Julia Schmulia

I rarely write about food – Andrea’s got that covered much better than I ever could – but I can’t stop thinking about yesterday’s green beans.

I had planned to make a pork tenderloin – which, as we purchased it pre-marinated, turned out to be a bad idea (but that’s another story) – and thought I’d wing it for the side dishes. Seeing as back in his solo grocery buying days, AJ had an affinity for frozen foods, I knew there’d be some carry over to choose from.

I grabbed frozen french cut green beans for no reason other than they were the first thing I saw. Keep in mind that while I’m a pretty good cook, vegetables are not my strong suit. I had basically no idea what I would do with them other than evacuate the bag from our stuffed ice box.

When I opened the bag, an ice encrusted block of nothingthatresembledfood came out. Not wanting to admit defeat, and considering that the slushiness surrounding my beans was essentially just water, I paid this no mind. Threw ‘em in a big frying pan, broke up the mass into smaller chunks and forged ahead.

Hungry yet? I know. Suck it, Emeril.

With the heat on high, the ice melted quickly, so I tossed on some olive oil and stuck a lid on it. Then – this is where the real magic comes in – I walked away. Probably spent some time talking to George and removing Oscar from suffocating my face. Don’t really remember, but the point is I cooked the shit out of these beans. I walked back into the kitchen every so often (technical chef’s term) to stir and make sure I hadn’t started a fire, until perhaps 10, maybe 15, minutes into it I realize I should probably add some damn flavor. You know, “cook” instead of “heat.”

I went to my trusty friend, garlic. Too lazy to mince, I pulled out three cloves of garlic, cut each into fourths and introduced them to the party. I probably ground a bit of salt in there too, but not enough that I think it mattered. Kept the heat on high, cause, well, just cause.

AJ was computering at the time, so after stirring in the garlic, I probably let these cook a few minutes longer. By the time I had set the table and gotten back to these bad boys, the beans were just starting to get a little brown in spots and the garlic was smelling oh so good.

I’ll be damned if those weren’t the best green beans I’ve ever had. (Save for the ones I had in Alabama that took me three servings to realize they had been cooked in bacon grease, but, whatever.) A little sweet from the olive oil and a nice garlic punch almost made me forget I was eating something healthy.

While we’ve decided to make an effort to shop farmer’s markets for fresh veggies, I’ll gladly sneak these on the table every so often.

And that, my friends, is cooking with Abby.

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