a massive volcanic crater that stretches along the southern Aegean coastline.
But do you know about Santorini’s fava dip? Similar to hummus, this simple meze has a rich, earthy-nutty taste and a consistency that can be coarse or velvety. Drizzled with olive oil and dressed up with bold toppings—the sharpness of chopped red onion and the salty tang of capers bring the dip to life—it’s prime for swiping up with crudités, crackers, or bread.
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In Greek, “fava” refers not to fava beans but to the split peas that thrive in the island’s rich volcanic soil. Once a crop of pure sustenance, the Lathyrus clymenum variety has evolved to become a beloved ingredient throughout Greece and globally as a Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) product.
Stateside, the coveted Santorini favas are difficult to source, so I use the common yellow split pea, Pisum sativum.
Though botanically different, they have the same golden color and are a typical substitute. Simmered with salt and a handful of aromatics, the starch in the legumes absorbs water as it cooks, giving the dip lots of body.
The traditional way of cooking the peas is via the absorption method: Using a prescribed amount of water, the legumes soak up all of the liquid as they cook.
Ultimately, I found that 4 cups of water for 8 ounces of peas led to a dip with a smooth and scoopable, but not stodgy, consistency. Onion and garlic offered depth without overshadowing the peas’ nuanced flavors. (Some recipes also call for a carrot or two, but I found their vegetal sweetness distracting.)
Split Peas
The most common varieties of dry (or “field”) peas—many of which are grown in Canada’s prairie provinces—are green and yellow. The green kind lean sweeter, while yellow tend to be starchier and milder. After drying naturally on the vine to less than 15 percent moisture (if needed, the process can be finished in mechanical dryers), they’re harvested, dehulled, and halved along their middle seam. Splitting allows the peas to cook in half the time of their whole counterparts and eliminates the need for soaking, making them one of the quickest dried legumes to cook.
Another key was to simmer, not boil.
Vigorous bubbling led to sludgy peas in murky water and a dip with a rough texture. That’s because the agitation caused the exteriors of the peas to quickly break down without the interiors cooking through.
I also covered the pot during cooking to limit the evaporation of volatile flavor compounds.
Simmering the peas until most of the liquid was absorbed, checked by dragging a wooden spoon across the bottom of the pot and watching the trail slowly fill in, ensured that the consistency was just right.
Then, while I processed the peas with an immersion blender, I drizzled in a hearty pour of olive oil. After seasoning with spritzes of lemon juice and some salt, I spread the dip onto a shallow bowl and popped it into the fridge, where it thickened more as it chilled.
Before serving, I made a swirl with the back of a spoon, leaving divots in which more olive oil could pool. Sprinkles of red onion and briny capers brought out the dip’s earthy sweetness for a dish that was simple, satisfying, and ideal for sharing—a beautiful representation of everything I love about meze.
Fava (Greek Yellow Split Pea Dip)
Yellow split peas are the down-to-earth star of this creamy Greek taverna dip.
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