Bean Stalker - Recap

Chuck knocks on Alton’s door. He’s got more green beans for his friend – this is the third bushel this week. Alton has cooked every one of his green bean recipes twice, but Chuck believes Alton can find something to do with them, even suggesting a dish his mother used to make, featuring green beans and mushrooms with toasted onions on top. Alton recognizes a common green bean casserole (favoring the viewers with a level look). Chuck says that his mother guards her creations closely and likely won’t share the recipe; Alton accepts the beans and tells Chuck he’ll have to figure out the casserole for himself.

Inside, Alton relates the horrible tale of his Aunt Gert’s green bean casserole, which appeared at every holiday gathering, featuring awful beans and mushrooms and a gravy out of H.P. Lovecraft! Alton’s mother made him eat some every year (because Gert had money) until Alton turned twelve, when he finally refused on Geneva Convention grounds. (Perhaps, Alton speculates, that is why Gert omitted him from her will.) Still, with sound science, the right ingredients, and some tried and true techniques perhaps even green bean casserole can be... Good Eats!

Although Chuck has set Alton up nicely, most people begin their casserole at the mega-mart, so that is where Alton begins his exploration of the green bean. With the exception of a few old world favorites, like fava beans and lentils, most green beans are varieties of the species Phaseolus vulgaris. This descended from a proto-bean which grew in the Southern Andes Mountains of South America thousands of years ago. The green bean owes is spread and diversity to... maize! Maize was a food staple throughout Central and South America but it lacks certain crucial nutrients, such as lysine. Enter beans: add them to the pot and it now contains a complete protein. As man realized this he spread beans all over the world – to the Old Country and then back to the New World!

That’s when Alton notices Chuck standing by the bean counter. He’s curious – why would Chuck, overloaded with beans, come to the store for them? It seems Chuck wants taller beans to increase the diversity of his stock. Alton shows him purple beams, flat dragon and Romano beans (they withstand long cooking and their shape makes them easy to cut for salads). There are small and thin haricot vert (French beans) and wax beans, tough and suitable for pickling. But none of these are tall. Finally, they see pole beans, so called because they grow so tall that growers train them to climb poles! That’s what Chuck wants; he shovels several handfuls into his hat and disappears.

Whatever your choice, Alton instructs, look for a uniform color without blemishes or brown spots. The beans should snap crisply when bent to about ninety degrees. If they don’t, they are old – avoid them! Once Alton gets his beans home, he refrigerates them right away – but even in the refrigerator beans do not keep more than five days because their metabolisms continue to tick. A tight plastic bag works best, but condensation against the beans is bad, so Alton puts his in an open plastic bag until they chill down, then forces the air out of the bag and seals it.

Once upon a time, a string ran up the side of the bean pod, and the cook had to remove this. Breeders eager for customers bred this feature out of most modern beans, but some heirloom varieties still have the strings. After rinsing them well, Alton grabs a bunch of beans in one hand. Using his thumb, he snaps off the stem end and then transfers that bean his other hand, which breaks long beans in two (and leaves shorter specimens alone) before dropping them in a bowl.

Alton regards beans as he does pasta. He never cooks them in less than a gallon of water and he seasons that with a generous amount of kosher salt. That much water brings two things to the party. Most importantly, it returns quickly to a boil, meaning the beans cook faster. Beans (like other vegetables) brighten when they go in the water as oxygen that masks the chlorophyll dissolves into the water. A little later, cell walls begin to soften, which is good and bad. It’s good because it eases access to minerals and vitamins, but it’s bad because it can liberate acids that immediately attack chlorophyll turning it grey or brown. That extra water dilutes the acid, decreasing the chance of this unappetizing conversion – but better yet is to watch the beans and remove them before the acids escape their cellular prisons. Alton cooks his beans until they’re “tender to the tooth” which he calls “bean al dente.” Then he quickly drains them and transfers them to a prepared ice water bath to shut down the cooking process.

