Stamppot Snijbonen with Opa
Text and photos by Annemarie van Dijk
Pickled snijbonen, or flat beans, are boiled and mashed with potatoes and served with smoked sausage and bacon. In my family, we ate it with smoked sausage, dried sausage, pickles and butter.
For as long as I can remember, New Year’s Day was about one thing: eating stamppot snijbonen at my Opa’s (the Dutch word for ‘grandpa’). Every year, he would put on his apron and boil and mash potatoes with pickled flat beans. This year was the first year New Year’s Day I had stamppot snijbonen without him. In January of 2021, he contracted coronavirus and passed away just two weeks after New Year’s.
Growing up as an only child, I was best friends with my Opa. He would take me to my toddlers gym class, the only man and grandparent between the moms. As I got older, on the days both of my parents worked, he would pick me up from school, install me in front of the TV and serve me all the extravagant sandwich ideas I came up with.
As I think of him, I realize how many of my memories of him are food-related. My grandfather did not grow up cooking. That was the job of his mother, and later my grandmother. After my grandmother died, he did learn to cook. He was never a great chef, but he had a few good dishes.
The stamppot snijbonen was one of them. The pickled snijbonen, or flat beans, are boiled and mashed with potatoes and served with smoked sausage and bacon. In my family, we ate it with smoked sausage, dried sausage, pickles and butter.
Traditionally, the snijbonen were pickled in salt to preserve them after the last harvest. On the first day of the new year, the barrel with the pickled snijbonen was opened.
Like me, my grandfather grew up eating stamppot snijbonen on New Year’s Day. Because we were the only family I knew who ate stamppot snijbonen, I always assumed it was a family tradition. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I learned in Groningen, the most northern province of the Netherlands, it’s an old tradition.
Groningen is a rural province with a lot of farmers. Traditionally, the snijbonen were pickled in salt to preserve them after the last harvest. On the first day of the new year, the barrel with the pickled snijbonen was opened. Writing this piece got me wondering: were we the only family eating stamppot snijbonen on New Year’s Day?
I started asking around. Most of my friends, people in their twenties and thirties, had never heard of the dish, let alone the tradition. My mother had a bit more success when asking people of her generation: A few people did know stamppot snijbonen and some remembered eating the dish on January 1 as children, but none of them still honored the tradition.
I decided to ask historian Sanne Meijer, who specializes in the history of Groningen. She told me that until a few years ago, she only knew the tradition from reading about it in books. But with her current partner, she always goes to his grandparents’ house on New Year’s Day to eat stamppot snijbonen. And when visiting his grandparents wasn’t possible because of corona, they went to her mother-in-law’s, who made the stamppot instead.
Meijer interacts a lot with rural communities in Groningen. She told me that, while not many, there are still people who eat stamppot snijbonen on New Year’s Day, and that side dishes can differ locally. In the north of Groningen, for instance, the stamppot is eaten with a hard-boiled egg instead of sausage. When I called my friend’s grandfather, who did know stamppot snijbonen, he told me that he used to eat it with a sour herring, but not on New Year’s.
While there are still people upholding the tradition of eating stamppot snijbonen on New Year’s Day, their numbers are unfortunately declining. Very few people in my generation know the dish, let alone eat it on January 1. Which is sad, not only because of the disappearance of cultural heritage, but also because it is the perfect meal to combat your New Year’s Eve hangover.
As I think of my Opa, I realize how many of my memories of him are food-related.
After my grandfather entered his nineties, my father took over the responsibility of making the stamppot snijbonen. My grandfather was, of course, present for dinner, jokingly criticizing his son-in-law’s cooking. This is how it went last year. Little did I know that it would be the last meal we shared together.
A week later, he became infected with coronavirus and passed away within the week. Months later, I opened my freezer and found the stamppot snijbonen leftovers my father had packed me after New Year’s. I heated them up and ate them alone on my couch, thinking about my Opa.
This New Year’s Day, I went to my parents’ house. My father had prepared the stamppot snijbonen. Everything was the same as in recent years, except for the empty seat next to me. Dealing with his loss in the time of corona is difficult. We did not have a funeral and therefore no real closure. But it is good to know that we have this culinary monument for him. Every year on January 1, with stamppot in our stomachs and Opa in our hearts.
