Great green gobs of . . .

. . . beans.

Green beans, string beans, snap beans . . . whatever you want to call them.

I figured it was time for a break from steak, and snap beans are a darn good side dish to accompany any main course, including sundry variations of breaded and fried cubed steak.

There was a time in South Georgia when almost everybody kept a vegetable garden and grew this delicious legume, in one variety or another, every summer.  And with the long growing season and other favorable conditions, even if you were too feeble, or too lazy, or were otherwise disinclined to plant and tend a garden, you still could get home-grown string beans.  Chances were, your neighbor had a garden, was overrun with beans, and was more than willing to share.

Some years we had a garden, some years we didn't.  Regardless, we enjoyed snap beans when they were in season.  On many a summer morning, you could find Nannie sitting on her front porch, preparing snap beans for the noon meal.  She would 'tip and tail' each bean, and 'string' it in the process, and then 'snap' it.  It was a labor-intensive affair, but it was a labor of love for Nannie, and it's still a labor of love for me.  Here's how it's done.

First, you tip and tail the bean.  What does that mean?  Tipping and tailing is the act of removing of the 'tip', or stem, of the bean, and removing of the 'tail', or the end of the bean opposite the stem, which actually looks like a little green tail.  Don't use a knife for this.  Break the tip and the tail off the bean.  If there's a 'string' in the bean, you'll see it.  Since the 'string' of a string bean has roughly the toughness, texture, and mouth-feel of monofilament fishing line, it needs to be removed.  Just strip it away as you remove the tip or tail.

After you've tipped and tailed and strung the bean, you 'snap' it by breaking it into bite-sized pieces.  Incidentally, if you haven't guessed, a 'snap bean' is so called because of the snapping sound it makes when you break it. 

These operation must be performed on each and every bean in the batch, and can be tiring if your doing a dinner-size 'mess' (a term people in the South used to use to describe a substantial quantity of anything) of snap beans.  You're going to a lot of trouble, granted, but for fresh snap beans, it's worth it.  Besides, it's the only way I know of, short of paying someone else to do it, to get fresh snap beans.

Tomorrow, I'll share with you what I look for in beans when I buy them at the market (too lazy to plant a garden these days), and how I fix 'em, with lots of pot liquor.

Happy cooking!