We asked some of our favorite scribes to riff on the part of their down-home Thanksgiving they simply couldn’t do without. Here’s what they said. (Stay tuned for more…)
The beauty of those Blue Lakes or Scarlet Emperors took my Northern tummy a while to understand, but I have found my way.
I was raised in kitchens that praised the bean for its crispness, its supporting role as a harbinger of French fastidiousness. The mantra was “blanch and shock, heat again, butter, serve.” (Here in the South, Blanche is a character in A Streetcar Named Desire—not a way to cook green beans.)
My new love for the beans that detractors call “overdone” finds its way to our table in many forms, from pole beans from our farmers’ market to beans I have canned, even store-bought “cut Italian” green beans. If they are canned, the cooking is straightforward: They are drained and recooked with fatback, a ham hock, stock, and maybe onions and herbs. An hour or two later, they are ready to please just as they are—or as a casserole.
With Funyuns, if you roll that way.