By John Gifford
My hometown in central Oklahoma is unlikely to be mistaken for one of America’s great food cities. For one thing, it’s barely a city at all. I think it’s fair to call it a big town, or at least this is how Norman has always felt to me. This is a good thing as far as I’m concerned because whenever I return for a visit, navigating the streets is a simple matter, requiring no cellular phone or Internet connection. My mental mapping of the community is indelible and vivid. How could it not be? I’ve been either a resident or regular visitor here for 50 years. My first job was delivering the Norman Transcript to eighty or a hundred odd subscribers who lived in the old Silk Stocking District where I grew up. I must have been around 10. Managing this enterprise required an intimate knowledge of certain streets within my area of operations, including the addresses of the customers I had to collect from each month, as well as those who wanted the newspaper delivered to their front porch and not the lawn or flowerbed. The first home my wife and I bought after being married was in Norman. My son was born here, and on the inaugural Earth Day, in 1970, so was I. When you spend half a century knowing a place as I have my hometown, you learn a few things, such as where to get the best food.
Norman still has an utterly charming, old-fashioned drive-in hamburger stand, owned by the same family since the 1950s, and a delightful midcentury establishment serving classic American fare with an Oklahoma (comfortable, casual, hearty) twist. This restaurant features a small but fascinating and well-managed salad bar that includes such exciting foods as beets and alfalfa sprouts, and which offers a lovely piano-sprinkled Sunday brunch. And yet, I frequently bypass both eateries and head for a tiny neighborhood market where I can get one of the simplest but most satisfying meals I know of: a bowl of beans. The market, once a neighborhood grocery, has since been converted into a lunch counter serving sandwiches, coffee, and two types of beans: pinto (what my family has always called “brown beans,” and what are sometimes referred to as “soup beans”) and Navy beans, which are slow-cooked with ham. It works magic in this dish. The Navy beans are served with crackers, but you don’t need them. Thanks to the ham’s smoky flavor and the dish’s thick consistency, they arrive at the table scarcely a minute after you order them, ready to eat.
Though I delight in a bowl of these Navy beans, I almost always gravitate to the brown beans, both for the flavor, which is subtly smoky, and the familiarity, which is invariable and absolute. They remind me of home. They remind me of growing up in Norman, Oklahoma; of my grandmother, who used to cook a pot of beans every few weeks, it seemed, and more often during winter; of my parents’ house, where beans provided an inexpensive source of protein for a growing family of six; of my uncle, who could afford to eat in any restaurant in town every night of the week if he wished, but who preferred to put on a pot of beans in the morning and spend the afternoons daydreaming about them as he gardened or putted golf balls in his backyard; and of various friends who were subjected to bean suppers almost as regularly as I, although to what effect I cannot say. I’ve had the opportunity to enjoy brown beans away from home on only a few occasions. When I lived in Texas, beans were typically served, along with fried okra, as a side dish accenting plates of catfish or barbecued beef. I don’t recall eating brown beans when I lived in North Carolina during my military service so long ago. But on a recent visit to that state’s Piedmont region, my first trip back in nearly 30 years, I was delighted to find them on the menu of a restaurant serving Southern fare. They were included among the side dishes and listed as “pintos & chowchow.” Naturally, I ordered a small bowl and found them quite different from those I enjoy at home. These beans lacked the familiar smoky flavor and featured instead a pronounced note of vinegar. Also, their texture was different. Whereas our brown beans are firm but with a smooth, creamy consistency, the North Carolina beans I sampled were surprisingly crisp, reminding me in this aspect of al dente pasta. And yet, beneath these differences was the familiar and comforting flavor of the beans themselves, which was like running into an old friend. I relished the dish.
