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Here’s an easy and straightforward recipe for green beans. Bacon, some dried chile pepper, and chicken stock combine to add flavor to this simple side dish.
- 1 tablespoon kosher salt, plus more for cooking beans
- 4 pounds green beans, preferably blue lake
- 1 cup extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 medium yellow onion, julienned
- 4 cloves garlic, smashed
- One 2-inch piece of bacon
- 1 bay leaf
- 1 dried red chile pepper
- 4 quarts Chicken stock
- 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
Calories Per Serving695
Folate equivalent (total)137µg34%
African-American Recipes -- Long-Cooked Green Beans With Tomatoes And Bacon
Recipes on this page were developed or tested by CeCe Sullivan of The Times food staff and were evaluated by staff members.
LONG-COOKED GREEN BEANS WITH TOMATOES AND BACON 6 servings
4 slices bacon, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup finely chopped onions
1 pound green beans, trimmed, cut into 1 1/2-inch lengths
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 medium plum tomatoes, chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
1. In a large pan cook the bacon over medium heat, stirring often, until crisp, about 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the bacon to paper towels to drain, leaving the bacon fat in the pan.
2. Add the onions to the pan and cook, stirring often, until lightly browned, about 6 minutes. Stir in the beans, broth, salt and pepper bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer, covered, until the beans are very tender, about 35-40 minutes.
3. Add the tomatoes and bacon and continue cooking 5 minutes.
Data per serving Calories 76 Protein 4g Fat 3g Carbohydrates 10g Sodium 376mg Saturated fat 1g Monounsaturated fat 1g Polyunsaturated fat 0g Cholesterol 4mg
From "Kwanzaa-An African-American Celebration of Culture and Cooking" by Eric V. Copage.
Chinese Long Beans are chewy, very hearty and can withstand intense spices and chilies. However, I love the simplicity of this recipe &ndash combining stir fry and steaming in just a couple of steps.It takes less than 10 mins. They are the perfect side for almost any weeknight meal and cuisine.
- If you don&rsquot have a wok then you can use a wide bottomed pan.
- If you want a dish with more kick you can add chilies.
- Look for beans with no black spots.
- Have all your ingredients ready to go before you fire up the wok as things move fast!
Green Beans with Garlic Olive Butter for a Savory Plant-Based Side
We have a few quick tips to help make this recipe a repeat dish.
Use regular black mission olives, the type sold everywhere in cans. These tender beauties add just enough flavor without overpowering the dish. You can use mild green olives, which are also available in cans. But black olives add a prettier contrast. I would shy away from kalamatas or other strong brined olives, because they could easily be too strong in this quantity.
Have the bowl of ice water ready. Since you might need to cook the green beans in batches, it’s best to have everything set out in advance. You can set the blanched green beans on paper towels to dry while you cook the rest.
Don’t be tempted to cook the green beans too long. Usually, 3 minutes is enough. This keeps them crisp tender and flavorful.
Trim the ends off all of the green beans. With really fresh green beans, they can be snapped off with your fingers. See that one green bean on the right edge in the picture with its little stem still attached? If you’ve ever had one of those scratch your throat, then you know how important it is to trim them off! Even when harder cooked, the stems can remain firm and even a little sharp.
- 4 teaspoons salt
- 2 chocolate bar biscuit croissant topping
- 1 jelly cotton candy
- ½ jelly gummies
- 2 cups liquorice chocolate
- 2 jelly beans bonbon
- 2 caramels tart gummi bears
- 6 butterscotch caramel lollipops
- 12 tbsp butter
- ¼ cup sugar
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How to Steam Green Beans
Steam isn’t great just for taking wrinkles out of clothes or tidying floors. Try steamed green beans for a low-calorie vegetable side dish.
Place a steamer basket ($20, Target) in a large skillet with sides or a saucepan. Add water to just below the bottom of the steamer basket. Bring water to boiling and add green beans. Cook whole, cut, or french-cut green beans, covered, 10 to 18 minutes or until crisp-tender.
Make our steamed Minted French Green Beansਏor alongside your dinner tonight.
Long-Cooked Green Beans Recipe - Recipes
Roasted Onions With Almond Pesto
- 16 small brown onions, about 1½ to 2 inches in diameter
- ¼ cup whole almonds, with skins
- ½ cup + 1 tablespoon olive oil
- ¼ teaspoon lemon zest, finely chopped
- ¼ cup fresh Italian parsley, finely chopped
- ¾ cup fresh basil leaves, finely chopped
- ¼ cup fresh grated Parmesan cheese
1) Place the onions in a large bowl. Add the 1 tablespoon olive oil, a pinch of salt and pepper and toss until coated. Place on a sheet pan and cook in a preheated 350 degree F oven and roast for 30 minutes or until semi-soft.
2) Bring a small bowl of water to a boil and add the almonds. Cook for 1 minute then immediately remove with a slotted spoon. Peel the skins with a kitchen towel. Place the almonds on a cookie sheet or sheet pan and roast for 7 to 8 minutes in a 350 degree F oven or until golden brown. Remove and cool completely. Place the almonds in a clean coffee grinder or food processor and grind until fine.
