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Tender Buttons Dried beans are the homely little peasants of the cooking world, stubborn and unruly as they are solid and reliable. Beans are the backbone of such classic dishes as pasta fagiole and cassoulet. Because the cooking time of any dried bean increases in direct proportion to its age, the cook is often soaking and simmering – hoping to arrive at a tender and silky interior before the arrival of mealy or mushy with barely a clue. Yet, even before they capitulate and soften, beans steadily absorb the flavours that surround them. For all their idiosyncrasies in flavour and size, beans are fated to become the background upon which other ingredients can shine. Beans, of course, don’t suffer this fate quietly and for centuries their windy revenge has been the subject of fear, loathing and off colour humor. In his book “ On Food and Cooking,” Harold McGee suggests an ontological basis for the havoc that beans wreak. St. Augustine, he wrote, “saw involuntary bodily functions, flatulence amongst them, as unmistakable signs of man’s fall from grace: once man failed to obey God, he became unable to obey even himself, and lost control over his physical nature”. Inevitably, the bean became linked to lechery. Primitive and plentiful foods always seem to suffer such aspersion. It is a trick whereby polite society simultaneously explains and bemoans its taste for the earthy, the simple and the ordinary. In the case of the bean, which is second only to grains in importance to the human diet, it takes some fancy footwork to explain why such a lowly staple could have sustained the imagination of master cooks for centuries. But, indeed, even the most trend conscious French chef hones his rendition of the traditional cassoulet as assiduously as he practices his autograph. Small beans, once they’ve been sorted and picked over for stones, can be soaked for as little as four hours, but a luxurious eight-hour bath seems to make them mellow and cook more evenly. Julia Child claims that the aftereffects of beans can be mitigated by changing the soaking water, and by using fresh cold water for cooking. Put it this way: it can’t hurt. White beans – solid as small white, navy, or pea beans – are tiny bead like ovals, with a mild nutty flavour that Mediterranean people dote on. They require slightly more cooking than their black cousins, also sold as turtle beans, but are somewhat more versatile. Black beans – which have a rich earthy taste and a softer texture than white – tend to weep and discolour other ingredients, so they are rarely used with chicken, fish, pork or soups. Coaxing the intrinsic elegance from a bean, black or white, is a satisfying sort of alchemy. You transform, the ordinary into the extraordinary, the hard and self-contained into something soft and giving. Curried Black Bean Soup Serves 4 2 teaspoons unsalted butter 2 teaspoons olive oil 1 medium onion, peeled and diced 1 large carrot, peeled and diced 2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced 1 ˝ teaspoon curry powder ˝ teaspoon ground coriander 1 cup black beans, soaked overnight and drained 10 cups chicken stock Sea salt and fresh ground pepper to taste 1-tablespoon fresh chopped cilantro 1) Heat the butter and olive oil in a large saucepan over low heat. Add the onion and carrot and cook until soft, stirring often, about 10 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook for 2 minutes. Stir in the curry powder and coriander and cook for 2 minutes longer. Add the beans and chicken broth and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat so the liquid simmers and cook until the beans are tender, about 1-˝ hours. 2) Remove half of the beans from the pan with a slotted spoon and set aside. Place the remaining beans with their liquid in a processor and process until smooth. Stir the puree into the reserved beans. Season with salt and pepper. Ladle the soup into four bowls, top with cilantro and serve. |
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