More like kidney beans, slick and cool, eyes still sealed shut.
If we do not feel like finishing our green beans, that is our business.
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The government bought rice and maize seed abroad, but Hondurans are choosy about beans: they like a local red variety.
They're talking about something far more refined: the morel, that spring darling, with its earthy flavor and distinctively honeycombed head, filled with things like scallop mousse, fava beans and crawfish, and foie gras.
Opening the packaging was more like tearing open a pack of coffee beans than the fetishist equivalent of de-flowering a new Apple product capsule.
Afflicted trees produce fewer cherries, and harvested beans are sapped of flavors like "Meyer lemon" and "sugar sprinkle" that draw gourmet roasters like Ms. Anunu.
Millions like Tanya relish the fact the price of rice and beans is down.
Nonfood items like wood and fibers slowed, but the edible nuts, beans and spices segment, for example, grew 34%.
In these cases and a million more like them, it seems that some cost-cutter has counted all the beans on the corporate side and none on the customer side.
You take beans, grind them and use water to extract something that hopefully won't taste like Valvoline.
Its first commercial is a very Norman Rockwell-like, father-and-son camping trip -- if Rockwell replaced Boy Scouts with Jelly Beans, that is.
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The family lives a life of rural self-sufficiency that makes the River Cottage look like a microprocessor plant, raising pigs, keeping bees and growing tomatoes, corn, figs, beans, apples, medlars and pears.
But over the last decade or so, that's changed, thanks to the efforts of people like Mr. Roberts and Steve Sando, whose company, Rancho Gordo, specializes in New World beans and grains.
Even better, while the beans simmered in a pot for most of the afternoon, a hard-working woman like my great-granny could get back to washing clothes, canning, gardening and looking after the children.
So we join the rich in beautiful dining rooms, like The Peninsula's Mei Jiang (peninsula.com) where we eat exquisite dim sum - rolled noodles with black beans and chilli, snow pea pastries, roast pork puffs so buttery they're like pig shortcakes - and are treated like pashas.
For a true West Virginian, nothing compares to sitting down to a steaming bowl of brown beans served up with a crumbly wedge of homemade cornbread (or grit bread, as we like to call it).
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