edamame

 

My wife and I went on a mini-vacation last weekend.  We did the typical vacation thing… walked around in a bunch of shops without buying anything, slept in (until 6 am – we were on Pacific Time), and went out to eat for every meal. 

 

Our first night, Sara was in the mood for sushi.  I don’t know how many perfectly good restaurants we passed by in search of this one particular sushi restaurant, but by the time we got there, I was starving.

 

We finally found the restaurant that Sara… I mean, we were searching to find.  The restaurant was called Sushi Samba.  It was a combination of Brazilian, Peruvian, and Japanese cuisine.  This was great because as hungry as I was, I kept thinking that a Brazilian/Peruvian/Japanese restaurant would really hit the spot.  This had to be way better than those other restaurants we passed with their delicious smelling brick oven pizzas, juicy filet mignon, and completely recognizable seafood. 

 

Don’t get me wrong.  We are culturally diverse when it comes to dining.  I’ve enjoyed sushi for several years and I think using chopsticks is fun, but I was hungry… really hungry. 

 

Our server, who I could barely understand, came to our table as asked if we wanted to start with something unintelligible.  I had no idea what she asked us, but since I was starving I said, “Sure.”

 

Wrong answer.

 

I looked Sara, “What did I just order?”

 

“Edamame.”

 

“What?”

 

“Edamame.”

 

“What?”

 

“Soybeans.”

 

“Oh.”

 

This conversation was followed by a second conversation in my head.  How in the world do you make a soybean appetizer?

 

Even though I am originally from the state of Tennessee, which has to be one of the highest producers of soybeans, my culinary experience with them is pretty limited.  I know they were in those quasi-burgers we had in school and I’m pretty sure soybean oil is found in lots of tasty foods, but that’s about it.  I was thinking they would be cooked and crushed up with some cilantro, onions, and peppers into a dip and served with some tortillas.

 

Dream on, Wolfgang.

 

What came out was a large wooden bowl heaping with cooked soybeans (still in their shells) garnished with sea salt and a lime wedge.  I could not hide my disgust when the bowl hit our table.  It was like Randy Travis when he became fixated on Adam Lambert’s black fingernails.

 

This cost seven dollars?

 

I grabbed my chopsticks and ate the first one.  It tasted about how you would expect a soybean cooked in its shell to taste.  Not bad, not great.  The problem was the texture.  Since it was still in its shell, it was sort of like eating a straw hat (with sea salt and lime, of course).  Sara gave up after the first two, leaving me to attempt to finish the whole bowl.  Since I paid $7 for a bowl of beans, I felt compelled to finish it but with every bite I kept thinking, “This can’t be right.” 

 

About halfway through the bowl and after eating enough roughage to regulate a herd of elephants, I decided to throw in the towel.  The rest of the meal was very enjoyable.  The sushi and sides were great, but the whole experience was tarnished by those beans that, if woven together, could have pulled a tractor out of a ditch.

 

After having desert and paying the check, a couple sat down next to us.  They also ordered the edamame.  Fools.  I noticed Sara staring at them.  Just as I was about to tell her to stop staring, she began laughing.  From watching this couple she learned that the proper way to eat edamame is to pinch the shell so that the bean squeezes out, then discard the shell.  What I did was equivalent to eating an entire bag of sunflower seeds… and their shells… and the flower stalks.

 

If you are ever in a restaurant and someone asks you if want to start with some edamame, think of me… and order the spinach/artichoke dip.