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Created by Chef Thomas
A golden chutney made when the runner beans won't stop coming, slow-cooked with onions, vinegar, and warm spice, then jarred for the cold months when summer feels a long way off.
There comes a week in September when you walk down to the bottom of the garden and realise the runner beans have won. The pods you missed last week have turned tough and stringy. The ones you didn't miss are piled in a colander on the kitchen counter, more than any household could reasonably eat, and there are still more out there, hidden behind the leaves, lengthening by the hour. This is when chutney happens.
Runner bean chutney is the allotment solution. It's what you make when generosity has tipped over into glut and the freezer is already full. The beans get sliced thin, cooked down with onions and vinegar and a good handful of warm spices, and the whole thing turns a deep mustard-gold that looks like the late summer sun caught in a jar. The kitchen smells sharp and complicated for an hour or two. Then it smells like preserving day. Then it smells like winter, somehow, even though winter is months away.
The trick with chutney is patience. Not in the cooking, which is straightforward, but in the waiting afterward. A fresh jar tastes loud and one-note. A jar that's sat in a dark cupboard for six weeks tastes like something you'd want on a plate with cold ham and a bit of cheddar and a piece of bread. It's the same chutney. Time does the rest.
I wrote it down in the notebook once: "Beans. Vinegar. September. Wait." Some recipes don't need more than that.
Quantity
1kg
stringed and sliced on the diagonal into thin pieces
Quantity
500g
peeled and finely chopped
Quantity
600ml
Quantity
400g
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
lightly crushed
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
2 teaspoons
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
a small splash
for slaking the cornflour
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| runner beansstringed and sliced on the diagonal into thin pieces | 1kg |
| onionspeeled and finely chopped | 500g |
| cider vinegar | 600ml |
| soft light brown sugar | 400g |
| English mustard powder | 2 tablespoons |
| ground turmeric | 1 tablespoon |
| coriander seedslightly crushed | 1 teaspoon |
| yellow mustard seeds | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | 2 teaspoons |
| cornflour | 2 tablespoons |
| extra cider vinegarfor slaking the cornflour | a small splash |
Top and tail the runner beans, then run a small knife or a peeler down each side to take off the strings. The strings matter. Skip them and the chutney will have little fibres running through it that catch in your teeth six weeks from now and remind you that you cut a corner. Slice the beans thinly on the diagonal. Not delicate ribbons, just thin enough that they soften properly. This is the slow part of the job. Put a radio on.
Tip the chopped onions into a large heavy-bottomed pan with about a third of the vinegar. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook for ten minutes, stirring now and then, until the onions are soft and translucent and the kitchen has started to smell sharp and a bit eye-watering. Open a window if you need to. This is the smell of preserving season.
Add the sliced beans, the rest of the vinegar, the sugar, salt, turmeric, mustard powder, mustard seeds, and crushed coriander. Stir it all through. The pan will look alarming for a moment, raw beans bobbing in a yellow sea, but it settles. Bring it back to a simmer.
Let the chutney bubble away gently, uncovered, for around forty-five minutes. Stir it every so often, especially toward the end when it starts to catch if you forget about it. You're waiting for the beans to go tender and the liquid to reduce by about a third. Trust your nose. When the raw vinegar smell has softened into something warmer and more rounded, almost mellow, you're nearly there.
Slake the cornflour with a small splash of cold vinegar in a cup, mixing until smooth with no lumps. Stir it through the chutney and let it bubble for another two or three minutes. The chutney should thicken to a glossy, spoonable consistency, the kind that holds a furrow for a second when you drag a spoon across the bottom of the pan. Not too thick. It firms up further in the jar.
Have your jars sterilised and still warm from the oven. Spoon the hot chutney in, right to the top, leaving only a small gap. Tap each jar on the counter to settle out any air pockets. Seal with vinegar-proof lids while everything is still hot. Label them with the date. You'll thank yourself in November when you can't remember which batch is which.
Put the jars somewhere cool and dark and forget about them for at least a month. Six weeks is better. The harshness drops away, the spices settle, and the whole thing turns from a loud, brash condiment into something quietly excellent. This is the hardest instruction in the whole recipe. Hide them if you have to.
1 serving (about 20g)
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