Crowd Control

I can’t lie: I’m a sucker for a good pun. My sense of humor vacillates between dad jokes and caustic wit, but I can never resist a solid groaner. That brings me to the obvious need to turn crowder beans into chowder. The moment I started cooking with them, I knew that Crowder Chowder was inevitable, if only for the irresistible name.

Don’t worry, it’s more than just a fun rhyme. As with any proper chowder, the base is thick and creamy, making for a hearty bowl-in-one type of meal. Packed with potatoes and sweet corn, the crowder beans contribute an earthy meatiness, to say nothing of all their protein and fiber, without a single clam in sight.

Plenty of chowder recipes employ beans, especially white beans for their fairly neutral flavor, so it’s not like I’m breaking any new ground here. Crowder peas, however, may take some eaters by surprise this unconventional setting. Since they usually show up in straightforward company, simmered with onions, maybe a hunk of cornbread nearby, seeing them in more composed recipes could turn some heads. Lack of mainstream recognition further limits their range, unfairly, if you ask me. Anything white beans can do, the humble field pea can do, too.

Fully validated by the success of this experiment inspired by word play, Crowder Chowder is exactly the sort of recipe that makes a terrible pun feel justified. The name might make you roll your eyes at first, but one spoonful quickly changes the tone of the conversation. Sometimes the best ideas just sound silly on paper.

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Pea’s A Crowd

Staring down the bag labeled blandly as “field peas,” culled from the brightly lit grocery store shelf, I knew there was more to the story. Encompassing dozens of different legumes, field peas are a catch-all term for any Southern bean grown amongst the crops, as opposed to the home garden. That means you could grab a package of so-called field peas and find black-eye peas, lady peas, cream peas, purple hull peas, or zipper peas staring back at you, all under the same label.

This particular bundle was different though, which is why it caught my eye. Tiny as grains of uncooked brown rice, unlike any bean I had cooked before, I decided to buy first, ask questions later. Only after exhaustive research could I give my new prize a more accurate name: Crowder Peas.

What Exactly Are Crowder Peas?

As part of the field pea family, also known as cowpeas or Southern peas, crowder peas hail from Africa, brought to the US along with enslaved peoples. Through their skilled hands, agriculture thrived, using these heirloom beans to add nitrogen to the soil, enduring through extreme heat and drought alike.

Crowder peas come by their name quite literally, each pod being “crowded” with many peas as they grow. There are many varieties of crowder peas, too, including Mississippi Silver, Dixie Lee, Cream Peas, Zipper Peas, and more; some are rounded while others are fairly flat, varying from brown to white but shades may vary. If you’re looking for a single definitive example of the legume, you’re going to be disappointed. Harvested in the late summer, you’re unlikely to find them fresh, unless you live within a few miles of where they’re grown. More likely than not, you’ll find them dried year round, and occasionally canned.

Crowder Peas: Always In Good Taste

The mysterious crowder peas that I purchased reminded me visually of tiny tepary beans; dark, firm, and robust. They’re a bean-lover’s bean, loud and proud, earthy, starchy, sometimes nutty, and always savory. Where black-eyed peas can taste bright and grassy, crowders are deeper and more grounded. The rounder varieties may be a bit creamier, but all are built to withstand long stews and braises. That potlikker is a prize all by itself, slightly thickened and dark as red wine. Traditionally seasoned with a simple array of onions, garlic, paprika, and often ham, you’d be crazy to think about draining it away.

Crowder Pea Nutrition? Bean There, Done That

Between you and me, I wish we could skip the section on nutrition for these bean deep-dives because they’re all starting to read the same. Unsurprisingly, they’re high in protein and fiber, B vitamins, folate, magnesium, and iron. Spoiler alert: there is no such thing as an unhealthy legume. Next!

Cooking Crowder Peas

Dried crowder peas are a pantry gift, especially in cooler months when fresh produce feels scarce. Soaking them for several hours, or overnight, shortens the cooking time and encourages even tenderness, though it’s not strictly required.

