Chickpeas, Lentils & Every Bean in Between - Part 1
The Foundations
What do you call the kind of amnesia that affects you before the actual event? Do you know what I mean? Forgetting something that hasn’t happened yet? I suppose it’s a kind of wishful thinking? Or self-deception? Anyway, I prefer forgetfulness because it clears me of responsibility.
I mentioned last week my recent trip to Morocco. It came about when the kids’ godmother suggested somewhere warm to take them to escape the winter chill. We can hike in the Atlas mountains, she proposed, give the boys an adventure. Yes! I jumped on it. Close enough destination to escape the depressing British winter.
Of course, as soon as we landed in Marrakesh on 27th December, I “remembered” that winters also happen 2200 kilometres south of my stormy north London neighbourhood. In fact, I’ve been to Marrakesh before in this exact time of year and got so deeply soaked and mud-covered that I swore never to return before March. I forgot all that…
And it only got worse. When we arrived at the starting point of our mountain hike, in the Berber village of Imlil, 1800 metres above sea level, it wasn’t only soaking, it was beyond glacial. We were freezing to our cores, the only slight relief being the hot mint tea that somehow didn’t freeze on its long, skilful journey from teapot to glass.
It was just about fine, as long as we were in motion, but when we arrived at our guest house at 5pm, 2300m above sea level, ready to settle in for the night, some deeply troubling facts presented themselves: why were all the windows open at -3C? and the doors? what’s that steam coming out of the owner’s mouth?
Well, there was no need for windows, or doors. In fact, there was no need for walls either! There was no heating in our guest house! The real mountaineer experience offered us blankets, plenty of them, and that’s all!
We were recommended to wrap up with four blankets each, which was effective(-ish) but we had to minimise bathroom trips and kept our limbs tightly close to our bodies, like Egyptian mummies.
The food, which arrived after three hours, was a massive comfort and a worthy reason to leave the sarcophagi. We got freshly prepared couscous with lots of hot broth on the side, topped with cooked carrots, courgettes and turnips, and a bowl-full of sweet caramelised onion. There were also chickpeas mixed in with the vegetables; plump and juicy after absorbing much of the stock.
The chickpeas appeared twice, actually. Once as a crispy snack, alongside a bowl of fresh walnuts, and the other in the tagine. They were the standout bit of the meal - delicious and nourishing - something to think about as I was warming up, lying under a mountain of blankets, willing sleep to come.
I have always loved chickpeas, but the last year has been the year of the chickpea for me, after launching our black chickpeas with Bold Beans Co. In fact, recent years, after COVID, when I became extremely grateful for what I had stored away, have been all about and about all pulses: chickpeas, beans, lentils. These are now the foundations of my kitchen, and it seems that this is becoming the case for many others, even the previously reluctant.
Over the next two weeks, I’m doing a deep dive into beans, chickpeas, and lentils - my most reliable cooking companions. I am determined to dismantle whatever’s standing between people and that jar gathering dust in their cupboard, to give everyone a heart-warming chickpea moment.
What we’re talking about
Chickpeas - round, beige, with that distinctive bump. Beans - kidney, black, white (cannellini, butter beans, haricot, navy), pinto, borlotti. Lentils - smaller, flatter, lens-shaped. Red, green, brown, puy, beluga.
I’m using “pulses” and “legumes” interchangeably - they’re just umbrella terms for this whole family.
Tinned, Jarred, or Dried?
Dried beans are what I used to reach for most often. They’re cheap, they keep for vey long, and I control everything - the texture, the seasoning, how much cooking liquid I end up with. The downside is time. You need to soak them (usually), then cook them (always).
Fortunately, the alternatives that save you time and planning ahead are getting better all the time.
Tinned beans are the weeknight saviour. Already cooked, already soft. Drain them, rinse them, done. Consistent, convenient, completely fine for most things (more so for stews than for salad). I always have a few tins in the cupboard.
Jarred beans are somewhere in between. Companies like Bold Bean Co jar their beans in the cooking liquid, which means better texture and flavour than most tins. More expensive, yes, but the difference is real - firmer, creamier, and tasting more like themselves.
When to use what?
Use dried for Hummus, although I have been using jarred as well, with great results. When you’re doing a slow-cooked stew and the beans make up the body. When you want complete control over texture. Also when you’re cooking a big batch to freeze in portions. Those are great for future salads.
Use tinned for To add to stews, soups and pasta sauces. Anything where the beans are there to bulk things out rather than star and where they get a chance to soften further through cooking and take on flavour from a bubbling sauce. They’re already a bit seasoned from the processing, so taste before you add more salt.
Use jarred when Beans are front and centre but you forgot to soak (or had no time to pre-cook them). They’re particularly good in salads where texture really matters, or warmed through with good olive oil and garlic - nothing else needed.
Cooking dried beans from scratch
To soak or not to soak? It’s essential, really, for many beans and for all chickpeas. It softens the skins, helps them cook evenly and shortens the cooking time. I put chickpeas or white beans in a bowl before bed, cover them with plenty of water (they’ll expand quite a bit), and forget about them. By morning, they’ve doubled in size and they’re ready cook.
But not everything needs it. Lentils don’t. Split peas don’t. Most small beans can go straight in the pot if you’re willing to add twenty minutes or so to the cooking.
Beans don’t respond well to being rushed. A rolling boil batters them, splits the skins, turns the cooking liquid starchy and grey. What you want is a bare simmer - just a few lazy bubbles breaking the surface now and then. Patient heat gives you beans that hold their shape, with skins that stay tender and insides that turn silky rather than grainy.
Put your beans in a pot, cover them with plenty of cold water (at least 5cm above), bring everything to a boil, then immediately reduce to that gentle simmer. Don’t cover the pot completely - leave it slightly ajar so steam can escape.
How do you know when they’re done? You want them tender enough that they yield completely when you press one against the roof of your mouth with your tongue. No resistance, no chalkiness in the centre. The only exception being if you are planning on cooking them further in a soup or a stew. In this case, undercook them a little so they don’t break up.
With chickpeas, this might take an hour and a half. With lentils, twenty minutes. With butter beans, somewhere around forty-five. It depends on everything - how old the beans are, whether you soaked them, the heat of your stove. So taste them. Keep tasting until they’re right.
For more details…
If you want to understand the science behind all this, J. Kenji López-Alt’s The Food Lab breaks down exactly what happens when you cook beans - why soaking works, what salt does to the skins, how heat affects texture. Rancho Gordo has excellent cooking guides on its site.
Lentil, fennel and parmesan “stoup” with charred tomato salsa
This is the lentil stoup (or perhaps it’s a stew?) I’ll be making again and again this winter - and not just because it keeps so well for batch cooking. Sweet fennel and nutty parmesan make the lentils feel even more comforting, and if you have a couple of parmesan rinds lying around, swap them in for the 20g piece for extra flavour. Serve it as is, or with chunks of rustic bread for dunking- either way, it’s nourishing, hearty, and super satisfying.
Creamy bean and cavolo nero soup with preserved lemon gremolata
This is the simplest soup, but you wouldn’t know it when you taste it; it’s rich, hearty and grassy. Tahini is added at the end to give it a creamy texture. The gremolata is what really brings it to life, so be generous with the topping.
If making this ahead, the soup will thicken as it sits so add more water as needed when re-heating.