Greek Green Beans
As I've written before, memories of childhood tables are a great equalizer, and the stories that proceed from those memories are a writer's and reader's delight. In his wonderful book New York in the Fifties
, Dan Wakefield writes with telling revelation about his first encounter with crisp, flavorful green beans. This happened in a Greenwich Village bistro after a lifetime of the supper dish many of us would recognize: beans overboiled -- drowned, really -- in an ocean of salted water, often without as much as a pat of butter or a sprinkling of pepper to lend flavor.
I, too, know all about soggy green beans. As good a cook as my grandmother was, she did not preside over every meal. It was mid-America in the 1960s and 1970s, when the practices of "convenience foods" hit their zenith. Food came in boxes and cans and jars and envelopes, flash-frozen or pressure-canned or dehydrated, powdered and pre-mixed and ready to be reconstituted or reheated by the harried, hurried home-maker with the least amount of expense or effort possible. So those green beans were decanted straight from the freezer bag or tin can into that bath of hot water, where whatever life they had left was boiled away.
I don't blame anyone; there were considerations of cost and time that, as a kid, I didn't know about. But like most kids I could be finicky about food, and never more so than with that pile of soggy green beans lying bereft beside a Salisbury steak that had its own problems, trying as it was to self-resurrect from a blanket of gooey brown glop that the box top said was "gravy." I considered it a treat to have green beans my grandmother had canned herself, grown in her own garden and very possibly harvested by my own hands, just as I now consider it a treat when, once a year, we get a shipment of the same thing from my mother-in-law. I cook those home-canned beans in the time-honored way, with a smoky ham hock, some red onion, and a few red potatoes for a long time on the stovetop until the flavorful steam has filled the kitchen. This slow cooking results in a dish that reveals velvety flavors and textures, and is absolutely perfect with holiday ham and biscuits.
As with this soul-food technique, other cuisines offer great ways to prepare and serve green beans. The bistro dish Wakefield wrote about was likely flash-steamed until tender-crisp then briefly sautéed in butter before receiving the benediction of a sprinkle of roasted almonds or toasted bread crumbs. Asian cuisines use a technique called dry-sautéing to deliver a spritely dish of slightly seared beans cushioned by dusky sesame, perhaps enlivened by bits of red pepper. And for Greek tables, green beans are stewed in a mixture of tomatoes, onions, olive oil, lemon and herbs until meltingly soft and flavorful. As with the soul-food technique, the slow cooking process draws out the sensual side of green beans, with the liquid reduced to a fragrant and very flavorful oil that gives green beans a proper setting to reveal their earthy flavors. There's some cooking time involved but the technique itself is simple, so try it: once you've eaten green beans this good, you will never allow soggy green beans on your table again.
GREEK GREEN BEANS
Since it is functioning as a poaching liquid, there is no need to use extra-virgin olive oil for this dish. This recipe yields four to six side servings.
2 pounds fresh green beans
1 small white onion
1 8-ounce can tomato sauce
1 cup olive oil
1 lemon, preferably organic
4 cloves garlic
1 dried bay leaf
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1. Snap or snip the stem ends of the beans and place snapped beans in a colander. Inspect the beans as you go, discarding any that display soft brown or yellow spots, or are withered. Rinse the beans in cool water.
2. Peel the onion and remove the root and stem ends. Halve the onion from root to stem; halve each half. Cut each quarter into crescents and then cut across the crescents to dice.
3. Peel the garlic and remove the root end. Half each clove; remove and discard any sprouting from the center.
4. Pour the olive oil into a 2-1/2 quart pot with a lid. Add the onion, garlic, olive oil, cinnamon, tomato sauce and a sprinkling of salt to the olive oil.
5. Roll the lemon along the counter beneath your palm to express the juice. Halve the lemon and juice the halves into the pot, working over a sieve to capture any seeds or pith.
6. Add the rinsed beans to the pot. Turn several times to coat with the tomato-olive oil mixture. Cover the pot.
7. Turn the burner to low. Cook, stirring occasionally, approximately 40 minutes. Once the beans have started to soften, partially uncover and continue cooking until beans are tender and sauce is reduced to a very flavorful, fragrant oil, approximately 30 - 40 minutes. If pot starts to run dry before sauce reduces, add 1/4 cup cold water.
