Beans, old bean. Not the ones in tins – the baked beans, beige butter beans or cannellini beans now all the trendy rage. And don’t tell me you don’t love the idea of baked beans in tomato sauce on hot buttered toast. That would make you a liar. It’s just not fashionable to own up to it.
Not those. Beans. Dry, hard ones. The ones you buy in plastic bags, the ones that cost next to nothing. They’re next to the dried peas in the supermarket (don’t pretend you don’t know that), forgotten by most of us, most of the time. The dried split peas that mom used to use to make pea soup, although I see they now come dried and whole too. Hard to keep up with all the advances in food technology.
The dried beans alongside them – “white beans” as they’re labelled, or sugar beans, or red kidney beans – are so good for using in a soup in the thick of an icy winter. With a haunch of meat in there, on the bone, such as a cheap cut of beef (short rib is best, but even chuck will do), or a whole lamb’s neck or a pork shank, and hours of slow cooking, you end up with a deeply satisfying supper. It’s quite soporific though. That and a glass or two or red wine and you’ll be dozing in front of the fire in no time.
When times are tight, a bag of beans from the pantry can be three quarters of a meal that goes a long way. Making it even cheaper is the water you need to soften them up and stretch them even further. They need to be soaked for hours, which does two things: it softens the outer layer, which I think needs to be discarded; and it plumps them up until they’re about double the size they were to begin with.
We were in Arniston last weekend and had planned to make what I was calling an Arniston cassoulet. In a potjie. On a fire. Outside.
It rained. Then it rained some more. Then it rained again. And then the weather really turned foul.
I borrowed a large pot, because the cottage we’d rented didn’t have a pot nearly big enough. Then I poured the bag of white beans into a pot, covered them with plenty of cold water and left them to soak overnight. Next morning I patiently removed every one of the husks, which had softened so they could easily be slipped off. This is the kind of task you need to do with the radio on and something to take your mind off the tedium.
But like any solitary pursuit, shelling beans is not an unpleasant thing to do if you go into it with the ethos of the marathon runner. Keep your mind occupied, take your mind off the ache/pain/tedium, and keep going. It’s the long distance running of determined cooks. And a good workout. Trust me.
As for my idea of a cassoulet, don’t take that too literally. I had bought oxtail, smoked pork rashers, and pork and lemon sausages at the Spar in Bredasdorp, where they have a good, extensive meat section. I had bought said packet of beans, a can of whole peeled tomatoes, garlic, onions, and I had brought with me from home a few sprigs of rosemary from the garden pot, a couple of star anise and flour. This was the makings of something very French, a good honest peasant meal designed for just this kind of weather.
Oxtail and bean stew
1.3kg oxtail
450g pork sausages
250g smoked pork rashers
3 cloves garlic, chopped
2 onions, chopped
3 large carrots, peeled and diced
Cold water
1 regular can whole, peeled or chopped tomatoes
A small bag of beans
Rosemary sprigs
2 tbs flour
2 star anise
1 tbs butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Sauté the onions, garlic and carrots in butter until soft, then sprinkle over flour and stir, cooking over a low heat for a minute or two, stirring constantly. Add the rosemary, anise and then add the oxtail chunks, sausages and pork rashers. Add the beans, the tomatoes (mashed) and the cold water you’ve soaked them in (and more if it doesn’t well cover all the ingredients), bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and leave to simmer, covered, on a low to moderate heat for two to three hours. Remove the lid and continue cooking, allowing the stock to evaporate and thicken up the stew. The flour you added earlier and the beans will thicken it substantially over time. Season to taste with salt and pepper along the way, but go easy at first, as the thickening will strengthen the saltiness.
Hope for icy weather. There’s no point in sunshine and light for this kind of soul food. - Sunday Argus