If You Can’t Cook a Proper Bean Soup, Don’t Dream of a Marquisate | Grandma Kouzi

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I. The Ennobling Bean Porridge

In a previous article, I mentioned coarse wheat grain, and this time I shall turn to bean soup. These two everyday dishes are steeped in significance; preparing them properly requires a well-ordered kitchen, a tended hearth, and a serious approach. In the Tang dynasty, Yan Shigu’s commentary on Shiyou’s Western Han work *Quick Reference* notes: “*Mai fan* is produced by steaming wheat that has been ground while still retaining its husk. *Gan dou geng* is made by boiling small beans with the water used for washing rice. Alternatively, it is described as a soup made solely from small beans, seasoned with neither vinegar nor sauce; its flavour is purely sweet, hence the name. Both coarse wheat grain and bean soup were merely the fare of rural folk and peasants.” Whether referred to as bean soup or sweet bean soup, and whether simmered in rice-washing water or plain water, my take is that at its core, it is simply a pot of bean porridge.

The pairing of coarse wheat grain and bean soup has spawned countless tales. The *Book of Later Han*’s biography of Feng Yi records: “When Wang Lang rose in rebellion, Emperor Guangwu fled southeastwards from Ji, camping in the open day and night until reaching Wulou Pavilion in Raoyang. The cold was severe, and the troops were famished and weary. Feng Yi served them bean porridge. The next morning, Guangwu told his generals, ‘Yesterday, thanks to the bean porridge provided by Gongsun, both hunger and cold were relieved.’ Arriving at Nangong, they were caught in a ferocious storm. Guangwu drew his carriage into an empty building by the road. Feng Yi gathered firewood, Deng Yu lit the fire, and Guangwu stood at the stove to dry his clothes. Feng Yi then served coarse wheat grain with rabbit shoulders. They then crossed the Hutuo River to Xindu, where Guangwu ordered Feng Yi to separately recruit troops from Hejian. Upon returning, Feng Yi was appointed Vice General. For his part in defeating Wang Lang, he was enfeoffed as Marquis of Ying.”

One can only imagine how dire their situation had become, with generals Feng Yi and Deng Yu reduced to gathering firewood and tending the flames while Liu Xiu and his retinue took refuge in a dilapidated shelter. Had Feng Yi not promptly served up that bean porridge and coarse wheat grain, the course of history might well have been altered; there would have been no Emperor Guangwu to come.

●Portrait of Feng Yi from the Qing dynasty’s *Romance of the Eastern Han: Commentary*.
Alas, there was no Foodthink back then; otherwise, it would surely have offered a more thorough analysis of the key “characters” that appear in the Biography of Feng Yi: bean porridge and wheat rice. Then again, backstreet news has existed in every dynasty. Men venture thousands of miles to win a marquis’s title. Once Feng Yi secured his rank, a flurry of unofficial rumours swept through the land, stirring up winds and clouds:

“Pay attention, villagers: Choosing the right early shares and backing a startup CEO are certainly vital. Yet tens of thousands followed the emperor, and success never hinged merely on picking the right boss… You must also know your way around bean porridge and wheat rice, able to source ingredients and cook wherever you go. This keeps you alive and going strong, but more importantly, it helps your children stand out among their peers…” The history of eating lingers between pots and hearths, its fragrance echoing through the millennia.

II. While Bean Porridge is a Treat, Beware of Phytic Acid

I’m a great lover of bean porridge, particularly mixed-bean porridge, which I always keep in stock at home. And I don’t just mean the raw ingredients for cooking it—I mean ready-to-eat, pre-made portions. When I prepare bean porridge, I use well over a dozen varieties of beans alone: black beans, yellow beans, lablab beans, peas, chickpeas, red beans, mung beans, speckled beans, white beans, and zhuangyuan beans. The grains I rely on regularly include wheat berries, wheat kernels, buckwheat, maize, millet, sorghum, and various brown rices, such as red, black, indica, and glutinous varieties…

“Why so many different beans?” I suspect that’s hardly a question. Anyone worth their salt knows that the wider the variety, the more rounded the nutrition. Just take the beans I use: black beans alone come in green-kerneled and yellow-kerneled strains, while lablab beans are divided into brown and Hainan white varieties…

● This is a staged shot. If you’re curious about the variety of wholegrains at the homestead, you can also refer to my earlier article, “Amid the Cooking Oil Crisis, Do We Really Need to Use So Much Oil?”, which features my wholegrain storage cupboard.

Choosing the right beans is only half the battle; you also need to know how to prepare them. Naturally, having such a dazzling array of beans is incredibly nourishing, but if you were to simply tip a basin of these “jewels” straight into a pot and boil them, you’d be swallowing anti-nutrients alongside the goodness—namely, phytic acid.

Phytic acid (phytic acid), also known as inositol hexaphosphate, is the way plants store phosphorus, with each molecule holding six phosphate groups. If you’ve cracked a smile by now thinking, “Fantastic! It’s loaded with phosphorus, so eating it is exactly what we need to boost our trace minerals,” then congratulations—you’ve missed the mark.

● Molecular formula of phytic acid. Image source: Wikipedia
Humans sit at the top of the food chain, dining on almost anything that comes to hand, with little distinction between flora and fauna. Yet neither evolved to be human sustenance. Their fundamental drive is survival and reproduction. To ensure they pass on their lineage before being consumed, animals take flight or flee, whereas plants must rely on passive defences. Their primary physical armour consists of husks and shells; indeed, every grain, legume and nut is wrapped in a protective layer. Phytic acid, meanwhile, is the chemical deterrent plants have evolved to avoid being eaten. Modern science puts it thus: “Phytic acid chelates trace minerals and proteins, rendering these nutrients poorly absorbable by the gut.” Put plainly: knowing their physical armour is only so effective, plants always carry a chemical arsenal.