8. Sprinkle finished dish with several grindings of freshly ground black pepper and serve.
, Dan Wakefield writes with telling revelation about his first encounter with crisp, flavorful green beans. This happened in a Greenwich Village bistro after a lifetime of the supper dish many of us would recognize: beans overboiled -- drowned, really -- in an ocean of salted water, often without as much as a pat of butter or a sprinkling of pepper to lend flavor.I, too, know all about soggy green beans. As good a cook as my grandmother was, she did not preside over every meal. It was mid-America in the 1960s and 1970s, when the practices of "convenience foods" hit their zenith. Food came in boxes and cans and jars and envelopes, flash-frozen or pressure-canned or dehydrated, powdered and pre-mixed and ready to be reconstituted or reheated by the harried, hurried home-maker with the least amount of expense or effort possible. So those green beans were decanted straight from the freezer bag or tin can into that bath of hot water, where whatever life they had left was boiled away.
I don't blame anyone; there were considerations of cost and time that, as a kid, I didn't know about. But like most kids I could be finicky about food, and never more so than with that pile of soggy green beans lying bereft beside a Salisbury steak that had its own problems, trying as it was to self-resurrect from a blanket of gooey brown glop that the box top said was "gravy." I considered it a treat to have green beans my grandmother had canned herself, grown in her own garden and very possibly harvested by my own hands, just as I now consider it a treat when, once a year, we get a shipment of the same thing from my mother-in-law. I cook those home-canned beans in the time-honored way, with a smoky ham hock, some red onion, and a few red potatoes for a long time on the stovetop until the flavorful steam has filled the kitchen. This slow cooking results in a dish that reveals velvety flavors and textures, and is absolutely perfect with holiday ham and biscuits.
As with this soul-food technique, other cuisines offer great ways to prepare and serve green beans. The bistro dish Wakefield wrote about was likely flash-steamed until tender-crisp then briefly sautéed in butter before receiving the benediction of a sprinkle of roasted almonds or toasted bread crumbs. Asian cuisines use a technique called dry-sautéing to deliver a spritely dish of slightly seared beans cushioned by dusky sesame, perhaps enlivened by bits of red pepper. And for Greek tables, green beans are stewed in a mixture of tomatoes, onions, olive oil, lemon and herbs until meltingly soft and flavorful. As with the soul-food technique, the slow cooking process draws out the sensual side of green beans, with the liquid reduced to a fragrant and very flavorful oil that gives green beans a proper setting to reveal their earthy flavors. There's some cooking time involved but the technique itself is simple, so try it: once you've eaten green beans this good, you will never allow soggy green beans on your table again.
GREEK GREEN BEANS
Since it is functioning as a poaching liquid, there is no need to use extra-virgin olive oil for this dish. This recipe yields four to six side servings.
2 pounds fresh green beans
1 small white onion
1 8-ounce can tomato sauce
1 cup olive oil
1 lemon, preferably organic
4 cloves garlic
1 dried bay leaf
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1. Snap or snip the stem ends of the beans and place snapped beans in a colander. Inspect the beans as you go, discarding any that display soft brown or yellow spots, or are withered. Rinse the beans in cool water.
2. Peel the onion and remove the root and stem ends. Halve the onion from root to stem; halve each half. Cut each quarter into crescents and then cut across the crescents to dice.
3. Peel the garlic and remove the root end. Half each clove; remove and discard any sprouting from the center.
4. Pour the olive oil into a 2-1/2 quart pot with a lid. Add the onion, garlic, olive oil, cinnamon, tomato sauce and a sprinkling of salt to the olive oil.
5. Roll the lemon along the counter beneath your palm to express the juice. Halve the lemon and juice the halves into the pot, working over a sieve to capture any seeds or pith.
6. Add the rinsed beans to the pot. Turn several times to coat with the tomato-olive oil mixture. Cover the pot.
7. Turn the burner to low. Cook, stirring occasionally, approximately 40 minutes. Once the beans have started to soften, partially uncover and continue cooking until beans are tender and sauce is reduced to a very flavorful, fragrant oil, approximately 30 - 40 minutes. If pot starts to run dry before sauce reduces, add 1/4 cup cold water.
8. Sprinkle finished dish with several grindings of freshly ground black pepper and serve.
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