I wish my grandfather could see how his kooky recipes have become popular with Allrecipes fans, from his go-to coffee mix-in to the most unusual tuna salad you’ll ever taste. It would light him up, like the way he’d get a twinkle in his eye when he’d mispronounce croissants as “crawzz-naughts” to get a rise out of my grandmother. He was a character. And it’s comforting to know that part of his kitchen antics live on in this cooking community.
So, I’m back with another interesting dish, one he ate daily growing up. But, technically, this time my grandfather is off the hook with any brow-raising. All the credit goes to his grandmother, my great-great-grandmother, for this will-it-sandwich creation.
My grandfather grew up in rural Central Alabama, and from the stories, it’s clear that his family didn’t have a lot. But he was determined and sharp as a tack. Scholarships and college paved the way for him, and he went on to build a business, a farm, and a home—literally—brick by brick.
But before higher-ed, back in his elementary school days in the late 1930s, he took a very specific lunch with him every single day. For much of his childhood, he was raised by his grandmother, and from what I understand, they didn’t have a whole lot in the way of food. Much like Dolly Parton’s creative mom, my great-great-grandmother, made sandwiches with buttermilk biscuits—and probably with a limited list of ingredients like Loretta Lynn’s biscuits.
When things were good, it was a ham biscuit sandwich. But when things were lean, it was a butter bean biscuit sandwich. Yep, lima beans.
My Grandpa’s Butter Bean Biscuit Sandwiches
In the South, this legume is known as butter beans, especially the XL tan butter beans versus the small, pale green lima beans most people are familiar with. In theory, the dish doesn’t seem too strange. Folks in other parts of the South enjoy pinto beans and cornbread. So, after years of stories, I finally tried it. And it’s definitely an experience.
Deanne Revel/Allrecipes
biscuits with butter beans on top
For the beans, I picked up a can of Bush’s large butter beans. Now, from what I understand, the beans were likely made on the stovetop with added butter (if they had it) and maybe a ham hock (if they had it). By the mid-century, when microwaves were more common and accessible, the method went straight to the appliance—with a wallop of Country Crock margarine.
I’m an unsalted Kerrygold girlie. However, I stayed true to the measurement (by the spoonful, and with your heart) so I had a bowl of butter beans truly swimming in butter sauce.
Now, as far as tradition goes, here’s where things went full “fruit basket turnover,” as folks say in Alabama. It’s summer and I’m not turning on the oven. So, I put some frozen biscuits in the air fryer on the bake setting. I know, I know. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad for the most unhinged way to make biscuits.
Assembly was a nightmare. This drippy, slippery concoction does not a sandwich make. Of course, I ate it hot—in the style of a Sloppy Joe. But I’d imagine the sandwich cooled by lunchtime and congealed into some sort of bean salad sandwich. (In 1930s, I’m sure there were fewer food safety rules.)
I’m not doing a great job of selling it. Mess aside, it’s delicious. I love canned earthy veggies, such as beets and Italian green beans, that have that rich, nutty flavor. And the texture of butter beans is so velvety already that I was tempted to make a paste or a tapenade-adjacent spread.
I can see why my great-great-grandmother made this. The beans are very filling, and a small serving goes a long way—and it needed to. Hearing the stories is one thing, but to eat this two-ingredient dish—it’s a heavy, humbling, and heartwarming perspective.
So, if you’re ever in the mood for some southern comfort food, try a bowl of butter beans. And maybe just leave the biscuit on the side.
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