Beyond these few instances, I’ve not noticed beans on the menus of many Southern restaurants. Yet, they must be available across the American South. After all, they were a fixture of the region’s cuisine long before Europeans arrived and settled here, and in certain areas, such as the southern Appalachians and parts of the Southwest, brown (pinto) beans represent a direct link to traditional cultures. Having grown up on the southern Great Plains and having enjoyed this dish all my life, I associate beans most closely with Oklahoma. Brown beans are certainly a Southern food, and Oklahoma, though very much a Western state in spirit, heritage, culture, has a palpable Southern influence. This influence is evident in our preference for iced tea, for example, and for pecans, sweet potatoes, okra, cornbread…and brown beans. In fact, a 2003 study of the food geography of America’s Great Plains revealed that beans are indeed an important part of this region’s culture and identity. In the study, respondents were asked to name specific foods they would serve to out-of-state guests who were interested in eating a meal representative of the Plains. Naturally, there was some geographical variation in responses. Those from Nebraska and the Dakotas, for example, spoke of their preference for corn and “dinner rolls,” while respondents from the southern Great Plains, in Oklahoma and Texas, cited a preference for cornbread and biscuits, and brown (pinto) beans. As might be expected, beef topped the list for the region’s preferred main dish. A few respondents, however, expressing fondness for a meatless meal, indicated they would serve brown beans as their main course. I’d be delighted to join these respondents for supper, anytime.
Norman is home to a few celebrities, and one of them, a retired football coach, frequents the aforementioned neighborhood market, I’m told, for the same reason as I: the beans. It seems the market began offering this dish some years ago, only at the coach’s insistence. Being from the South (Arkansas), he knows what a delight beans are, and he understands how difficult finding a good bowl of them can be. And while I haven’t asked him, I’m willing to bet three jars of chow-chow that they remind him of home. In any case, and fortunately for all of us, the coach encouraged the proprietor of said market to offer this comforting food. This has resulted in a happy coach and probably increased the noonday crowd of regular customers who stop in throughout the week. Beans, it must be said, bring people together.
For those who were raised eating beans, as I was, you crave them regularly—not only their firm-yet-somehow-creamy texture, but also their smoky flavor and aroma. One of the ancillary benefits of slow-cooking a pot of beans is this wonderful scent that permeates your home, reminding you, each and every time you walk into the kitchen, of the blessing awaiting you. Patience is a virtue, though these days it can be an elusive quality. But when you have beans simmering away in a Crock-Pot in the kitchen, the waiting is so much more enjoyable. That’s because the simmering pulses—the edible seeds of plants in the legume family, such as peas, lentils, and dry beans—producing this tantalizing aroma seem to wait on you. They’re ready to eat whenever you are. No hurry. And no worry. When you get hungry, the beans will be there for you, and again two hours later, and the next day…
As someone who spends far too much time sitting in front of a computer screen, I relish beans because I can put them on early in the morning and at day’s end my supper is ready. I may check on them a few times during the day, stirring and perhaps adding water at the outset. Once they’ve absorbed the water, however, they’re pretty well self-contained and I can forget about them for hours at a time.
What goes into a pot of brown beans aside from the beans themselves? Bacon. Or ham. This is really all that’s needed. Just a few strips or, if using ham, a small cut. Some prefer salt pork and this is perfectly fine. I add a pinch of salt and perhaps a half-teaspoon of black pepper. Sometimes I include sliced onion, but it’s not necessary. The primary ingredients here, the beans and the bacon or ham, do most of the work and provide for the dish’s dominant flavor profile, one that, for me, epitomizes home cooking. Yes, you can get creative and add a few cloves of garlic or perhaps some onion slices that have been caramelized in olive oil, but these garnishments only accent the already delectable flavor, the one provided by its two main ingredients.
When the craving for beans comes upon you, no other food will suffice. This is due not so much to any individual ingredient as it is the product of bacon (or ham) and beans and water simmering away on low heat for five or six hours—a dish that invariably transcends the sum of its ingredients. These flavors are wholly satisfying and not easily forgotten. Eating a bowl of brown beans reminds me of childhood, of sitting at my grandmother’s table as I enjoy the very same thing, cooked the same way and with the same nourishing result. Beans are, for me, the very essence of home. Beyond my parents’ and grandparents’ kitchens, I remember as a child attending occasional “bean suppers.” Rather like extended family reunions, these social gatherings were quite popular and they presented a welcome opportunity to visit with friends, family, and neighbors. They’re still held as fundraising events in rural communities throughout Oklahoma, where people are happy to contribute to a good cause, especially when they get a bowl of beans for their trouble.