3) Using a mortar and pestle, mash the garlic with a pinch of salt and pepper. Add the lemon zest, parsley and basil and continue to grind by hand until mixture is well blended. Add the rest of the olive oil, Parmesan cheese and the ground almonds.
4) Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a small sauté pan and add the bread crumbs, cooking over low heat until lightly browned, about 8 minutes.
5) Slice the cooked onions in half and place 1 to 1½ teaspoon of the almond pesto on each piece, according to taste. Sprinkle each onion with the toasted breadcrumbs. Serve as garnish at room temperature.
- a food processor may be used instead of the mortar and pestle. This also eliminates the need to finely chop the ingredients.
- pesto can also be used for roasted tomatoes, pasta and pizza dishes.
How to Make Green Beans with Bacon and Onions
Cook the green beans according to the package directions. Drain well.
In a small skillet, cook the bacon until crispy. Drain and set aside.
While the beans and bacon are cooking and draining, heat the olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the onion, salt, and pepper and cook, stirring frequently, until the onion is golden brown.
Add the drained green beans, crumbled bacon, and red wine vinegar to the skillet with the browned onion. Toss well and serve immediately.
Forget Al Dente: Braised Green Beans Are Where It's At
I can't remember when the rhetoric of "all vegetables must be cooked al dente" started, but frankly, I'm getting a little sick and tired of it. I've been served dried beans and potatoes that are still half raw at some nameless establishments with bearded cooks and have been told "that's the way the chef likes to do them" by a supercilious waiter. Al dente potatoes, ferchrissake! This madness has got to stop.
Don't get me wrong. I love a crisp sautéed green bean or a fresh and crunchy green bean salad as much as anyone, but there's a time and a place for everything, and I'd like to make the case for tender braised green beans.
Perhaps the reason we've come to have an aversion to long-cooked green vegetables is that we automatically compare them to their canned counterparts based on appearance alone. I'll give that to you. Mushy green beans from a can are not fine dining. That said, there's a big difference between olive-green and mushy and olive-green and tender. The ideal braised green bean should be tender and moist, but still retain a hint of crunch in its walls. It should be cooked in a flavorful liquid so that it has a chance to pick up those flavors that really enhance it.
Green Bean Blues
There are three factors that determine how quickly a bean will turn from bright and crisp to drab and mushy. Time and temperature are obvious ones. At temperatures above 183°F, the pectin in vegetable cell walls will begin to break down, causing the beans to soften over time. But there's another important factor that's often overlooked: pH. Adjusting the acidity level of a pot of beans can have a drastic affect on its outcome.
Take a look at these two beans. Both were simmered for 10 minutes. The one on top was simmered with water containing a big splash of distilled vinegar, lowering its pH. The one of the bottom was cooked in water with a pinch of baking soda, raising its pH.
From the photograph, it's easy to say that the one on the bottom looks better. However, pop them in your mouth and you'll sing a different tune. While the bean cooked in high-acid water stays nice and crisp (at the expense of its color), the one in low-acid water turns to soft mush.*
*This same phenomenon occurs with potatoes or dried beans. You can use it to your advantage for making ultra-crispy roast potatoes that don't fall apart or to make Perfect Thin and Crispy French Fries.
What does this mean for us? Well if we want to braise our green beans to pack more flavor into them while still maintaining a bit of crunch, we'd best cook them in an acidic environment. Luckily, this is also great for flavor, keeping them nice and punchy all the way to the dinner table.
I start by cooking some bacon in a Dutch oven. If you'd prefer a vegetarian version, butter or olive oil and mushrooms would work well here.
Next up, some sliced onions which I cook down until quite soft.
A pinch of red pepper flakes and some sliced garlic also hit the pot while the onions cook.
In go the trimmed green beans.
Homemade or store-bought low-sodium chicken stock or vegetable stock hit the pot next. This'll form the bulk of the braising liquid.
Finally, that acid. Apple cider vinegar is a natural choice with the Southern flavors of bacon and braised beans going on here. Once the vinegar is in, all you need to do is cover the pot, give it a few stirs now and then, and let it do its thing. I uncover the pot towards the end and stir in a bit of butter to emulsify the reducing stock and vinegar into a rich, glossy sauce that coats the green beans.
45 minutes to an hour later you're left with green beans that pack more flavor than you ever thought was possible in a single vegetable.
I wouldn't normally use the word "juicy" to describe a vegetable dish, but that's really what these green beans are. Tender, bright, and positively bursting with juice.
Ah, if only the canned beans at the cafeteria could be so tasty, we might never have gotten into this reactionary crunchy vegetable rut we're in today. I'm organizing a break from the al dente prison we're stuck in. Who's with me?
