Directions: in August (approximately six months before serving), barbecue some pork ribs. Make sure they’re good and charred and salty. Eat them, then make stock out of the bones and freeze it. In April, take the stock out and thaw it. Cook some beans. Blanch collard greens and chop them. Sear chunks of country-style boneless pork ribs in oil and remove them from the pan. Saute a lot of garlic in the remaining oil, then add back the pork and pour in the smoky, salty stock. Simmer, covered, until the meat is tender, maybe an hour. Add the beans and greens. Eat voraciously, and wish you had thought to make cornbread.

I often make soup on Mondays, a holdover from when I worked late shift and we needed a quick re-heat sort of dinner. I like the tradition, though – if I make the soup in the morning it gives me a chance to putter around the house doing laundry and paying bills and the like, occasionally wandering through the kitchen to give things a stir. And most soups, especially bean soups, are better if they’re made ahead and given a chance to sit and meld in the fridge.

This soup, a variation of my favorite pasta fazool, was intended to celebrate the very last of the season’s fresh cannellini beans from Dunbar Gardens. I love fresh shelling beans with a passion, and never get to eat quite as many as I’d like before the season is past, so I was glad to get one final bag. And while we were at the farmstand I also picked up a bunch of curly endive – I thought it was escarole but I was wrong – to toss into the soup.

I haven’t worked with this sort of endive before, but I really liked it. I had cooked the beans separately, with garlic and bay leaf, and started off the soup pot with celery and more garlic and a pound of bulk Italian sausage. I roughly chopped the greens and mixed them into the sausage until they wilted a bit, then poured in chicken stock and the beans with their broth. Everything simmered for half an hour or so, until the endive was soft but still green. I liked how it kept some shape, unlike spinach, but wasn’t as firm in the soup as kale. Its light bitterness was a perfect complement to the creamy beans and the sausage.

After the first night, when we ended up eating much of the meat and greens out of the soup, I added a few handfuls of macaroni to fill out the broth. That was good, too. I could easily eat this soup every week.

Last week there were rather a lot of things I was frantically trying to get done. One of them was to take some pictures to enter in the Leite’s Culinaria food photography contest, which involved making a recipe from their website and taking a photo of the finished dish. I am very bad at following recipes closely, so it was a little hard for me to find one that I thought I could remain mostly faithful to. I ended up choosing a salad of canned tuna and black-eyed peas, a traditional Portuguese dish with many possible variations.

The recipe is incredibly simple, just cooked black-eyed peas tossed with tuna, onion, garlic, olive oil and vinegar, with some parsley stirred in. I was a little dubious at the initial smell of the black-eyed peas (which I had never cooked before) – they seemed unpleasantly grassy and stunk up the house remarkably. But when I had mixed in the other ingredients and let the salad sit for a little while, it took on a whole new level of flavor that was compellingly good. We ate it plain for dinner the first night, then stuffed into pitas with lettuce for two more lunches. Delicious.

A side note – the recipe, as many of this sort do, calls for imported tuna in oil. We are lucky that we can buy locally canned albacore of extremely high quality and flavor, from Island Trollers on Whidbey Island. It’s packed in water, but is not watery at all – it hardly produces any “juice” for our cats, much to their disappointment. If you ever see this product, buy it! It’s wonderful.

And to drink – I’m sure a classic Portuguese white, like a Vinho Verde, would be great here. We recently stocked up on this charming little Verdejo to get us through the summer, and it went beautifully with the tuna and beans, with its light floral-and-grapefruit notes. Summer in a glass.

Portuguese Salad of Black-Eyed Peas with Tuna
Adapted from Leite’s Culinaria by David Leite

Note: as per my usual, I made a few minor changes to the recipe. David Leite calls for white wine vinegar, imported tuna in oil, and yellow onion. I used sherry vinegar, local water-packed tuna, and Walla Walla sweet onion. I also mucked around with quantities a bit. You can make your own decisions – the original recipe is here.

• 1 ½ cup dried black-eyed peas
• 5 Tbsp or so good olive oil
• 4 Tbsp sherry vinegar
• Half of a Walla Walla sweet onion, very thinly sliced into half-moons
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 small bunch parsley, chopped
• 7 ounces good canned tuna, drained and flaked
• salt and pepper

Soak the beans for two hours. Drain and fill the pan with fresh water, covering the beans by two inches. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer about half an hour, until the beans are just tender. Drain and set aside, or refrigerate until needed (I did this part a day ahead of time).

