Jelly bean cassoulet

with shelf-stable ingredients

Greetings, clowns!

It’s already officially fall. This is bullshit. I want summer back! I’m mostly salty about this because I spent the past six weeks on the couch, clutching my stomach, so I didn’t get as much summer fun as I wanted. But time waits for no one, not even the greatest food writer in all of history. I must cushion myself for the long cold march of time, towards…death. I’m hilarious.

Now, in order to mentally transition to the cooler weather, it’s always good to start cooking fall dishes at home while wearing three turtlenecks. Fall dishes are always rich, hearty, warm, and sit in your stomach like a boulder. We’re talking physically dense food, like roasted slabs of concrete, entire raw pumpkins, and hot cups of used motor oil.

To get in the spirit, Davida suggested a classic French dish that fits the bill for fall food. It’s rich, hearty, and slow-cooked, but her version has that whimsical Food is Stupid twist to it that you’ve all come to know and love!

That’s right, it’s cassoulet. People go bonkers over this shit.

Melissa Clark from the New York Times writes, “Cassoulet is one of the most magnificent examples of French home cooking. The sumptuous meat and bean casserole is not as refined as some of the fussier dishes of haute cuisine, but what it lacks in opulence it makes up for in rustic charm.”

Simmer down, clowns. It’s beans and meat.

“Oh, Dannis,” you say, “How will you turn this sacred French dish into something special, something that reflects your spirit and expertise in the kitchen, while respecting it and its peasant origins?”

By using Davida’s magnificent suggestion of jelly beans, that’s how.

Using this recipe from The Kitchn as a guide, I began on my journey.

Not only would I use jelly beans, I’d also use all shelf-stable ingredients for the sake of convenience. Instead of rich duck legs, I’d use the next best thing, canned chicken. Instead of sumptuous garlicky Toulouse sausage, I’d use some weird meat stick. Oh fall, I’m ready for your embrace.

I’m also ready for a culinary kick to the nuts.

I poured the whole bag of jelly beans into a saucepan and looked at them.

Do people just sit around eating jelly beans? I mean, I’ll eat them if they’re in front of me, but I don’t remember the last time I went out of my way to buy any. Even when I was a kid, I thought they were pretty boring. I hate to say it, but I feel like jelly beans are slowly going extinct.

I am one of those people who can’t deal with black licorice, including in jelly bean form.

The thing is, I still insist on trying it anyway, no matter what. Right off the bat, black licorice usually tastes okay, that is, until the sweetness goes away. When that happens, the bitterness starts, and keeps going, until I’m practically ready to scrape my taste buds off with a bunch of sandpaper. Then I get really mad at myself for trying it again, like I did today.

Next time, I’ll just shove all the black licorice jelly beans up my ass and shoot them at the annoying neighborhood squirrels that bark outside our window. That would be the perfect use for them.

I opened the can of chicken and inhaled deeply.

As soon as you open a canned chicken product, a sulfuric aroma will waft across the room. It will remind you that the product inside the can is a portion of a dead, preserved, animal.

I unceremoniously dumped that stinky shit right into the saucepan with the jelly beans.

Whatcha think, France, am I doing it right so far?

The recipe from The Kitchn mentioned that pork skin was one of the ingredients (though optional).

A good representation of shelf stable pork skin is pork rinds, so I just plopped some of those in the pan too. Pork rinds are the watermelon rind…of the pig.

The processed meat stick reminded me of what I processed into the toilet this morning.

“James Beard! James Beard! James Beard!” I hear you shouting, in the distance.

In you go, meat log.

Have fun in the bathtub with the jelly beans, canned chicken, and pork rinds! This is the worst group bathing experience ever.

Oh, and for a touch of seasoning, I added a little garlic powder.

A few puny grains of garlic powder counts as a vegetable, right?

I finally finished the jelly bean cassoulet base with a touch of organic chicken bone broth.

You might wonder why I’d use a nice higher-end broth for this shit. Well, I still have a ton of it from when I thought I was dying of my yet-unknown abdominal malaise, and couldn’t stomach the idea of eating anything. I subsisted off of microwaved bone broth for more than a few days, and I still have plenty left, in case you guys want to come over and party!

Normally, you let cassoulet ride in the oven for a long time.

I briefly considered this, but I mean, I’m using processed ingredients here. Any connective tissue or things you would remotely consider chewy are mostly already obliterated. So I thought a stovetop simmer would be just fine. Turns out this was a fantastic idea.

Because I got to see this.

Remember the black licorice jelly beans I was complaining about earlier?

They turned the broth into the color of raw, blackish green sewage. I mean, just look at this shit. If you think this photo is hell, imagine what it looked like in person. The apartment took on a syrupy meaty aroma with hints of anise (pronounced “anus”), and I am pretty sure I briefly blacked out while stirring the cassoulet.

These are the remains of the boiled jelly beans. That’s fucked up.

I mean, just look at those things. They look like the haunted ghosts of jelly beans past, left to linger upon this cursed earth. I cackled. This was beyond my wildest expectations. At this rate, I will be completely ready for Halloween by tomorrow.

Dear fuckin’ God.

I thought I was going to be sick. Not only am I permanently barred from France (I’m still banned from Italy), I now had a bowl full of zombie jelly beans, boiled pork rinds, and chicken breast darkened by shades of Blue No. 1 and Red No. 40. And it all smelled like my nemesis, black licorice.

Bon appétit! (The term, not the magazine.)

I dug my fork in and took a bite of everything all at once, and became immersed in hell. The rubbery chicken breast chewed like a pencil eraser, the greasy soft pork skin had become flaccid in the jelly bean chicken syrup, and the ghost jelly beans had the texture of boogers al dente. C’est bon!

Davida said, “Sometimes when I don’t eat what you make for the newsletter I feel guilty. Today I don’t feel guilty.” Oh well. More for me.

I take back what I said earlier, about wanting summer back. Fall is going to be awesome.

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Finally: Chicago readers, if you want to try my cooking, keep October 4th open on your calendar. Something’s coming, but you’ll have to be quick.

Love you all, and I’ll magically pop into your inboxes soon. Stay safe, everyone.