When to Cook Your Vegetables Long Past ‘Done’
Growing up, I was aware of the kids-don’t-like-vegetables trope, but it didn’t make much sense to me. I never had any choice all the traditional Iranian dishes my mom cooked teemed with herbs and vegetables. There was no eating around the fava beans, celery and eggplant that made up the fragrant rice and stew dishes she served each night, though my younger brothers certainly tried. I ate the food but didn’t think much of the vegetables one way or the other. Then I moved to Berkeley for college, and for the first time, I understood how someone could hate her vegetables: The pallid, overcooked steam-table brussels sprouts and zucchini served in the dining hall were depressing at best. So when I started busing tables at Chez Panisse a couple of years later, I wasn’t prepared for the daily sight of grown men and women cooing over fruits and vegetables.
Soon after, I began working in the kitchen and quickly learned why each produce delivery was met with such excitement: flawless, just-picked vegetables are sweeter and more flavorful than anything you can get at the store. I learned to cook vegetables with the aim of preserving that perfection. That usually meant doing as little to them as possible. Much of the time, we’d simply boil the haricots verts, marble-size turnips or thick spears of asparagus in ample, salted water until they were barely cooked through, then pull them out and let them cool on a baking sheet in the fridge. We’d later quickly reheat them in boiling water or a sauté pan, then drizzle them with immoderate amounts of fruity olive oil before serving. No matter the vegetable, the only rule in the kitchen was ‘‘do not overcook.’’ The memory of that dining-hall mush was enough to scare me straight my green beans were always perfectly crisp.
Then I went to Italy. I apprenticed myself to Benedetta Vitali, a Florentine chef who ran a tiny trattoria on the outskirts of town. Eager to please my new boss, I tried to work ahead on the prep list one morning while she was upstairs in the office. I found the filet beans among the vegetable delivery, set a huge pot of water on the stove and trimmed away the stems while the water came to a boil. I cooked them just as I’d learned to in California, careful not to let all of the crunch boil away. I pulled them, vibrant and sweet, from the water and let them cool.
Benedetta came downstairs. She cocked her head and picked up a green bean. ‘‘Who cooked these beans raw?’’ she asked, her voice incredulous, while the inch-long ash from her dangling cigarette threatened to fall onto the tray.
Mortified, I took responsibility. She chuckled and poked fun at my American way with vegetables. ‘‘The only thing that should be cooked al dente here,’’ she said, ‘‘is pasta.’’ Then she heated a big, shallow pot, added a generous splash of olive oil and garlic, tossed in the green beans and lightly browned them. She turned down the heat, handed me the wooden spoon and told me to keep an eye on the pot for two hours. I was simultaneously horrified about how overcooked they’d be in that time and deeply ashamed about how far off I’d been.
But I did what Benedetta asked and tended to the beans. As they cooked, they changed from firm and bright to limp and gray, just as I’d feared. For over an hour, the beans tasted forgettable. I worried I’d ruined them a second time. But right around the two-hour mark, they transformed again, into a dark, tangled mess, soft but defined. They were extraordinarily rich, deliriously sweet and dense with flavor. I’d never tasted anything like them. I wondered why.
The classic French blanch-and-cool technique I learned at Chez Panisse yields the kind of brilliant, picturesque vegetables we all want to see on restaurant plates. Long-cooked foods, on the other hand, fall firmly into the ‘‘ugly but good’’ camp of the Tuscan cucina povera, where flavor far outshines looks. Peasant cooks developed methods like long cooking to turn the overlooked into the irresistible. They knew that the best cooking is guided by all the senses, but if one must trump the rest, it should be taste.
Whenever you do get your hands on immaculate baby carrots or fennel, preserve their flavor. Boil them until they’re just barely cooked, then serve them with flaky salt and melted butter or good olive oil. The delicate sweetness of just-picked vegetables is always worth savoring. But on all the many other days of the year, when you’re cooking with whatever you’ve got, perfect or not, know you can manufacture your own sweetness by long cooking.
While you can use the technique with almost any vegetable, it works particularly well with the shunned, the fibrous and the forgotten-in-the-fridge. All it takes is time and courage. Since browning begets browning, wait until the end to gently caramelize the vegetables that way you won’t have to constantly stir the pot. Heat a little oil with some garlic and a sliced shallot, throw in whichever vegetables you have on hand and add a tiny splash of water. Set the pot over low heat. Cover it, and do your best to step away.
When your curiosity inevitably gets the best of you, don’t panic. Without any initial browning, the pale, bland, half-crunchy, half-tender broccoli or green beans will shock you. Replace the lid, and give yourself a pep talk, knowing that even experienced cooks usually become alarmed at this point, too. Every time I employ this method, I spend at least an hour convinced I’ve completely forgotten how to cook.
But reliably, that incredible transformation will eventually occur. Overgrown fennel will grow buttery and soft enough to eat with a spoon. Broccoli rabe, stems and all, will become mildly bittersweet. Time and gentle heat will weave even celery — hardly ever considered worthy of its own platter — into velvet. Standing at the stove, you’ll eat forkful after forkful of these vegetables, marveling as you think, ‘‘If only vegetables had tasted like this when I was a kid.’’