By Late July, and the Lowcountry summer is at its peak — the heat a constant companion, the humidity a daily baptism, the garden producing the tomatoes and okra and herbs that Robert grows and that I cook with, the marriage expressed through vegetables.
Carrie's JET contract ends in September. She has been in Japan for two years. She is coming home — not to Charleston permanently but to the States, to figure out what comes next. The what-comes-next is the question, and the question is Carrie's to answer, and the answering will be the next chapter, and the chapter will be wherever Carrie decides to build the life she has been testing in Japan and that she will now, at twenty-two, bring back to America.
I have been writing the Librarian's Table every morning — Chapter Three now, pairing peach cobbler with Zora Neale Hurston, because Hurston understood the South the way Mama understood the kitchen: by feel, by instinct, by the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime of living inside the thing you are writing about. Hurston and Mama: two women who felt the truth before they spoke it, and the feeling was the knowing, and the knowing was the art.
Robert finished a new project: a reading bench for the front room, positioned near the window, wide enough for two people and a stack of books. The bench is walnut (of course) and the positioning is deliberate: the bench faces the desk, so that Robert can read while I write, and the facing is the companionship, and the companionship is the room, and the room is the marriage.
I made Mama's tomato pie — the summer dish, Robert's greenhouse tomatoes (though in July the outdoor tomatoes are plentiful), the dish that is summer on a plate. The pie was the dinner. The dinner was the July. And the July was the life.
The tomato pie was the centerpiece, but no July dinner in our house is complete without Robert’s green beans — picked fresh, cooked low and slow the way Mama always did it, the kind of dish that asks nothing of you except patience and a little faith that the heat will do its work. With Carrie’s homecoming on the horizon and the bench newly built and facing my desk, it felt right to set a table that said summer fully: tomatoes and green beans, grown thirty feet from the kitchen door, the garden doing what gardens do when you tend them with intention.
Southern Green Beans
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 lbs fresh green beans, ends trimmed and snapped into 2-inch pieces
- 4 slices thick-cut bacon, chopped
- 1 small yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 cups chicken broth (or vegetable broth)
- 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- 1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
Instructions
- Cook the bacon. In a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat, cook the chopped bacon until the fat has rendered and the bacon is lightly crisped, about 5–6 minutes. Remove bacon with a slotted spoon and set aside, leaving the drippings in the pot.
- Soften the aromatics. Add the diced onion to the pot and cook in the bacon drippings over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the minced garlic and cook for another minute until fragrant.
- Add the beans and broth. Add the snapped green beans to the pot and stir to coat in the drippings. Pour in the chicken broth, then season with salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Return the cooked bacon to the pot.
- Simmer low and slow. Bring the liquid to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover and cook for 35–40 minutes, stirring once or twice, until the beans are very tender and have absorbed much of the savory broth. This is Southern-style tender — not crisp.
- Finish and adjust. Stir in the apple cider vinegar. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed. Serve hot, with any remaining pot liquor spooned over the top.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 120 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 420mg