Combine the oil and vinegar in a small bowl. In a serving bowl, mix the beans, onion, garlic and parsley. Pour over the dressing and mix carefully (you don’t want to mash the beans too much). Stir in the tuna and add salt and pepper to taste. Refrigerate two hours if possible, or let sit at room temperature for half an hour before serving – it makes a difference.

Taste, adjust seasonings if needed, and serve.

I’m not feeling very verbose today, but I want to get this post up while I’m thinking about it. What am I thinking about? Pot beans with chimichurri. I’m not sure why I stumbled across this combination, but it was wonderful and we’ve eaten all the leftovers and now I’m going to have to make it again very soon.

I used speckled Vaquero beans from Rancho Gordo, soaked in salt water, then rinsed and cooked with onions and garlic fried in bacon fat. The beans had a soft texture and nice flavor, and kept their pretty spots much better than I expected. They were good by themselves, but with a drizzle of chimichurri on top – woof! It was incredible. I ate a whole bowl of just beans and sauce for lunch yesterday, with a piece of good sourdough bread.

The chimichurri I made this time was a bit different than the one I described back in February. I used a recipe from Francis Mallmann’s amazing book Seven Fires: Grilling the Argentine Way, which goes like this:

Chimichurri Sauce

• 1 cup water
• 1 Tbsp kosher salt
• 1 cup fresh parsley
• 1 cup fresh oregano
• 2 tsp red pepper flakes
• 1 head garlic, broken apart and peeled
• 1/4 cup red wine vinegar
• 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

Bring the water to a boil, stir in the salt, then set aside to cool.

Mince the garlic and chop the parsley and oregano. Combine them all in a bowl with the red pepper, then stir in the vinegar, oil and salt water. Refrigerate until ready to use, up to 2-3 weeks.

This makes a sauce which is more like a very pungent vinaigrette, rather than a pesto-like puree. Since I made this batch, we’ve ladled it over the previously mentioned soupy cooked beans, as well as grilled steaks, grilled bread, scallions, and fried eggs, and I could certainly support using it as a salad dressing or to dip steamed vegetables in. I cut my oregano plant down to the base to make this, and now I can’t wait until it grows back in.

I’ve been eager to get to work with some of the beans I picked up at the Rancho Gordo booth in San Francisco, and I finally got my chance this week. I decided to start with the ones I was most curious about: the Christmas limas, which the packaging claims taste of chestnuts. Plus they’re all kinds of pretty.

I picked a recipe out of my newly acquired copy of Heirloom Beans, for Christmas limas with cabbage and pork chops. I did my new favorite brine soak, but otherwise followed the recipe fairly closely. The beans cook in an aromatic broth of bacon, garlic, bay and ancho chile, and Savoy cabbage is wilted in with them at the last moment. The pork chops are very straightforwardly seared, then finished in the oven (we thought about hauling out the grill but ran out of time that day).

The final product was tasty. A touch smokey and spicy, with a nice depth of flavor. I can’t say I picked up on the chestnut thing with the beans, and their heavily starchy texture got a little tiresome when I ate a bowlful for lunch later in the week, but they did go wonderfully with the pork. I have half a pound of the beans left, which I will happily use for something, but I’m not sure I’ll buy this variety again.

We did make the suggested relish to go with this, just a bowl of finely diced Asian pear with lemon juice and fresh chives, and it was interesting. I thought it tasted like apples chopped on an onion-tainted cutting board, but Jon quite liked it and ate it all.

Carneros Inn Christmas Limas with Pork Chops and Cabbage

Adapted from Heirloom Beans by Steve Sando

The Beans:

• 1/2 pound Christmas lima beans
• 3 slices thick bacon, diced
• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• 1 small carrot, small dice
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 1/2 ancho chile, seeded and torn up
• 5 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1 bay leaf
• salt and pepper
• 1/2 head Savoy cabbage, shredded

The Relish:

• 1 asian pear, finely diced
• 1 Tbsp fresh chives, chopped
• 1/2 tsp fresh lemon juice

The Pork:

• 2-4 bone-in pork chops

Soak the beans overnight or at least six hours ahead of time in salted water. Drain and rinse before cooking.

