I Almost Threw Away a Bag of Green Beans. Then I Made This Cold Salad.

I opened the fridge and found a small bag of green beans at the back. They were left from a stir-fry with shredded pork. The bag had been twisted twice at the top. The beans were still firm, and the color had not gone yellow. I took the bag out and stood by the sink. Two more days and I would have thrown them away. Today I skipped the pork and made a cold vegetable dish.

I topped and tailed the beans and cut them on a diagonal into strips. Not too fine. Fine strips go soft in the blanching water and slide off chopsticks. I boiled water, added a pinch of salt and a few drops of oil, and put in the bean strips. I kept the water at a rolling boil over high heat and timed three to five minutes.

Green beans are not a place to gamble. Whether they taste good comes later. Whether they are cooked comes first. Raw or undercooked green beans contain saponins and phytohaemagglutinin. Eat them and you can end up with nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. I watched the color turn from pale green to an even dark green. I smelled them. The raw, grassy bean smell was gone. I pulled out one strip and broke it open with my teeth. No raw core. That was the pass.

I moved the beans into cold water and changed the water twice. The strips turned crisp and the color held. The salt and oil in the blanching water were there for that color.

The wood ear mushrooms had been soaked earlier. I put them in cold water in the fridge for an hour or two and changed the water once. I washed them and cut them into strips. They do not go into the pot with the beans. Thirty seconds is enough. I took them out and rinsed them in cold water. The curled caps sprang back. They felt slippery and bit crisp.

Wood ear mushrooms do not lead a vegetable dish. They do not bring fragrance or sweetness. They bring texture, and they hold sauce. When temple vegetarian cooking grew during the Wei, Jin, and Southern and Northern Dynasties, fresh vegetables were limited. Bamboo shoots, mushrooms, and wood ear fungi counted as mountain delicacies. Most people did not eat them often. Later recipe books used wood ear mushrooms to imitate seafood and crisp intestines. The curled shape and springy bite made the imitation work. In this bowl, the green beans bring bean flavor and crispness. The wood ear mushrooms bring springiness and sauce. Neither needs to shout.

I drained both and put them in a large bowl. I peeled three or four cloves of garlic and minced them fine. I piled the garlic on top and scattered on a small pinch of white sesame seeds. I heated oil in a small pan until it just started to smoke. I picked up the pan and poured the oil over the garlic. It sizzled sharp. The garlic smell came up first. The sesame seeds jumped.

In northern China, this move is called qiang, flashing with hot oil. The Qimin Yaoshu records hot oil being used to release the aroma of scallions, Sichuan pepper, and mustard seeds for dressing vegetables and seasoning soups. Garlic came later. The principle held. Hot oil pulls the flavor out.

After the oil, I seasoned. Two spoonfuls of light soy sauce. One spoonful of aged vinegar. A little salt. A little MSG. A little sugar for lift. A little oyster sauce. A drizzle of sesame oil at the end. Vinegar loses its edge in high heat. Pour hot oil over vinegar and it volatilizes. So the order is oil first, vinegar later. The oil holds the garlic smell, and when I toss the salad, that smell stays on the vegetables. I used chopsticks to lift from the bottom and turn the salad over. The bean strips glistened. The wood ear mushrooms went black and shiny. The garlic stuck to the vegetables. I tasted one strip. Crisp. Bean flavor behind it. Vinegar not sharp. Garlic not harsh.

I ate it right away. What I could not finish went into a food container. I pressed it flat, covered it, and put it in the fridge for lunch the next day. The bag of green beans that had almost stayed in the fridge until it was too late was gone.