  • Stove Top: If soaked in advance, crowder peas take about 1 – 1 1/2 hours to cook, covered by at least 1 inch of water and gently simmered. Check on the water level and add more if too much evaporates during the process. If unsoaked, it can take closer to 2 hours on the heat.
  • Pressure Cooker: This is my method of choice because it requires no soaking and is still done in less time. Cover crowder peas with at least 2 inches of water and cook on high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow the pressure to release naturally.

Only after cooking should you add salt. Drain or enjoy along with the potlikker, as is most traditional. Note that those who sometimes have trouble digesting beans would be better served to drain the liquid, which contains a considerable amount of the oligosaccharides (raffinose and stachyose) responsible.

Crowd-Sourcing Serving Suggestions

Crowder peas would be out of place on a complex plate. They’re at their best when seasoned simply, nestled besides humble staples like stewed greens, rice, mashed potatoes, cornbread, or even plain old buttered white bread. Made for big pots, long simmers, and recipes designed to stretch across days, they’re deeply rooted in Southern culture, especially in rural and agricultural communities where field peas were a staple crop. A few traditional uses include:

  • Field Peas & Snaps: Contrary to the modern interpretation that employs green beans, “snaps” refers to the whole pea pods that are too tender to shell, simply snapped in half and cooked together with the peas.
  • Hoppin’ John: While black-eyed peas have become the favored bean for this fortuitous dish, older recipes made no qualms about using whatever field pea was at your disposal. The beans are meant to represent coins, paired with the greens for money, coalescing into a blessing for wealth in the New Year. That wouldn’t change whether your beans had black eyes or not.
  • Chilled Summer Salad: Be it a picnic or potluck, the humble crowder pea will serve you well. Since they hold their shape after cooking, they’re prime candidates for the salad treatment, often tossed in a mustardy vinaigrette with tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, and more.

For more inspiration, look to the ever-popular black-eyed pea. It’s the most common field pea on the market, leading to a great wealth of recipe ideas. From soup and chili to more modern veggie burgers, meatless loaves, and stuffed peppers, there’s almost no preparation that wouldn’t welcome a swap. Crowder peas can step in seamlessly, bringing a slightly creamier texture and deeper, earthier flavor to the same familiar formats.

Playing the Field

Given that I don’t have access to fresh crowder peas and can only dream of snapping their delicate little pods in two, I did have to resort to using garden-variety green beans to make my own version of field peas and snaps. On the bright side, this approach is much less labor-intensive, since you can buy bags of cut green beans ready to go. Since we’re not prisoners of tradition here, I have no qualms swapping out the conventional bacon or ham hock for the one-two punch of mushrooms and liquid smoke. Meat was always meant to be the seasoning, not the focal point, in any event.

Between the onions and garlic, you’ve got a classic starter pack for “what smell’s so good in here?” before the umami mushrooms even enter the picture. The crowder peas, ever reliable, stay creamy at the center yet intact, thickening the broth ever so slightly as they simmer. Served with liquid and all, nothing goes to waste, especially the leftovers.


Join The Crowd

Crowder peas may not have the name recognition of their fellow field pea cousins, but that only means there’s more room on the table for discovery. Sturdy, soulful, and reliably versatile, they’re equally at home in a Southern stew or a weeknight plant meat remix. If anything, their underdog status works in your favor; they arrive without expectations and leave with converts. Next time you see that vague little bag labeled “field peas,” don’t walk past it. There’s a whole new crowd worth getting to know.

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Wordless Wednesday: Raise a Glass

Dripping Springs Vodka – Blackberry Smash
High Road DelicaTexan – Hot and Iced Chai
High Road DelicaTexan – Matcha Martini + Coconut Horchata
Jackalope South Shore – Cosmo
Jackalope South Shore – Espresso Martini & Cosmo
Jackalope South Shore – French 75 Wall
Kanji Ramen – Yuzu Whiskey Sour
Nori – Lavender Gin & Tonic
Nori – Pink Flamingo
Pinthouse Pizza – Beer

Spirit of Texas BrewstilleryOld Fashioned

Swim Club – French 75
The Dead Rabbit – Cherry in the Barrel
The Dead Rabbit – Doctors Orders
The Dead Rabbit – Taking Liberties

Global Grab-and-Go

Life has never moved at a faster pace, seeming to accelerate with every passing year. Who has the time for work-life balance when there aren’t even enough hours in the day to get three square meals on the table? The world isn’t about to slow down, but culinary traditions across the globe have found a way to adapt. Every locale has their own legacy of quick-fix street foods, providing energy, comfort, novelty, and nutrition, right in the palm of your hand.

