The Food "Trend" I Never Tire Of
an exploration of food trends, why "trend" is a dirty word, a recipe for my favorite bean (+ a bonus recipe and restaurant recs in cities of my recent travels tucked in)
A few weeks ago, a dear friend came over to spend the night. I think adult slumber parties are highly underappreciated and should be normalized as a way to spend time in your thirties and beyond. Since I live in the country—which effectively means far from those I love—I try to maximize the use of my guest room and stretch dinner and drinks into breakfast the next morning.
I’m in the age of “the friendship dip” (a read I highly recommend by Anne Helen Petersen), but I would argue that the way most of us live our lives these days—tethered to technology as our primary form of connection—means we could all benefit from prioritizing time with friends beyond just a meal out. (And the recipe that follows is a perfect snack to serve when they come for a leisurely visit).
All that to say, after an evening of dinner by the wood stove, a bit too much wine, and a movie that I predictably fell asleep during, the following morning my friend and I cozied into a diner booth for breakfast. We watched in prideful joy as a woman dining solo sipped a seltzer with lime and devoured a smash burger at 10 a.m. while we ate our classic breakfast plates.
The image prompted my friend to ask my take on food trends—or, more specifically, ones that annoy me. I knew immediately what she meant. While it was certainly fun to watch this woman enjoying the crispy patty of her smash burger for breakfast, I couldn’t help but bemoan that almost every burger these days seems to be a smashed. Suddenly, every restaurant feels the need to have one on the menu. What happened to a thick, juicy patty and a fluffy bun? Is this all a ploy to charge the same price for a burger while serving half the weight in meat? (Likely yes, but who can blame anyone for that with astronomically rising food costs?)
Beyond my thoughts on the smash burger—the obvious answer given the context of the question—I struggled to name another food trend, let alone one that annoyed me. Maybe because I’ve spent my winter holed up in the Hudson Valley, mostly cooking simple meals for one. And before that, I was inundated with daily Canteen operations, living in my own bubble. Or maybe because in my recent travels, I’ve mostly prioritized dining at the classics (Bistro Paul Bert in Paris, The River Café in London, my alma mater Chez Panisse in Berkeley). When I do visit newer establishments, I find myself more drawn than ever to those that do simple well and favor bright, vegetable-forward dishes much like my own (I’m thinking of Rochelle Canteen, Towpath, Cafe Cecilia, and Brawn from my fall visit to London). Even when menus are less traditional, I find authenticity to be the biggest marker of success—arguably the antonym of trendy (I’m thinking of Choza and Imbiss from my recent trip to Mexico City). All of which I give rave reviews to, by the way.
Thus, I tried to suss out what a food trend really is. Like any good question, I assumed a better answer might come to me later. But after a few Google searches, I realized I was still unconvinced—aside from a few ridiculous viral video examples. Some lists mentioned hot honey (which I do love on pizza). The rise of non-alcoholic beverages came up frequently, which doesn’t bother me aside from the impact on my friends in the wine industry. Hydration hype was cited, but as someone who struggles to drink enough water to survive, I can’t be mad about that. The Michelin Guide listed plant-based eating and fire cooking as “trends.” And now, I’m wondering: How do we identify a trend versus a cultural shift? Assuming one is fleeting and the other lasting?
Beyond the never-dying avocado toast (who’s longevity seems to place it in the category of cultural shift over trend) I really couldn’t think of a food trend that annoyed me. Maybe I’m not the right person to ask, I ventured—I’m not on TikTok. My friend, who splits her time between the Catskills and the city and travels regularly for work (not in food), thus offering a different perspective from mine, rattled off specific ingredients she keeps seeing on menus: “Jimmy Nardello peppers are everywhere,” she said. “Chicory salads. Beans. Chiles.”
I paused, struck by the idea that these could be considered trends when they are just ingredients. And ingredients that I habitually turn to time and time again, at that, while never once considering I was either following nor setting a trend.
She expressed her frustration that what is seasonally and preciously sourced from our favorite farmers upstate seems to populate menus like buzzwords.
It made me think back to my seasons on Martha’s Vineyard when I learned (at the time) that I was perhaps the only restaurant on the island truly sourcing entirely from its farms. On many occasions, my farmer friends lamented to me that their names were put on restaurant menus when they knew they weren’t selling enough product to consistently be the lettuce or chicken in that dish. The performative nature of "farm-to-table" has so often diluted the lengths some of us go to in order to earnestly support our farmers and the effort it takes to change menus regularly to do so. I began to see her point.
On one hand, I’m thrilled that the culture has shifted toward a broader appreciation for my favorite bitter lettuce leaves and the joy of the most delicious sweet peppers. These shifts help normalize the diversity of vegetable consumption, which is key to a rich, vibrant diet that supports both individuals and the planet. On the other hand, when the hype becomes so outsized that demand requires these ingredients to be sourced out of season or mass-produced by big agriculture, we’ve eclipsed the positive and adulterated the whole point of standardizing these crops on menus.
To me, authenticity and knowledge of the “why” are required to keep things from being mere “trends.” It would be such a shame for chicory leaves and Jimmy Nardello peppers to fall victim to fast-fashion-style production when they are timeless gems meant to be enjoyed in their rightful season, year after year.
