I’m always drawn to colorful produce.
By colorful I mean rainbow chard, heirloom tomatoes, or habanero peppers, not green bell peppers, lemons, or eggplant.
If it’s vibrant, I have to have it.
And because of that, you have a firsthand look at my introduction to October Shelly Beans.
Their pods are bright pink and green. The colors are speckled throughout and seem almost artistic. I mean, you could probably thread some thin metal through the tip, bend it into a curl, and sell the suckers for top-dollar designer earrings. But, then again, who likes earrings that rot?
I started asking questions after spotting the big box of these beans on the farmer’s table. The seller, who I don’t think was the actual farmer, told me they’re called October Shelly Beans and that some people just refer to them as “red beans.” I wanted to ask why we were getting October beans in June, but I didn’t.
Figuring we’d only be trying them, we asked for a pound, and walked away.
I was born in New York and grew up in Florida, a magnet for Northerners, so the only beans I’d really ever dealt with were the typical types: black beans, kidney beans, garbanzo beans, and refried beans.
Moving to South Carolina introduced this Yankee to pintos. The kind you find at Cracker Barrel. They sit in their own juice and look very bland. Turns out, a lot of flavor goes into those little guys, so I followed that lead.
I started by shelling the shellies, which are also known as horticultural beans. I grabbed the tip and pulled it down, almost unzipping the pod. Inside, you’ll find a few beans.
The problem is that one pound of unshelled beans leads to very few naked ones. I thought we were doomed.
I added enough water to the pot to cover the beans by about an inch and a half.
To that, I added:
3 peeled and smashed garlic cloves
3 big sage leaves
1 bunch of fresh thyme
3 bay leaves
2 good pinches of kosher salt
1 good pinch of pepper
Bring the pot to a boil, then put on a lid, reduce the heat to low and let it go for about 45 minutes.
During the last 15 minutes of cooking, fry up the 4 slices of bacon in a skillet. I used kitchen shears to cut the slices into small pieces right over the pan. You’ll avoid having to clean up a cutting board.
Then add enough of the (strained) cooking liquid to the pan to almost fill it up. Sprinkle in a few good pinches of salt. Stir and let this cook on medium-low for about 15 minutes.
By themselves, the beans are creamy and almost nutty. It’s a pretty basic comfort food. My biggest complaint is that they lose their speckled appearance and turn into a dull, light pink color.
My partner in cuisine crime told me that you can’t have beans without cornbread. He rocked out a pan of golden goodness.
Still, I couldn’t quite figure out how this worked. Do you scoop the beans onto a hunk of the cornbread and chow down?
I was told that you serve the beans with the juice in the pan, and then crumble the cornbread over it. I still wasn’t really sold.
Then I remembered that every time we go to Cracker Barrel, he gets pintos and tops them with chow-chow (pickled cabbage and veggies). At this point, this “dish” started to come together in my head.
So there you have it.
I cleaned out my bowl – fast!
The beans are soft and creamy, a bit earthy and nutty. The spicy, briny chow-chow wakes up your tongue. The sweetness of the cornbread ties it all together, and soaks up that fragrant broth.
I’m still a Yankee, but I’m proud to say I pulled off a darn good bunch of beans.
They were so good, I’m thinking about adding “yee haw”, “y’all”, and “fiddle-dee-dee” to my vocabulary.
Okay, maybe not.
But you should add these beautiful beans to your recipe repertoire!
Tip: Save the rest of the bean broth and freeze it. Use that instead of store-bought broth when you make your favorite bean soup.