Fry the chopped bacon in a soup pot. Add the olive oil, carrot and onion and saute until softened, then add the garlic, chile, bay and the beans, and add water to top the ingredients by an inch or so. Bring to a boil, then turn down to a simmer, partially cover and let cook about an hour. When the beans are done, add salt and pepper to taste, and add the shredded cabbage to the pot. Cook until the cabbage is just wilted.

To make the relish, combine the diced pear with chives and lemon juice. That’s it!

Preheat the oven to 400°. Salt and pepper the pork chops. Sear them in a teaspoon of olive oil in a heavy iron skillet, 3 minutes a side. Put in the oven and cook just a few more minutes, until the thickest part of the chops have reached 140°. Serve with the beans and relish.

I recently invented this soup, and its become one of our favorites – as it turns out, really just a version of pasta e fagioli (Italian for noodles and beans, also known as pasta fazool). It also happens to be one of the easiest soups I’ve ever made, with the exception of the kind that involve opening a can or two. The first time I made it with freshly shelled borlotti beans from Colony Creek Farm (which were incredible), and the second time I used some locally grown, cupboard-aged Calypso beans (like little Yin-Yangs) that had taken up embarrassing residence in my pantry. Good thing dried beans don’t go bad very quickly.

I’ve found that this soup is best when the beans are as soft and creamy as possible. I recently started using a technique that Cook’s Illustrated worked out: soaking the beans in brine, then rinsing them and cooking them at a very slow simmer. It produces incredibly smooth, creamy beans with a soft skin. Well worth doing if you have time to soak them.

This is a seriously warm and comforting soup for a cold, difficult day.

Pasta Fazool

• 1 cup beans, dried or fresh-shelled, or 1 can of white beans
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 pound hot Italian sausage (uncased)
• 2 carrots
• maybe some celery
• some chicken stock, or just water
• 1 cup dried macaroni noodles

If using dried beans: Eight hours before, soak the beans in a bowl of water with a large spoonful of salt mixed in. Before cooking, rinse them thoroughly.

Put the soaked or fresh shell beans into a pan with the bay leaf and cover with water. Bring just to a boil, then turn down to a gentle simmer and cook for an hour or until tender. Time will depend on how old and crotchety your beans are.

Dice the carrots and celery and saute them in olive oil in a soup pot. Add the sausage and cook until the pink is gone (or you can cook the sausage in a separate pan if you want to skim off some of the fat). Add the beans and their cooking liquid, then add stock or water until there’s plenty of liquid in the pan. Bring it all to a boil, add the noodles and cook until they’re as done as you like. Add salt if desired. You could add a can of tomatoes as well, if you like.

Eat right away, or stick into the fridge for later reheating. The longer it sits, the better it tastes.

Like the regular, cheese-filled khachapuri that I usually make, this bean-filled variation is from the book Flatbreads & Flavors by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid (I’ve only recently discovered Naomi’s evocative personal blog - check it out, it’s wonderful).

I’ve raved about this cookbook repeatedly on this blog (do you have a copy yet? If not, why not?) The only thing I wish is that the first edition had been bound more effectively, because my copy is completely shot. You can tell it’s been well-loved. It’s the only place I’ve found recipes for Georgian food, which is a wonderful savory cuisine full of walnuts, cheese, pomegranates and herbs.

I love cheese-filled khachapuri so much that it was hard to make myself try something new, but I’m glad I made the effort. What I really like about the bean filling is that it really highlights the flavor of the bread, which is very tender and tart. Full of protein from both beans and yogurt, it makes a great vegetarian meal. I made a quick pureed spinach soup to dip the breads in, but a sharp green salad would also be good alongside.

The dough (I give the recipe and technique in this post) is very quick to make, like a biscuit dough. It’s soft enough that it can be a little tricky to work with, so have plenty of flour on hand while you’re rolling out the individual breads.

The basic filling is just cooked red beans (I used canned azuki beans, but any would do), seasoned with salt, a little garlic and some chopped fresh cilantro. I added in a small sweet onion, sauteed until it began to turn golden. I’ve also seen a recommendation of some grated carrot, but I haven’t tried it yet.

