Sauteed Green Beans

Seven weeks. I am spending the weeks doing two things: preparing the facility room and preserving the home weeks. The preparation involves practical arrangements — meetings with the staff, paperwork, insurance, the logistics of moving a man with Alzheimer's from a house he has lived in for forty years to a room he will not recognize. The preservation involves cooking: I am cooking every recipe I know, in this kitchen, with Marvin at the table, making the food that has defined our life — the brisket, the challah, the soup, the kugel, the rugelach — as if the cooking can freeze time, as if the food can hold us in this kitchen forever, as if the meal that never ends is a possibility and not just a prayer.

I made Shabbat dinner on Friday with extra everything — extra candles, extra wine, extra challah, extra ceremony. I lit the candles and said the blessings and Marvin sat across from me and the light was on his face and I said, "Shabbat shalom, Marv," and he said nothing, but his hand was on the table and I put my hand on his hand and we sat like that, hand on hand, candlelight on faces, for a long time, and the sitting was the Shabbat and the Shabbat was the marriage and the marriage was the hand on the hand and the hand on the hand was enough.

I am writing in the journal every night now — not about Sylvia, not about the book, but about Marvin. About the hand on the hand. About the way he holds his fork. About the sound he makes when he eats something he likes — a small hum, almost inaudible, the body's approval of the food, the last review left in the man. I am writing these things down because they will not last, because the humming will stop, because the fork will be replaced by a spoon and then by someone else's hands feeding him, and the writing is the keeping, and the keeping is the love.

The green beans were always on the Shabbat table — not because they were complicated or ceremonial, but because Marvin loved them, and because his small hum of approval when he tasted something right was the sound I cooked toward every Friday. This recipe is as simple as anything I make, which is exactly the point: some dishes don’t need to be grand to be sacred. I am sharing it here because it belongs to these Fridays, and because I want to remember that the green beans were part of the hand on the hand too.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 22 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb fresh green beans, trimmed
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped (optional, for garnish)

Instructions

Blanch the beans. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the trimmed green beans and cook for 3 to 4 minutes, until just tender but still bright green. Drain and immediately transfer to a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Drain again and pat dry.
Heat the pan. Warm the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering but not smoking.
Saute the garlic. Add the minced garlic to the pan and cook, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds until fragrant. Do not let it brown.
Add the beans. Add the blanched green beans to the skillet. Toss to coat in the garlic oil and saute for 4 to 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the beans are lightly blistered and heated through.
Season and finish. Remove the pan from heat. Add salt, pepper, and lemon juice. Toss to combine. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and garnish with fresh parsley and a pinch of red pepper flakes if desired. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sauteed Green Beans — The Side Dish I Made Every Friday, Because Marvin Always Hummed