I know of an Oklahoma City golf-course café that serves beans. I used to live nearby and would stop in for lunch occasionally, even though I don’t play golf. A friend told me about the beans they serve here, and when I first tried them my connection with the place was instantaneous, cutting directly through my indifference to golf and its associated trappings. I appreciated the fact that the management cared enough to offer this dish and it told me how important comfort and emotional nourishment were to the customers who dined here. This is because, while beans are a simple dish, one many Oklahomans enjoy regularly at home, it takes some effort for a restaurant to offer them. Based on my experience, most establishments don’t, even in a part of the country where they remain quite popular. Which is why I don’t mind visiting a golf course to get a bowl.
At Cattlemen’s Café in Oklahoma City you can still get one of the best steaks in the state, along with a bowl of brown or Navy beans to accompany it. And Grill on the Hill, the popular Capitol Hill diner, offers brown beans as a side dish. I had them recently as part of a lunch special and found both their flavor and texture superb.
Once, I attended a “chuck-wagon cookoff” at the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City. The outdoor event featured perhaps a dozen or more covered wagons, each with its own cook. A nominal fee entitled visitors to sample the foods at each wagon. The cook at the first wagon offered me a hot biscuit and a bowl of beans, fresh from a simmering cast-iron pot suspended above a smoldering fire. As I recall, the beans were hearty and satisfying, even though the sun was branding-iron hot on this day and the air temperature easily 90 degrees. Arriving at the next wagon, already sweaty and hot, I was given the same foods: a biscuit and a bowl of thick, steaming brown beans. This repeated once more—I was young then and could eat with the best of them—and would have again many times more had I not quit after the third helping, my appetite appeased. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Beans have always been an economical source of protein and one that stored well over long periods of time, distance, and weather conditions, which made them perfect to take along on cattle drives.
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Despite their regional associations here in the United States, pulses such as beans are grown around the world, with India, Canada, Myanmar, China, Nigeria, Brazil, Australia, and the United States being some of the largest producers. Each year, U.S. farmers plant 1.5 – 1.7 million acres of dry beans, with the greatest production occurring in North Dakota, Michigan, and Nebraska. About 20 percent of U.S. beans are exported to more than 100 countries around the globe, according to the U.S. Dry Bean Council. Pinto beans in particular are popular with consumers not only in the American South and Southwest, but also in Central and South America, and the Caribbean.
Beans and other pulses are getting a lot of attention these days for their health benefits. They’re high in dietary fiber, gluten-free, and are a cholesterol-free source of protein, making them beneficial for heart health. And with their low glycemic index and complex carbohydrate profile, beans are digested slowly, which helps manage blood sugar while providing a sustained energy source. They’re also high in folate (folic acid), a vitamin important for healthy cell growth and function, and one vital for reducing risks of birth defects of the brain and spine.
Ever since the United Nations General Assembly declared 2016 the International Year of Pulses, interest in plant-based diets has been growing. According to a recent OnePoll study, one in three Americans now describes themselves as “flexitarian,” meaning they enjoy both meat-based and plant-based diets. There’s even an ambitious new initiative called “Menus of Change,” supported by the Culinary Institute of America and the Harvard School of Public Health, that promotes a plant-forward diet as a mainstream dining concept. It’s offered as a means of balancing public health needs with environmental stewardship and restoration. Central to this concept is building meals around plant proteins such as beans, and using animal-based proteins primarily for side dishes or condiments.
In addition to their myriad health benefits, pulses are today being viewed as a food of the future, given their low carbon footprint and modest water requirements. Pulses utilize soil bacteria to absorb nitrogen from the air, which is then stored in the root nodules of these plants. This is a natural process that helps eliminate the need for supplemental nitrogen in the form of fertilizer. Conversely, when fertilizer is applied to the earth, microorganisms in the soil convert some nitrogen into nitrous oxide, a powerful greenhouse gas that that U.S. Environmental Protection Agency says is nearly 300 times more efficient in warming the earth’s atmosphere than carbon dioxide.