By the way, these are really good rewarmed for breakfast. You can even break them in half and stuff fried or scrambled eggs inside, like a pita pocket.

Hmm…what else would be good inside a khachapuri? I’m thinking sausage…

For some reason I was in the mood for clams last weekend. When I began delving into cookbooks to look for some new ideas, I stumbled across the exact same recipe in both 1080 Recipes and Casa Moro. Clams and white beans: so simple, but two ingredients I had never thought of combining. We brought back a bag of fresh clams from Taylor Shellfish after our walk on Sunday, and we were good to go.

I went with the Moro recipe, since it seemed a little more interesting, but it’s still not a complicated dish. Saute garlic in wine, add cooked white beans, saffron and parsley, add clams, done. I made it a little more work by using fresh cannellini beans, bought in the pod from Dunbar Gardens, but shelling beans is a very peaceful and philosophical activity – preferably with the aid of good music and a tasty beverage.

Once the beans were done, the dish took no time at all to put together. The flavors worked well, with the saltiness of the clams providing much of the seasoning; the saffron just creates a warm undertone. We ate it with pieces of baguette with plenty of soft Golden Glen salted butter, some cooked greens, and a Côtes de Gascogne white wine. The broth in the bottom of the bowl was the best part.

Traditionally this is served as a tapa, and it would definitely make a great appetizer, with just a few clams on a plate with a bite of bread. I could see making this as a starter for a Spanish-themed dinner party, to go with cocktails.

Almejas con Habichuelas (Clams and White Beans)

adapted from Casa Moro by Sam & Sam Clark

• 1/2 pound white beans (dry or fresh)
• 2 pounds clams, scrubbed and rinsed
• 2 cloves garlic, chopped
• 4 Tbsp olive oil
• 30 threads saffron (a good pinch), soaked in 3 Tbsp hot water
• 2 Tbsp parsley, chopped
• 1/2 cup white wine or sherry

If using fresh beans:

Shell the beans, put them into a saucepan and cover with cold water. Add a clove or two of garlic and a bay leaf if you’d like. Bring to a boil, then cover and turn down to a simmer. Let cook until tender, about 30-40 minutes.

If using dried beans:

Rinse the beans and pick them over for odd, un-beany bits. Cook the same way as you would fresh beans, but let them simmer for two hours (give or take a bit depending on the freshness of the beans).

Now: drain the beans. I used the bean broth to cook kale, but don’t feel obliged to save it. Heat olive oil in a wide skillet and add the chopped garlic. When it begins to turn golden, add the wine and cook down briefly. Then add the beans, saffron (and its liquid), half the parsley, and the clams. Simmer until the clams open – discard any that remain stubbornly clammed up – stir in the rest of the parsley and serve.

For the last two weeks I’ve had the latest issue of Food & Wine sitting on my kitchen table. It’s not that I haven’t read it - I have – but I don’t allow myself to keep the back issues and so I hate to recycle it until I’m absolutely done with it. I keep going back through it to make sure there isn’t one more recipe to cut out or one more restaurant review to make a note of. As a result, I’ve been staring constantly at a large front-cover photo of chicken salad with Green Goddess dressing. With predictable results.

I have actually never made Green Goddess dressing. I mean, ever. So this was sort of a duh moment for me, as I realized that I had fresh herbs all over the place, garlic and anchovies ready to hand, and a tub of sour cream in the fridge left over from our Monday night enchiladas. There was no reason at all not to make this. And I had the perfect vehicle for the dressing: a large bag of perfect, slender green beans from Blue Heron Farm. I cut the beans in half, blanched them in boiling salted water and drained them, then got to work on my dressing.

Being incapable of following a recipe for salad dressing, I made this up as I went along. I pulled some parsley and basil from the garden and chopped them roughly, tossing them into a small food processor with two anchovies, a clove of garlic, two large spoonfuls of mayonnaise and one of sour cream. I thought about cutting open a fresh lemon but decided on champagne vinegar instead, adding just a small dash. Once all was blended, I stirred in a good handful of finely chopped fresh chives, then scraped it all over the blanched and cooled green beans. Once it was all mixed up, I decided it needed a little color and added one fresh tomato, cut into thin wedges. Perfect.