Suya, a fiery Nigerian snack, delivers smoky, spiced “meat” on skewers with bold, addictive flavor.

Pupusas from El Salvador offer thick corn cakes, hiding gooey cheese and creamy refried beans within.

In Japan, onigiri are simple rice balls, plain or filled with anything your heart desires, always with a touch of umami.

Pita pockets become the compact vessels for arayes, a Levantine favorite, stuffed with a spiced, meaty filling and grilled until crisp and juicy.

Jewish tradition hailing primarily from NYC brings us the beloved potato pastries, knishes, which can also conceal myriad flavor variations within.

Pinsa Romana, though it looks and sounds like pizza, is a unique flatbread sensation all its own; airy, crisp, and chewy, made from ancient grains and a clever no-knead base.

No forks, knives, or spoons about it. These handheld savory sensations meet you where you are, on the road, packing for a picnic, or running to your next meeting.

Get all these recipes inside the latest issue of Vegan Journal, in print or online.

Ambrosial Addendum

My favorite thing about food is that it’s a vehicle for stories. Yes, it’s nourishing and tastes good, if you’re skilled or lucky or wealthy enough. Those qualities, though, aren’t special. My favorite foods are the stuff of memories, my own and others, of historical or personal importance. Having a deeper connection to the people that made it is the secret spice that makes flavors bloom more vibrantly than a whole quart of MSG. I’d trade all my quick fix recipes just to have more stories.

Every time I feel compelled to dive back into the past, through fading photos or slides illuminated from the Kodaslide‘s unearthly glow, I’m digging just beyond the margins. Living inside each frame. Hunting for something I’ve missed, as if just looking harder, more intensely, will reveal Waldo right in the middle of the page. Sometimes it’s easier to discover, though harder to decipher.

The subject of one holiday snapshot, I recognize my beautiful 20-year-old Grandmother immediately, beaming over a table of desserts. Delicate glasses filled with an undefined, nebulous substance preside over every formal place setting. For weeks, maybe months, the image haunted me; I had no idea what that dish was. I was missing a story.

Great debates with other family members followed. At first, I thought maybe it was sorbet, as my Grandfather was so fond of making, but I swear it seemed to have more texture. Is it a pudding, a parfait? I’m not at all convinced I have the answer, but I’ve decided to create my own addendum to this story. If you ask me, I think it’s ambrosia. Wildly popular in the early to mid-1900s, especially for the winter holidays, I can see it being all the rage around the time of the photo.

Writing my own post-script, I’m making ambrosia in my own modern kitchen, hoping that I might have more stories to pass down, too. In this rendition, I’ve taken the sweetness down a notch by tempering it with an invigorating triple hit of citrus. Mandarin orange segments are traditional, easily augmented with candied lemon peels and a final flourish of fresh lime zest.

I could write a whole dissertation about what could qualify as ambrosia (most creamy fruit salads) and the crimes against humanity some commit (including mayonnaise), but I’d rather tell one story at a time. I don’t worry about running out of ingredients or inspiration. I do worry about running out of stories. Hopefully this one might be the beginning of another for someone else.

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Wordless Wednesday: Meat of the Matter

Jumbo Calzones
Hot Sausage Pasta Salad
Cauliflower Fettuccine Alfredo
Baba Ghanoush Pasta
Summer Squash Ceviche with Warm Tortillas
Stovetop Spinach Artichoke Dip
Sloppy Joe Sweet Potatoes
Tater Tot Shepherd’s Pie
Sesame Snow Pea Stir Fry
Tofuballs
Meaty Lentil Chorizo Tacos

Recipe testing for The 29-Minute Vegan: Real Food, Real Vibes, Anytime by Isa Chandra Moskowitz

(As it goes with recipe testing, not all of these made the final cut. You’ll have to check out the cookbook for yourself to see the winners!)