Food, the Heroine of Literature

Describe your vegetables…

A bland side dish, wedged between the roast and the potatoes… What an odd idea, to make these vegetables the subject of a story! And yet, food fascinates me. Though it cannot carry a novel on its own, it can slip in as a secondary character, enriching the story with unexpected flavors and textures.

This time, it was Eyal Shani’s green beans—tasted in one of his restaurants—that I wanted to recreate. He’s become a master at elevating the simplest of dishes, even crowning cauliflower as a star. Let me share the recipe.

This introduction has made me hungry. I’m off to make myself a slice of toast and leave you to your reading.

The Green Beans

Alerted by a faint smell of burning that she hadn’t immediately noticed from her office, she rushed into the kitchen. The fumes seemed to thicken in the air. They clung to her hair, her clothes, her skin, and filled her throat until she could hardly breathe.“Don’t overreact,” Léa told herself as she went to open the window. Once again, she had forgotten to set the timer, and when she checked the pan, she found a heap of charred worms. Maybe the girls would agree to nibble on the unburned bits? She could present it as a game—a sort of hunt for the still-green bean. It would be a shame to waste it all, considering the effort it had taken to bring these vegetables here: the sowing, planting, harvesting, transport, packaging, freezing, another transport, the neat stacking in the supermarket...And then there were her own efforts and expenses: the trip, the gas, the price of the ingredients, the time spent. She picked one bean, tasted it, grimaced, and emptied the pan into the trash.

No need to panic. There was still some chicken left from yesterday, and a bit of rice. Tonight the girls would settle for protein and starch. They loved green beans—the only vegetable they liked, along with artichokes and cucumbers—and Léa had looked forward to seeing them eat something healthy for once. Other children would try the strangest foods, while hers tormented her with their picky appetites.

She could return to her computer and finish that cursed presentation, or go back to cooking. Either way, her conscience wouldn’t leave her in peace.She grabbed a head of garlic and a fresh bag of beans. A recipe she’d discovered in a restaurant and managed to reproduce at home. Crush the cloves, peel them, pour a drizzle of olive oil into the hastily cleaned pan... The beans fell in like a rain of green, rigid sticks.It would have been better to buy them fresh, but after her first attempt at trimming them—disgusted by the monotony of the task—she had sworn never to do it again. A return to responsible consumption demanded sacrifices, though. She could have grown them herself—after all, she’d had some success with Swiss chard the previous year—but discouraged by the scope and complexity of the task, she’d postponed her vegetable garden to the next season.

She stifled her impatience and, stirring occasionally, waited for the beans to finish cooking. To make sure nothing was missing, she tasted one. Perfect! Still green, though it had lost its shine—tender but firm. A balance between salt and sweetness, elevated by the aroma of garlic and black pepper.In a life filled with obstacles and sorrows, she would always have the comfort of mastering a simple, satisfying dish.

Until next time,

Laurence M. Rapp

If you enjoyed this piece, discover my novel Of Flesh and Tears