In a word? Yum. We ate our green bean salad alongside a truly spectacular rack of pork baby back ribs, which Jon had barbecued and glazed with reduced apple cider. A bottle of Pinot Noir rosé was a textbook-perfect accompaniment to the beans, complementing the sharp herbs while cutting through the creaminess. I suspect this will not be my last batch of Green Goddess.

At this point in the season, the rhubarb plants have peaked, attempted to bloom their heads off (and been thwarted by my Felcos), and are beginning to settle back into merely being a large green presence in the yard without actually attempting to overrun or squash anything. We’ve had rhubarb crisp, clafoutis, pie, compote, and muffins, and stowed away a large freezer bag of chopped stalks for later.

Despite all that, I’m nowhere near rhubarb burnout, and there are several recipes left that I want to try – for instance, I’ve still never roasted rhubarb. Or poached it in red wine. I have, however, braised it with green herbs, onion, tomato and saffron. Sound weird? It’s actually really, really good.

I found this recipe quite by accident, several years ago, in a library book called Silk Road Cooking (come to think of it, I should check it out again). Out of curiosity I tried it out, and liked it so much I immediately wrote it into my personal recipe notebook. My parents have made it several times, too. It’s piquant and savory and a great way to use up rhubarb. This is a perfect time of year to make it, too, when all the green herbs are hitting their stride.

The book attributes this dish to Kurdish nomads, living in the mountains where rhubarb grows wild. The smell as it cooks is very much like the Afghan soup called ash, redolent with dill and turmeric. There’s just a hint of heat, depending on what kind of chile you add.

The recipe is very specific about what herbs to use, but I would feel free to make substitutions or change quantities (make sure you use at least some dill, though, if possible). For this last batch, I happened to have tons of fresh mint, dill, parsley and cilantro, but I didn’t want to use up all my chives so I left them out. Dried herbs could work fine as well, since they are incorporated early and have plenty of time to stew.

The other ingredient that I’ve considered changing is the split peas. They give the braise a more colorful appearance – rather like corn - and a subtle nutty flavor, but I have trouble getting them to cook soft enough in the given cooking time, and find them a little distracting in texture. Next time I might substitute chickpeas, or leave them out altogether, depending on how I’m serving the braise.

Despite having both rhubarb and lime juice, this really isn’t too tart – the sweet onion and the herbs really cut the sour. But feel free to add extra sugar at the end if you think it needs it. Personally I like the tartness.

Kurdish Braised Rhubarb

adapted from Silk Road Cooking: A Vegetarian Journey
by Najmieh Batmanglij

• 4 Tbsp oil
• 1 sweet onion, thinly sliced
• 4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
• 1 hot chile or 1/2 tsp chile paste (she specifies a red chile, but I sliced up a green serrano)
• 3 cups chopped parsley
• 1/2 cup chopped mint
• 1/2 cup chopped chives
• 1/2 cup choppped dill
• 1/2 cup chopped cilantro
• 2/3 cup yellow split peas (or canned chickpeas)
• salt and pepper
• 1/4 tsp turmeric
• 3 1/2 cups stock or water
• 1 fresh tomato, sliced
• pinch of saffron soaked in 2 Tbsp hot water
• juice of half a lime
• 2 Tbsp sugar
• 1 lb rhubarb, cut into 1 inch chunks

Saute the onion in the oil until soft, then add the garlic, chile and herbs. Add the split peas, salt, pepper and turmeric, saute for a few minutes. Add stock or water, bring to a boil, cover and simmer 20 min or until the split peas have softened. Check to make sure it’s not boiling dry; if so, add a little more water.

Add the tomato, the saffron and its soaking liquid, the lime juice and sugar. Bring back to a boil, then arrange the rhubarb on top, cover and simmer another 10-15 minutes, until the rhubarb is soft. Taste and adjust salt or sugar as necessary.

Serve over couscous or rice, or with plenty of bread – something to soak up all the tart herby sauce. Excellent with lamb or chicken. Leftovers could easily be turned into a soup.

This post is part of the Grow Your Own blog event – check out the roundup at Gardenopolis!