Much of American culinary canon arose from the industrial revolution, Alton explains. That unleashed a multitude of processed foods in cans, boxes, jars and envelops upon eager consumers, and all of it promised variety and convenience. A collaboration between icebox maker Abraham Anderson and fruit merchant Joseph Campbell yielded the Thomas Campbell Preserve Company [see Goofs], which sold canned tomatoes, vegetable soups and minced meats. In 1897, chemist John Dorrance discovered how to make condensed soup, which made it possible to sell a 32oz quantity of soup in a 10oz can. This became so popular that the company focused on soup and eventually became known as Campbell’s Soup. Like a lot of companies, it knew the value of marketing. Among early marketing techniques was a book offering consumers recipes that drew on a company’s products, stimulating sales. Once such recipe was the original version of green bean casserole that used beans, cream of mushroom soup, a little soy sauce, some pepper, some milk, and fried onions. It was good, but Alton believes he can make it... Good Eats.

A knock on the door draws Alton there where he finds Chuck in new attire and with another bushel of beans. The beans in Chuck’s new bushel are smaller than earlier efforts; it seems he has changed his focus away from tall beanstalks. He makes a few cryptic comments about a giant before offering Alton the beans and departing.

Back in the kitchen, Alton adds flour, salt and Panko breadcrumbs to a giant mixing bowl that he claims was once a satellite dish. Why Panko breadcrumbs? Well, it’s all in the texture. Unlike regular breadcrumbs which look similar to sand (but are better tasting, Alton hopes), Panko breadcrumbs are irregular and offer more surface area, for a crisper crust. Alton explains that Panko crumbs are not simply ground bread. He slips on a lab coat and dons a pair of goggles to demonstrate his Panko breadcrumb maker, assembled from plans discovered on the Internet. It makes a lot of sparks and fills the room with smoke and soot, leaving Alton to suggest that purchasing these crumbs is a better idea...

With his breading assembled Alton’s ready to slice two onions wafer thin. He could use a knife, but he prefers a mandoline (not the musical mandolin a helpful hand proffers). Then he breaks up the slices into rings and tosses them in the breading (this is where the extra large bowl helps). He arranges the coated rings on a sheet pan prepared with a bit of non-stick spray and stashes them in the oven at 475º F for about half an hour, tossing twice. (If you forget that last step, Alton warns, you’ll be sorry.)

While his onions cook, Alton builds a sauce. He’s not a fan of cream of mushroom soup, but those marketers did know what they were talking about: mushrooms work well with beans, especially in a cream sauce. Alton carves mushrooms into medium pieces, then melts some butter in a cast iron skillet and browns the mushrooms (with a little salt and fresh ground black pepper) until they start to give up a little liquid – about five minutes. At that point, he flavors with a couple of cloves of garlic and some nutmeg – freshly grated, please! Then he sprinkles flour evenly over the mushrooms (sprinkling discourages lumps) and uses a little high heat to cook the cereal flavor out of the flour. The pan should look dry at this point, which means it is time for the liquid: chicken broth. Alton stirs constantly for about a minute while the broth hydrates the flour, causing the starch to swell and thicken the sauce. Finally, he adds some half-and-half – because of its fat and the presence of starch, it will not coagulate. The fat and starch will keep the proteins separated. Alton maintains a low simmer until this mixture fully thickens, about six and a half minutes (this will depends on humidity, the precise amount of fat in the half-and-half, and so one).

By this point Alton’s onions have finished toasting, so he removes them from the oven and sets them aside to cool for a bit. Now he has all the components necessary. He starts by adding about a quarter of the onions to the sauce in the skillet, then folding in the beans gently (he doesn’t want them to break up). The rest of the onions go on top (spread evenly) of the bean/sauce mixture and the whole skillet goes into a 400º F oven for fifteen minutes or so until nice and bubbly.

This casserole can go straight to the table without a rest period. Alton prepares to tuck in when a disheveled Chuck, clearly upset, bursts in! He has a covered cage labeled “Goldie” that he hands Alton, suggesting he “watch it for a few days.” He tells Alton he’ll be out of town for a few days and that Alton may take all the beans he wants. And he offers Alton an axe before he darts away. The scenario seems familiar... And that’s when a gigantic bellow splits the air and rattles Alton’s cookware. Yes, indeed, Chuck has apparently stolen “Goldie” from a giant, presumably one who lives at the top of a beanstalk Chuck vigorously denies climbing. Fortunately, the giant is a fan of green bean casserole, enabling Alton to buy his way out of trouble with the casserole. Ah, well, Alton sighs. In life as in fairy tales, all’s well that ends... good. Eats, that is!

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