Sunday’s Ham becomes Monday’s Red Beans
In most Louisiana kitchens, magic unfolds on a daily basis. Red beans and rice are no exception.
Chicken bones become chicken stew, stale bread becomes bread pudding, or in the case of red beans: ham hocks from a Sunday dinner breathe life-eternal into a big pot of beans as it simmers on the stove all day. Flavor lurks in so many hidden places - inside bones, in scraps of fat - awaiting release through slow extraction and bubbling for a luxurious number of hours.
Louisiana Red Beans & Rice
Red beans have three muses: rice, hot sauce, and cheap, cold beer. This is the only way, and I will show you.
Though it’s a staple in South Louisiana, my childhood dinner table didn’t see many bowls of red beans (or pots of gumbo for that matter).
We grew up in suburban New Orleans and both of my parents worked full time. My dad did most of the cooking, which often resulted in things he could easily make after work like semi-homemade pizza (premade dough, jarred sauce, and store-bought toppings) to much fanfare from the household children. We loved that pizza and often requested it for birthday parties and on weekends when we could help assemble it and request special toppings.
My parents both worked incredibly hard to put all three of us through Catholic school in South Louisiana, but they didn’t teach us the life-affirming skill of making red beans and rice. By their very nature, dried beans are low-maintenance and can become a hearty meal with very little tending. They not only take advantage of Sunday’s ham bones, but they want you to be productive and praised for your cooking! They’ve become regionally famous for their weekly recurrence on Mondays in the Creole kitchen as they allowed all the Louisiana wives and mamas to do the week’s laundry, by hand, over the course of the 20th Century while the beans cooked down over a low fire all day long. Every minute the beans sit on the stove is worth it as a rich, deep-red broth develops and then thickens as the beans break down into the most melt-in-your-mouth, spiritual red-bean-experience. Growing up, however, our beans most certainly came from a can(1), and it wasn’t until early adulthood that I truly understood why.
Don’t worry, the canned beans were Blue Runner – the only acceptable canned version of Creole food that any self-respecting Louisianian would put on their table.
My sisters, my parents, and I at a family wedding circa 1993.
Though she was not a natural cook, my mother felt compelled to make red beans and rice for my dad after they got married in 1984 because of the long history of cultural expectations on women to prepare meals for their families. It was the first (and last) thing she attempted to cook as a wife or mother, and it was far from a spiritual experience – so much so that the beans, in my father’s own words, ‘damn near killed’ him. The story of these particular beans explains a lot about our childhood mealtime fare and why my mother rarely cooked. As my parents sat at their newlywed table, both silently horrified, my Dad lovingly ate slightly crunchy, virtually flavorless beans without a word - the first of many sacrifices he made for his family at the tender age of 24. Little did he know that undercooked beans can be poisonous, or at the very least an unforgettable experience for the one who eats them. According to multiple sources including the FDA, “eating as few as 4-5 uncooked kidney beans can cause severe nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea in 1-3 hours after ingestion [due to] an unusually high concentration of a chemical called phytohemagglutinin.” Though the beans weren’t raw, they were undercooked enough to take a toll on my dad’s poor body the next day as he doubled over in pain waiting for dinner at a local restaurant. You can probably guess why they were eating out.
Dad and I making Irish stew in his mother’s kitchen. Read about that, here.
Years later, he broke his silence and told me over the phone that he thought he was suffering from appendicitis or a heart attack. Though he was never a good liar, he held this story close to his chest and never really told my mother the full extent of what he experienced. He obviously saw something beyond bad red beans because they were married for 25 years.
Once I knew the truth, however, I was determined to learn the ways of good beans. They are a part of our culture and more than just a meal. Red beans and rice is a New Orleans tradition that far outdates my childhood there. You can find Monday red-bean specials across the city (and much of the State). It has even become an integral part of New Orleans’ carnival season – better known as Mardi Gras (literally ‘Fat Tuesday’). In French Catholic tradition, it is the grand finale of the carnival season before the 40-day period of fasting and sacrifice we call Lent. Lundi Gras (‘Fat Monday’) is the lesser-known precursor to Mardi Gras and you will find many a pot of red beans waiting at home after a day’s worth of parades, often with fried chicken. Professor Longhair, a well-known New Orleanian pianist and singer, even wrote a song called Red Beans in 1980. The recipe and the experience are right there in the lyrics: “I’m goin’ down to Louisiana, gonna find me a ham bone, boy.” In New Orleans, food and culture are one in the same.
Krewe of Endymion, one of New Orleans’ largest parades, occurs the Saturday before Mardi Gras.
“I’m goin’ down to Louisiana, gonna find me a ham bone, boy.”
—Professor Longhair
In my quest for a perfect pot of red beans, I found that the joy of leftovers had never rung clearer than through the sides of a huge cast iron pot full of ham scraps, smoked sausage, and of course … beans. I also found myself not wanting to soak the beans overnight, which is customary and (to many) a sacrilege if omitted. Some die-hard New Orleanians may want to fight me, but I began to mix the raw, hard, and unapologetically dried beans right into the cooked vegetables in the recipe. Common knowledge, according to my pro-soak grandmother, has it that the overnight soak softens the beans, makes them creamier, and shortens the overall cooking time. Don’t worry, she scolded me and falsely claimed to have found a “hard bean” in my first pot (though I am treading dangerous territory considering my family history).
Beans can and absolutely should cook ALL day long for the richest, most melt-in-your-mouth, spiritual red-bean-experience.
Common knowledge, according to my pro-soak grandmother, has it that the overnight soak softens the beans, makes them creamier, and shortens the overall cooking time. Don’t worry, she scolded me and falsely claimed to have found a “hard bean” in my first pot (though I am treading dangerous territory considering my family history). After rigorous testing, however, I firmly believe that a soak will not produce nearly the same depth of flavor as simmering the beans over low heat with a ham bone and aromatics like celery and onions for the same two hours so-saved by soaking. Every minute that pot stays on the stove intensifies the flavor, thickens the beans, and improves your dinner prospects tenfold. With little encouragement, the ham will fall right off the bones, which should be squeaky clean by the time you’re finished. Leaving the beans on low while you complete other chores is also part of the ritual and history of red beans and rice.
For maximum flavor, render the ham and sausage fat in the pot before cooking the vegetables in it. As is true in any recipe, fat equals flavor. The vegetables will caramelize, soften, and intensify along with warm spices, butter, and tomato paste. And while water is a worthy flavor extractor, beer and chicken broth are better here. The incorporation of tasty liquids adds layers of depth to the beans, but stay away from IPAs and fruity beers. Lagers or an amber ale are better for your beans.
Since they cook all day, start your red beans early and eat them throughout the week. Whether it’s Lundi Gras or just a regular Monday, it’s time to find a ham bone, boy, and make this week worth its weight in beans.
