grean bean's casserole

Oh, sweet baby Moses; I ate a lot of food yesterday, more than I've eaten in a very long time. After a full day of delivering meals and preparing the feast with my family, I wasn't sure if I would be alive to see this morning. Unfortunately, however, I did not die, so let's do this.

If you're awake right now, it's probably because you want to hit the ground running on your Christmas shopping, and I'm right there with you; I'm waiting on my mom to send me her Amazon links right now, as I type these words. In the meantime, though, we will cook. Our final offering will be my take on a classic grean bean casserole, veganized and made completely from scratch. The haters and naysayers will surely criticize my decision to stay the course and follow my dreams in spite of the unfortunate passing of the holiday. So, what, I should cut the unstoppable force that is T-Week short for the sole reason that Turkey Day was yesterday? Just because the big moment has come and gone doesn't mean I'm done with my festive celebration. I've gone rogue, and nobody can stop me.

two cans of grean beans

one can of coconut cream

four mushrooms

one quarter of a white onion

one clove of garlic

two tablespoons of olive oil

garlic powder

onion powder

paprika

cayenne

nutmeg

Come on. What holiday feast would be complete without a traditional grean bean casserole? It's as American as satellite television. This one begins with a homemade cream of mushroom soup. We're gonna wrap T-Week up with a bang and send it straight to hell, where it belongs.

Dice the mushrooms and the onion into small cubes. Sweat them over a medium-low flame until caramelized and then add the coconut milk, spices, and smashed garlic. Simmer and stir occasionally. Let the coconut milk reduce by about forty percent.

This was the initial set-up. I got two cans of grean beans because I'm high-maintenance, I'm prone to nibbling, and they were only a dollar each. I fucking love grean beans.

Here you can see my grean beans, free of their small, cylindrical prisons, and what a sight they are to behold. After the soup has cooled and congealed slightly, just dump it right over everything; one might erronously assume that the reason there is no picture here of the beans and cream before baking is because I forgot to take one. Not the case; the event was well-documented, it just looked really gross. Light up your oven, wrap the casserole up in some tinfoil, and stick the dish in for forty-five minutes at 350°, making sure to uncover it for the last fifteen.

Here it is after baking; I like how all of the onions and mushrooms got trapped on the top while the cream filtered itself through the gee bees. The coconut cream was definitely a questionable choice in terms of flavor; it does impart a strangely sweet taste to the beans, but the effect can be minimized by straining the veg from the soup when you finally sit down to eat it. I felt immense relief at this stage of the operation, mostly because I had never made one of these before and I was really worried about fucking it up somehow the entire time I was putting it together. I'm proud to report that it all worked out.

This is the moment I've been waiting for all week. A plate is like a canvas, and I certainly feel like I've made my mark on this one. The full meal is hearty, balanced, nutritious, and beautiful, each side supporting the main attraction of the lentil loaf with zealous fervor.

Obviously, this decadent feast wouldn't be complete without pairing it with a serving of yesterday's bread pudding sensation. That, and usually a glass of wine, just not this year. Mama's getting a head start on her new year's resolution. 2018 is gonna be the one, baby.

One unexpected thing that I experienced this Turkey Day was an overwhelming influx of holiday sentimentality, something I always thought adults put on for show ingenuously around this this time of year for attention, and to set a good example. Now, I'm an adult, and I felt it, full-force. I felt thankful for the food and my family, viscerally. Like, in my heart, and not in my brain, stomach, or ass, as per usual.

Thanksgiving was yesterday; this final presentation was poorly planned. We kicked some serious ass this week, and I couldn't be more relieved now that it's finally over. Are you ready to see this bowl covered in some pasty fake gravy? Alright, if you say so.