It started with the shallots.
Too many. Too thin. Too loud in the oil.
The kind of frying that smells like guilt and makes the window fog up even when it’s not cold outside. I didn’t plan to cook Martha Stewart’s green bean casserole that day. I just wanted heat. Something in the oven, hissing. Something to answer back.
There was this sharp light in the kitchen. Late afternoon. Same light that came in the day I cracked the Dutch oven on the tile. Still use it. Still has the dent. Anyway—
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness goes full-on French onion fantasy with this one. A pound of mushrooms, whole milk, homemade sauce instead of canned soup — obviously. She calls for shallots sliced like silk and deep-fried until “crisp.” There’s butter, broth, and enough beans to feed the judgment of a New England holiday.
It’s elegant. Structured. Like she ironed the recipe before writing it down.
What I Did Differently (And Why I’m Not Sorry)
Didn’t have enough flour. Used cornstarch for the sauce part and hoped it would thicken. It did. Sort of.
Didn’t measure the milk, just poured until it stopped looking sad.
And I let the shallots go darker than she would’ve liked. They looked burnt. They tasted like honesty.
How It Actually Happened
Mae came in halfway through and said it smelled like “grandma’s bad Thanksgiving.” I laughed harder than I should’ve.
The oil snapped up my wrist while I was trying to separate the shallot rings — I dropped one, watched it curl and hiss like it knew it was doomed. Should’ve stopped. Didn’t.
The beans boiled longer than planned. The timer beeped and I ignored it. Too much noise. I think I was remembering the year we forgot the rolls and used sandwich bread instead. Nan called it “innovative.” She meant it wasn’t Martha.
When I stirred the mushrooms into the butter, it hit me — vanilla. Not in the pan. In the air. From the drawer. The bottle spilled last Christmas. It still smells like the year everything cracked.
The sauce came together right after that. Thick, mushroom-brown, steam rising like breath on a window. I dunked a green bean in before the bake. Burned my tongue. Kept going.
The first bake went too long. My fault. I was staring out the window at nothing in particular. Pulled it just as the top started to split. The second go was quieter. More careful. Less grief.
What I Learned
Don’t fry when your hands are shaking.
Cornstarch works. Not well. But well enough.
Shallots lie — they’re never as crisp as they look.
Letting it sit after baking makes it taste less like performance, more like memory.
What I Did With the Extras
Cold from the pan, standing up. Mae picked out the mushrooms. I didn’t argue.
Next morning I warmed a scoop in the microwave and ate it with a spoon I shouldn’t trust. Still tasted like comfort. Still loud on the edges.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah. But not for company. Only for the noise it makes when it hits the oven.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The oil smell faded. The dent in the Dutch oven didn’t.
I’ll make it again when I want to remember without saying anything out loud.
If you need something warmer, I did a leek thing last December that hit harder. burnt my thumb, but worth it.
FAQs
Yeah, but it loses its bark. texture gets soft, sauce separates a bit. still edible. just not proud.
Probably. but i’ve used bagged ones from the back of the fridge and nobody staged a protest.
Then don’t make this. or swap for leeks or caramelized onions and pretend. i won’t tell her highness.
Yes. or no. depends how loud you want it to taste. i burned mine and still liked it.
Absolutely. bake it, tuck it in the fridge, reheat when you’re ready. shallots go limp, but so do we all.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Cornbread
- Martha Stewart Cream Cheese Frosting
- Martha Stewart Eggplant Parmesan
- Martha Stewart Spaghetti Squash
Martha Stewart Green Bean Casserole
Description
Velvety, cracked, and loud — like a casserole with secrets.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Fry the shallots: Toss sliced shallots in flour until they look pale and scared, then lower into medium-hot oil. Work in batches. Fry about 5 minutes until they’re golden and loud. Drain on paper towels. Salt them like you mean it.
- Cook the beans: Boil a big pot of salted water. Drop in green beans and cook exactly 6 minutes (Her Highness says “crisp-tender”). Drain and rinse with cold water so they don’t sulk. Pat dry with whatever towel’s clean.
- Cook the mushrooms: Melt butter in a large pan over medium-high heat. Add mushrooms, cook until they give up their liquid and shrink, about 7 minutes. Salt, pepper, stare into the steam.
- Add flour and build the sauce: Stir in ¼ cup flour and cook one minute—just long enough to wonder if it’s burning. Gradually whisk in broth and milk. Bring to a simmer and cook 5 minutes, stirring here and there, until thick and steady. Taste. Adjust. Pretend it was on purpose.
- Assemble and bake: Add the beans into the sauce, mix until everything looks like a memory. Pour into a 9×13 dish. Scatter crispy shallots on top. Bake at 425°F for 15 minutes or until the edges bubble like a gossiping aunt.
- Eat warm: Or cold. It’s honest either way.