Additionally, beans and other pulse crops make far more efficient use of water than animal sources of protein. One study reported that roughly 40 gallons of water are required to produce one pound of pulses whereas the production of one pound of beef requires over 1,800 gallons of water. This level of water efficiency makes pulse crops well-suited to dry climates and even areas prone to drought.
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Most kidney-shaped varieties of beans, such as black, Navy, and pinto beans, originated in the New World. Along with corn and squash, beans appeared as one of the primary crops in early American Indian gardens. This helped them become a “change agent” in human history, according to Libby O’Connell, author of The American Plate: a Culinary History in 100 Bites, who writes that these legumes provided a cheap, reliable source of protein that “extended life expectancy among the Americas’ First Nations.” She adds that today’s pinto bean is a close relative of those grown by pre-Columbian American Indians. Not surprisingly, pintos remain a culinary staple for many indigenous cultures throughout the Americas.
These beans are to my palate best enjoyed with skillet-cooked cornbread and chow-chow. Today, there are a variety of commercial cornbread mixes available, but many contain sugar and taste rather cake-like. For this reason I find it preferable to make homemade cornbread, in a cast-iron skillet, with either yellow or, better yet, white cornmeal. This treat is more savory than sweet, and is eminently satisfying. Florida author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings called this type of bread “cornpone” and differentiated it from true cornbread, which she suggested was richer and “made elegantly with milk and eggs and shortening.” True cornbread, she added, is “good enough for any one.” But it needs a firm texture. One of the wonderful things you can do with cornbread is halve a slice and place both pieces in a bowl or on a large plate. Go ahead and dump a heaping helping of beans, with lots of potlikker, right over the top of the cornbread. Finish with several generous tablespoons of chow-chow—Southern gardeners traditionally made this wonderful relish in the waning days of summer with end-of-season peppers and green tomatoes, which were combined with cabbage, onions, vinegar, and other ingredients. Although best enjoyed with a bowl of brown beans, chow-chow makes a fine garnish on hamburgers and hot dogs. I’ve even eaten it with tortilla chips in place of salsa. In the South, it’s widely available. My grandmother used to make her own chow-chow with vegetables from her garden. I can still remember the pungent scent of the steaming cabbage and onions. She would can this green relish in glass jars and store them in her cellar. Sometimes, she’d give them as gifts at Christmas, which was a real treat and yet another encouragement to make a pot of beans—and perhaps a little salt and pepper. Now you’re talking. And when you get to that cornbread in the bottom of the bowl, you’ll understand why it needs to be firm with lots of body and structure. Otherwise you’ll have a cornmeal gruel on your hands, and this won’t do.
Similarly, if your beans come out of the pot a little thin and soupy, this condition is easily remedied with a piece of cornbread crumbled into the dish to absorb the excess potlikker. A bowl of cornbread-thickened beans just looks better and more appetizing than a thin, heartless soup, which is important since we eat first with our eyes. It also tastes better and is more satisfying. Thickening with cornbread elevates the entire experience, which is why it’s crucial to have some of this wonderful cornmeal-based bread around whenever beans are on the menu.
The beans they serve at the little neighborhood market in my hometown don’t provide quite this same level of authenticity or satisfaction. The place has no chow-chow, for example, and the cornbread, when they have cornbread to offer, is unremarkable. But this doesn’t matter. When you’re craving beans, when you need that unique and elusive aroma-texture-flavor that’s simply impossible to attain through any other means, or whenever you find yourself homesick and wistful for days gone by, a bowl of beans, even a quick one without the delightful accompaniments, is worth your attention. That’s because eating beans is a pleasure, a throwback to a simpler time, and a delicious reminder that some things can’t be improved upon.
John Gifford is a writer and photographer based in Oklahoma City. His books include Red Dirt Country, a literary meditation on the Oklahoma landscape and the rich biodiversity of the southern Great Plains, and Pecan America, immersion reporting on the industry, ecology, and culture of America's indigenous tree nut. johngifford.net.