If you’re reading this, I should warn you: my Marry Me Butter Beans aren’t the sleekest dish on Instagram, but oh boy, they’ll snuggle right up to your heart (or at least, your belly). My cousin once said she’d marry the pan if that was allowed, which made Thanksgiving a bit awkward. Still, every time I make these, there’s this wave of nostalgia—a dash of chaos, like Aunt Mabel’s wedding where the bean pot made an appearance and half the family ended up in tears (happy ones, eventually).

Why You’ll Love This (Or at Least, Why I Do)

I whip this up whenever it’s cold and dreary or honestly, anytime I want my kitchen to smell like actual kindness. My family loses their minds for it; we once had a fork-joust for the last bit (I’d recommend letting kids win, learn form my mistakes!). And sometimes—just sometimes—I treat myself to a bowl at midnight, because why not, right?

What You’ll Need (And Some Sneaky Swaps)

2 cans butter beans (also called lima beans—honestly, frozen’s ok if you’re desperate)
2 tbsp olive oil (sometimes if I’m feeling fancy I reach for butter or even bacon fat—don’t judge)
4 garlic cloves, minced (please don’t fret if you only have powdered, just use a teaspoon)
1 small onion, diced (red or white both work—my neighbor swears by shallots, but I can’t always be that fancy)
1/3 cup sun-dried tomatoes in oil, chopped (I’ve tossed in roasted red peppers instead, it works!)
1 cup veggie or chicken broth (homemade if you’re patient, but cubes or those Better Than Bouillon jars are grand)
1/2 cup heavy cream (plain old milk in a pinch, but it’s less swoon-worthy)
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese (I mean, pre-grated is fine; Nonna would disagree, but she doesn’t read the internet, so…)
1 tsp dried thyme (fresh is lovely but who actually remembers to buy thyme?)
Salt and black pepper, to taste
A squeeze of lemon juice (I forget this half the time, but it’s worth it)
Fresh basil or parsley to finish (I’ve even used a handful of baby spinach, it’s all greens in the end)

Let’s Get Cooking (Just Don’t Rush Me)

Heat olive oil in your biggest, sturdiest frying pan or a shallow pot over medium heat. (Wok? Go for it, honestly, I’m not the kitchen police).
Add onion. Stir till it starts looking see-through—usually 3-5 minutes, but you’ll smell when it’s ready. Then toss in the garlic. Give it about a minute; if you wander off and it browns, just lie and say you meant to.
Now’s the time for those sun-dried tomatoes (or peppers). They don’t need to cook long, just a couple of minutes till it smells, well, marriable. Thyme joins the party now—crumble it in with your hands if you’re feeling rustic.
Tip in the beans—liquid and all, if they look soupy; drain a bit if not. Stir all around so everything glistens.
Pour in broth; bring to a gentle simmer. I usually nudge the heat down here and let it burble for 8-10 minutes, uncovered. This is where I taste and (um) adjust the salt because, let’s be honest, sometimes I forget to do this until halfway through. If it looks too much like soup at this stage, just keep simmering. Or don’t—some days brothy beans are what my heart wants.
Stir in the heavy cream and Parmesan until it’s creamy and inviting. A squeeze of lemon goes in too, even though half the time it’s just whatever citrus is rolling on the counter. Simmer for 2-3 minutes. Taste again. Add pepper. Taste again (you deserve it!).
Remove from heat, toss on the fresh herbs—or you could just tear them right over the pan, more fun that way. If you’re into heat, a sprinkle of chili flakes won’t hurt.

Random Notes (aka: What I Learned the Hard Way)

Do not skip the lemon, unless you forget, in which case it’s basically still great.
If your beans are super soft, don’t stir too much—they’ll go mushy (been there, mashed that).
You can freeze this, but the texture’s not quite the same after; maybe that’s just me being fussy though.
The smell lingers for ages—in a good way (unless you hate beans, I guess).

Wild Variations I’ve Survived

Chopped olives: Unexpectedly delicious
Swapped beans for chickpeas once—not bad, but not ‘marriage material,’ if you know what I mean
Vegan version: Use coconut cream, skip cheese, a bit of nutritional yeast—tastes almost like I tried
Add bacon or pancetta at step 1. Richer, but sometimes I think it overshadows the beans

Equipment I Use (Or Bodged Together)

If you’ve got a nice enamelled pan or Dutch oven, lovely. If not, anything deep-ish will do. Once I used a battered old saucepan because all my pots were ‘resting’ in the sink. Worked fine, though a little snug. For grating cheese, I’ve literally hacked at a chunk with a knife, but a box grater is easier. Serious Eats has a skillet review if you want to rabbit hole that.

Storing Your Leftovers (If They Even Last Long Enough)

Pop any leftovers in a lidded tub in the fridge. Good for 2–3 days but—I’m telling you—leftovers vanish in my house before I even consider reheating. If you need to reheat, gentle heat is best; don’t blast it or cream might split.

Serving: What Goes With Marry Me Butter Beans?

I plop mine next to toasted sourdough (I like this King Arthur Baking recipe when ambition strikes), or even over rice if the mood hits. My gran used to suggest eating them spooned onto roasted sweet potatoes. Actually, kids seem to prefer them in a bowl with extra cheese and a mountain of black pepper.

Lessons Learned (And What Not to Do!)

Once I tried microwaving everything to ‘save time’—just don’t. Boo. Way less flavor. Give the simmering time; it matters!
Tasted before salting—always. I oversalted once, and spent 10 minutes rescuing with potatoes (doesn’t really work, by the way).

FAQ: Because Folks Seriously Ask These Things

Do I have to use butter beans? Nope! Use cannellini, or broad beans in a pinch—just not kidney beans; they’re a bit grumpy in creamy sauces.
Can I make this dairy-free? Hey, I’ve tried with oat cream and skipped the cheese. Still cozy—just a little ‘health-food café’ vibes. Not bad.
Is this kid-friendly? Usually! Unless your kid hates beans, which…well, good luck?
Can I add meat? Sure, toss in shredded chicken or crispy bacon if that’s your jam. (Try Bon Appetit’s roast chicken alongside, if you’re feeling chef-y.)
Can I double this? Absolutely, though you’ll probably need a bigger pan (trust me; learned that one the hard way!)

So, if you give these creamy, dreamy Marry Me Butter Beans a go, tell your family I say ‘hi’—unless they don’t like beans, in which case, you’ve just scored yourself extra helpings. And if you spot any typos, well, consider that my little gift of honesty. Happy cooking, pal.