Confessions of a Bean Snob

My friends, I have a confession to make: I have become a bean snob.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, truly, and if truth be told I find it slightly embarrassing.
It may be perfectly acceptable in certain circles to be a wine snob—these days you even get to call yourself a “cork dork,” which is kind of cute. There are chocolate snobs and coffee snobs, and an ever-growing circle of tea snobs in this country, but who has ever heard of a bean snob? I mean, really.

But it is true—without my knowing or intention, I have become a bean snob.

I blame it on Steve Sando. He is the man behind Rancho Gordo, purveyor of heritage beans and other New World products (posole, red popcorn, tortillas, chile peppers, and hot sauce). I’ve been buying Rancho Gordo beans for the past year—ever since the Eat Local Challenge last May—from his stall at the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market.



Steve’s beans are grown in the Sacramento River Delta—not far from San Francisco—and they are a cut above, that was clear from the start. They cook up quickly, you can even get away with not soaking them, and they are plump and flavorful and hold together well. Not to mention, they come in such pretty colors.



I hadn’t really thought much about the bean situation. I like Steve, I like his beans, I like how he is preserving traditional New World products. I always have a couple of different types of Rancho Gordo beans in the kitchen and happily use them when I have a recipe that calls for beans.

Until this week.

This week I wanted to make a ribollita—an Italian country stew with tomatoes, chard, and white beans. I had some beans that needed to be used up—not Rancho Gordo beans, but they would do fine in a pinch I thought. I put them to soak and cooked them until soft. Then I tasted them.

Ugh.

Chalky and flavorless, nothing like I the Rancho Gordo beans I have become accustomed to. Steve's beans are smooth and actually taste like something, this mealy mess was devoid of flavor or texture. It was a sad excuse for a bean and couldn’t hope to compare to its heritage brethren. I very nearly spit it out of my mouth (see—blatant bean snobbism in action).

But what to do? I had a whole pot cooked up, a soup in need of beans, and a dinner guest arriving within the hour. There wasn’t time to cook more beans. Should I use these mealy sub-par beans? The bean snob in me couldn’t bear to put them in; I knew I would grimace with every spoonful that I ate.



Bulk section canellini beans, broken and chalky.

Salvation came in the shape of a ziplock baggie of Rancho Gordo marrow beans that I had cooked a few weeks ago and put in the freezer (cooked beans can be frozen—a trick I learned last year in a soup cookbook). I popped them in the soup, they defrosted in the warm broth, and each bite was smooth and satisfying. Crisis averted.



Rancho Gordo marrow beans—even though these beans have been frozen once, cooked twice, and spooned out of a pot of soup and rinsed off in order to be photographed (thus the reddish tinge, it's from the tomatoes), they are still in better shape than the store bought beans. And the taste—no comparison. These beans are smooth and nutty tasting, firm yet yielding to the tooth.

But what to do with these sad, disappointing beans? It wasn’t their fault—they were organic beans, bought from the bulk section at a popular store. A year ago I might not have noticed how bad they were—but that was before my palate became spoiled and snobby. Granted, they had sat in the kitchen cupboard for months, but they are dried goods—that’s what dried goods do (though Steve Sando says that one of the things that make the Rancho Gordo beans so good is that they are fresh, picked and dried that year; beans that you buy off the shelf may be years old).

Because I was raised with the idea that wasting any food is wrong, I couldn’t possibly throw the beans out. The solution was to turn them into a white bean hummus, to blend and beat their chalkiness out of them, to smooth it over with tahini and olive oil, to woo them into submission until all was left was a creamy mixture, perked up in the flavor department by the addition of lemon and parsley. It was pretty good.

Had it been made with Rancho Gordo beans it would have been even better.



Sigh.

It’s not easy being a bean snob. But give me one bite of those smooth and nutty marrow beans and it all is worth it. Who knew a bean could taste so good?

Thomas Keller is known to order his beans from Rancho Gordo, so at least I have company in my snobbism—good company at that. The bean snob club is growing as well. I recently made lunch for a food blogger friend. Halfway through the meal she leaned over and asked me conspiratorially, "where did you get these beans—they're the best beans I've had in my life." She went home that afternoon and ordered four pounds.

Apparently this bean snob thing is contagious.

Rancho Gordo website (order at your own risk)
Steve’s blog—a good place to find recipes and other food news.
Watch Steve cook beans on YouTube

NOTE: while this may seem like a blatant advertisement for Rancho Gordo beans, let me assure you that I never write about products unless I find them myself, fall in love, and think they are worth sharing. I cannot be bought, not for love or money. I have gotten to know Steve Sando over the past year of shopping at his stall at the Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market, but I liked his beans from the start. As for this recipe—it can be made with any old beans, dried or canned.

WHITE BEAN HUMMUS
(a bean snob’s suggestion for how to use up sub-par beans)

2 1/2 cup cooked or canned white beans (canellini work well)
1 tbs. good quality olive oil (I love Barianni)
1 tsp. tahini (sesame seed paste—available in health food stores, sometimes in bulk)
3/4 tsp salt
2 tsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp lemon zest
(you can replace both salt and lemon with 2 quarters of a preserved lemon if you wish)
2 tbs fresh parsley
fresh pepper as desired

Blend all ingredients using a hand blender, food processor, or traditional blender until smooth. Add parsley at the very end and pulse just enough to break the leaves down a little, not enough to blend completely (if using a traditional blender chop the parsley and add it separately so it doesn’t get overly blended). You want the parsley to add a little texture to the hummus.

Serve with crackers, bread or pita, or fresh vegetables.
Don’t tell anyone you used sub-standard beans; they’ll never know.

THE SALVATION OF A BAD BEAN: A STORY IN PICTURES



Beating the bad beans into submission, salt and olive oil assist in punishing the offending legume



Lemon and parsley extend a helping hand, showing bad beans the light.



Bad beans are reformed, give up their formerly chalky ways, become smooth and deliciously mild, embrace their destiny as hummus.

Everyone is happy.

THE END