Which brings me to a food trend I never tire of—one that is intentionally designed to be available year-round: the dried bean. Every recipe developer seems to have their take on cooking dried beans, and I can’t say I’m mad about it. Filling your pantry with these storage legumes is a way to support growers year-round while keeping your table stocked with a delicious and nourishing staple, especially in the shoulder seasons (like now). Dried beans, in their many varieties, continue to gain prevalence at local farmers' markets and restaurants alike. Despite the foresight needed to make them, they require few ingredients, are packed with protein, and are incredibly easy to cook.
Gigante beans are a staple on Canteen menus—as a supplement to, and complement of, fresh produce, especially during the seasonal transitions in the Hudson Valley. If you’ve dined at the Canteen, you’ve likely enjoyed our punchy Rancho Gordo Royal Corona Beans. And now you, too, can know the secret ingredient— lots of vinegar.
This method evokes the flavor of an antipasti which lends itself to many uses: an aperitivo snack with wine and cheese (my favorite application), a side dish, or the base of a hearty lunch with a fried egg and avocado. And while the following cook times and quantities apply to gigante beans in particular, the technique can easily be applied to any dried bean of your liking.
We often serve ours topped with breadcrumbs, chili flakes, or fried garlic (recipe follows).
Recipe for Slow Simmered Gigante Beans:
Ingredients
1/2 # dried gigante beans
2 bay leaves
2-3 strips of lemon peel
water
olive oil (1/4-1/2 cup)
champagne or white wine vinegar (2 tablespoons-1/3 cup)
salt to taste
Method
The Day Before:
Soak the beans overnight. Cover them with enough water to allow them to at least double in size. Given their expansion, use a bowl with at least three times the volume of the dried beans.
Before bed (or in the morning before cooking), check the water level. If the beans have absorbed most of it, top off the bowl to ensure they remain fully submerged until you’re ready to cook.
The Next Day:
Drain the beans from their soaking water.
In a large pot—at least three times the volume of the soaked beans—add them and cover with enough fresh water to allow for another doubling in size. Choose a pot that offers the maximum surface area so the beans sit in a shallow layer rather than being stacked too high. Ideally, half the pot’s volume should remain free after adding the beans and water.
Add a generous glug of olive oil—at least ¼ cup. No need to measure; just aim for a thin film of oil across the water’s surface. The way these giant beans absorb the fat enhances their texture and flavor.
Toss in aromatics of your choice. A simple, versatile combination is two bay leaves and a few strips of lemon peel, but you can also add dried chiles, a whole onion, or even a head of garlic
.
Bring to a simmer, and just as the liquid nears a boil, reduce the heat to maintain a gentle, steady gurgle.
After about 1 to 1½ hours, when the water has reduced to the level of the beans, add more water just to cover them again.
At this point, season with salt and bring back to a simmer. The cooking liquid should taste just shy of pasta water salinity, balanced by the olive oil and bean starch. Since the beans haven't been salted yet, don’t be timid—there’s a lot of dense bean interior that needs to absorb the seasoning.
Taste a bean for doneness—it will help you estimate how much more time they need.
When the beans are still slightly al dente—about 15 minutes before they’re fully cooked—add vinegar. For gigante beans, this is when they taste done but still have a slight chalkiness before giving way to a creamy center. Start with a few tablespoons and adjust to taste as the beans finish cooking.
Taste the cooking liquid for acidity, salt, and fat—it should have enough brightness to cut through the beans’ creaminess. Compare the intensity of the broth to the beans themselves.
Simmer until the beans are fully creamy throughout but still hold their shape—not falling apart.
Crispy Fried Garlic + Garlic Infused Oil
ingredients:
1 head of garlic
1 1/2 cups of olive oil
salt
shallow fry pan and a slotted spoon
Method:
Peel the garlic.
Thinly slice or shave the cloves—aim for a thickness of about 2–3 sheets of paper. This works best with a mandolin, but be careful—watch your fingers!
In a frying pan or cast-iron skillet, scatter the sliced garlic into an even layer. You don’t want to crowd them too much, as this ensures even browning and allows you to remove them quickly when they’re done. If needed, fry in batches.
Pour in enough olive oil to fully cover the garlic—they should be submerged but not swimming.
Have a slotted spoon ready, along with a plate lined with paper towels for draining.
Turn the heat to medium and stay close as the oil heats. If the oil begins to bubble too aggressively, lower the heat immediately—you want a gentle sizzle, not a rapid fry.
Stir the slices as they start to color to promote even cooking.
Once they turn golden brown, quickly remove them with a slotted spoon and transfer them to the lined plate. They will crisp up as they cool.
Strain the oil and store it in the refrigerator, or use it immediately—stir it into beans for extra flavor or drizzle it over vegetables. This garlic oil is also great for marinating meat or roasted vegetables!
Use the fried garlic slices to garnish beans. Stored in an airtight container lined with a paper towel, they will stay crisp for a couple of days—just avoid humidity. They also make an excellent garnish for other vegetable dishes.
Note: Olive oil can burn if it gets too hot, but in this application, the garlic gently infuses the oil, making it worth the risk. This is why we heat the garlic and oil together, rather than preheating the oil first as you would for traditional frying.
While focusing on “trend” versus “cultural shift” paradigms in cooking and eating, you may not be thinking of the broader context that has me in the dumps these days. If one considers the calculated exploitation of terms such as “farm-to-table” and “organic” and “natural,” I associate this with a larger cultural/political reality that might be summed up as the prevailing acceptance of lying in the place of truth-telling (so manifestly demonstrated from the top down this past week). In an age of “misinformation,” all the more thanks for your determination to weigh the facts, assess the damage, and offer something authentic with which we can nourish ourselves. Keep 'em coming. Eric K.