“With six negatively charged phosphate groups, phytic acid exhibits a potent chelating affinity for proteins and minerals; for instance, inositolcalcium magnesium hexaphosphate (phytin) binds tightly to calcium and magnesium…” Translating this into everyday parlance: once swallowed, phytic acid and its six phosphate groups charge in with suicidal bravado, specialising in mutual destruction. Calcium, magnesium, iron and zinc are vital nutrients for the body, but the moment phytic acid clings to them and converts them into calcium, magnesium, iron and zinc phosphates, the equation changes entirely.

At best, these compounds are excreted, leaving you with a nutritionally futile meal, and the lingering consequence of dietary deficits. At worst, these phosphates take up residence within the body; clump together, and they can precipitate into stones. Phytic acid’s rallying cry might as well be: “Step right up—let’s hurt each other.”

Phytic acid is most concentrated in the outer layers of cereals, such as rice bran, while in legumes it resides primarily in the cotyledons—the bean halves themselves. Modern analysis confirms that plant-based staples like grains, legumes and nuts are all rich in phytic acid. Reading this, I can hardly help but slump to the kitchen floor in despair; these are precisely the foods I adore.

III. The Art of Porridge Making

As a meat-free food lover, beans are practically my staple. But is it possible to enjoy them without ingesting their phytic acid? After some careful research, I concluded: it is. Preparing bean congee this way is one such method.

I always soak my beans for 48 hours beforehand, allowing them to sprout and convert the phytic acid.

Science confirms that both sprouting and fermentation effectively break down phytic acid. Once a plant initiates sprouting, it perceives the survival threat as passed and shifts into reproductive mode. The chemical defences it once stockpiled are no longer required, so it promptly repurposes them right there into nourishing compounds.

That said, a quick note: fermentation, not sprouting, is actually the most effective way to neutralise phytic acid. Sprouting can break down around sixty per cent of it, whereas fermentation can tackle up to ninety per cent. Strictly speaking, if phytic acid reduction is the sole aim, fermentation wins. However, turning rice into sweet fermented rice or koji, or transforming beans into natto or tempeh, is rather fiddly and offers no guarantee of success. Cooking congee, on the other hand, is accessible to everyone and foolproof.

● A touch of sprouting: the perfect moment to start the congee.

I typically change the soaking water every few hours. During the height of summer, I’ll chuck the whole basin into the fridge by midday to stop the beans from turning sour. In truth, you don’t strictly need to soak them for a full 48 hours; 24 hours is perfectly adequate, as the sprouting process will already be underway.

The rice, however, must be soaked separately; under no circumstances should you combine them for the sake of convenience. When it comes to cooking the congee, the process also splits into two stages. First, pre-boil the beans. Legumes contain several compounds we’d rather leave behind, not just phytic acid but purines too. Purines are water-soluble, particularly in hot water, so a good pre-boil is well worth it.

Ten minutes after the water comes to the boil, add your soaked rice. If you’re using fresh rice, switch off the heat, let it sit for two minutes, then drain the hot water. For older rice, simmer everything together for a couple of minutes before draining. That rush of water washes away not only the phytic acid and purines, but also the tannic bite of brown rice and the stale flatness of older harvests. It’s a highly effective technique for stripping out antinutrients from cereals.

With the beans now soaked, sprouted, pre-boiled and drained, the congee is ready for its proper simmer.

I cook mine in a large electric rice cooker, filling it to the brim. Some might worry about it bubbling over. Pop a steamer insert on top, though, and the spillage is contained. I won’t bore you with the physics behind it.

A pot that large is unlikely to be finished by ten people in one sitting. No worries at all: simply freeze what’s left.

Naysayers might claim that freezing and reheating ruins the flavour, but hundreds of kitchen trials prove otherwise: for bean congee, it actually works beautifully. A microwave preserves the original taste most faithfully, though I prefer to bring fresh water to a boil in a small saucepan, add the thawed congee, and simmer gently for five minutes. The texture remains remarkably close to fresh. You can even get inventive: simmer it with oats for a hearty oat-and-bean porridge, or tuck in a few hibiscus blossoms for a fragrant, velvety finish. Word on the street has long held that all roads lead to distinction; it merely depends on your willingness to put in the work. Dedicate some time to mastering humble porridges and bean soups, and even if you don’t stumble upon the same legendary fortune as the historical general Feng Yi, you’ll at least be eating well and nourishing your body. Sound fair?

While we’re on the subject of freezing, let me share one more tip. This batch of frozen congee (and please pay attention to that word: frozen) does more than strip out antinutrients; it transforms the so-called ‘weight-gain culprit’ (starch) into a ‘slimming ally’ (resistant starch).

Borrowing the definition straight from the pricey diet supplement ads: “Stored below 4°C… the starch retrogrades. Molecular chains curl, dehydrate and contract, reducing their surface area exposed to amylase and thereby slowing digestion…” Put simply: if men spend their lives chasing distinction, women spend theirs chasing a slimmer figure. The good news is that any cooked carbohydrate you love but fear will make you pile on the pounds—be it congee, steamed buns, or rice—will develop resistant starch if refrigerated or frozen for a day or more after cooking. And this change is irreversible. Reheating it will restore the original texture and flavour, but the resistant starch stays put.

Come to think of it, does that reheated bean congee, straight from the fridge, sound not just delicious, but rather endearing?

● A hearty Wicked Valley-style feast, centred around bean congee.

Foodthink Contributor
Kouzi
Long-distance walker and village brewer. Full-time food enthusiast, part-time farmer, and amateur writer.

 

 

 

Unless otherwise stated, all images are provided by the author.

Editor: Wang Hao

Published by Foodthink