I love beans. I love to make them, eat them, read about them, see what tiktok is doing with them, and I love to talk about them. To my dismay, and the handful of people subjected to my ramblings, when it comes to beans, I have the charisma of a cult leader and the articulative prowess of the “I like turtles” zombie kid. I get so welled up with excitement that someone is willing to let me evangelize about beans for a moment that I lose any real ability to say something substantive.
My dear friend/fellow bean obsessive/co-conspirator, Megan and I have been dreaming up a bean-zine for the last few years; where we could unravel our love, questions, and thoughts around cooking and eating beans. The zine was imagined to be a sort of tangible gathering place for bean freaks OR an elaborate pamphlet (it’s giving 90’s pyramid scheme) for the bean-curious to join our movement. As it turns out, starting a zine is a lot of work for two people also trying to be good parents, partners, and friends, while existing under capitalism. So…enter Substack, a Beanstack, if you will— with only occasional puns, I promise.
Bean freaks, welcome home. Regular people, If you’re (by some miracle) still reading, come along a little further, you’re soon to find out, the right pot of beans is, not exaggerating here, life changing.
For me, the early days of cooking beans felt like the culinary equivalent of chasing my middle school crush that, not for lack of trying, didn’t know I existed (👋🏼 Anthony Quinterno, who I called so many times I STILL have his family answering machine message memorized). But, unlike my feelings for Anthony– which fizzled out the summer going into 8th grade, the thrill of the bean chase kept me interested for the long haul (still recovering from years of failed bean attempts over here). With so many methods and traditions and schools of thinking around soaking, salting, and adding stuff throughout the cooking process, it was hard to find what worked for me, how to make it work more than once, and how to elaborate and experiment beyond any half-hearted successes.
After countless fiascos, large and small, the first time I made good beans they were so magical, so perfect, it split my life in two: before and after good beans. Recollections, dinner party tragedies, and lessons from the beforetime will have their place here. But for now, I come back to this recipe* anytime I need to feel a boost, a little taste of the supernatural, or when I want the people at my table to look at me like a goddamn magician for taking something so simple and turning it otherworldly.
*The term recipe is used loosely here. Think of it more as your chaotic and opinionated friend beside you in the kitchen, wine in hand, gently guiding you through the cooking process. If you’re an exact-to-the-letter recipe follower (I’M SORRY), with any luck, you’ll find yourself in touch with your inner magician: cooking with intuition and a bit of — performative or otherwise — fearlessness.
GOOD BEANS (on toast)
Get a big, heavy, preferably cast iron enamel pot and put a glug or two of olive oil in the bottom (enough to cover).
Heat should be on medium, or whatever your stove needs to heat without getting high enough to burn the oil.
Wait for the oil to get hot and crack some black pepper and a (big) pinch of red pepper flakes into the oil
(they should sizzle a bit and that’s how you know it’s hot enough to move on).
Add aromatics, flat side down:
One onion cut in quarters, white or yellow
A whole lemon cut in half (seeds removed)
Garlic head with top cut off(remove any loose skin, but the skin can remain on)
Let simmer in oil for about 2 minutes
Now for the beans
YOU DON’T NEED TO PRE-SOAK and by that I mean, really, please don’t!
Just rinse and add beans to the pot!
You need a high quality bean here or you’re wasting your time. I feel strongly about Rancho Gordo beans in general (love letter coming soon) and fairly certain that their Alubia Blanca beans are the only beans for this recipe. Find them.
Quickly add:
Water to pot, enough to cover about 3 inches over the beans
A bay leaf
A handful of fresh herbs if you have them (be sparing with rosemary)
Several pinches of salt (diamond crystal kosher salt is a favorite)
Bring to a rolling boil for about 10 minutes and then drop down to just an easy simmer, uncovered
Beans will cook for about 1.5-2.5 hours - if you have to stop the cooking process for kids or dogs or whatever takes you away, put a lid on beans and let sit. They might just finish cooking on their own here, or at least, continue softening.
Add more oil, salt, and hot water as you go
The broth should be salty but not over-salted
About an hour in, keep trying the beans, you’ll reach that point where the beans seem almost done - but some are still a little too hard - keep cooking
Wait
Find that magic moment before the skins start to break and they’re mostly uniformly soft
Turn off heat
Remove the lemons (squeeze em out before removing)
Same with the garlic, squeeze out of skins
Remove herbs if still on stems
Now for the choose your own adventure moment:
Either proceed with the beans, with a finishing touch or two, in a bowl with all the brothy goodness— straight up GOOD BEANS
Or
If time allows, for the ceremony of it all, make the toast and the sauce too, and plate it beautifully
For straight up:
Hit the whole pot with a little acid, fresh lemon or vinegar, or lime
Ladle out beans n broth into a bowl
Add to bowl:
Freshly chopped herbs - I like dill, parsley and chives here
Zest some lemon on top
Add more cracked black pepper
A little bit of big flaky sea salt to finish
A drizzle of good olive oil on top
Serve with good bread to sop up the juices
For the full monty:
Make a cheaters aioli- finely chopped raw garlic (1-3 cloves), juice of one lemon and 3-4 big tablespoons of mayonnaise (I use vegenaise because, in the words of @blackforager, “I’m a filthy vegan.”)-- whisk it together until you have the consistency of thick salad dressing. Add more lemon or mayonnaise accordingly, and let stand.
Hit the whole pot with a little acid, fresh lemon or vinegar, or lime
Strain off some of the beans from the broth and for god’s sake don’t get rid of the broth, it’s liquid gold!
Slice a loaf of nice, freshly baked bread (ciabatta, sourdough, pain au levain, you get the idea)
Pan fry 2/3 inch slices in olive oil until both sides are crispy (oven toasting works here too)
Assembly
Put a little of your aioli and capers on your toast
Add scoop of beans to cover
Add freshly chopped herbs - I like dill and chives
A spoonful of aioli on top
And Maldon or another big flaked salt, black pepper and lemon zest to finish
Light a candle and make your arrangements because you might die it’s so good.
