thoughts on florida and a fava bean salad

it's a weird mix, but it's a weird state, so here we are

Hello dear reader,

This probably isn’t what you expected from my little food newsletter, but here we are. I’ve got this weird kinda-sorta platform, and I’d really be turning my back on most things I believe in if I didn’t use it to say something meaningful beyond “There should always be sour cream in your fridge!” (Although that is also meaningful, and there should be.)

If you just want the recipe, you can, of course, skip all this. But, if you’ve got a little bit of time, I’d love it if you spent it here and didn’t ignore some very, very scary stuff.

As most of you know, I live in San Francisco. But if you’ve been paying close attention, you’ll know I was born and raised in Hollywood, Florida. (The audience gasps.) And what you might not know is that Florida has passed some of the most violent, deadly, hateful legislation directly targeting the lives and livelihood of trans and queer people in the state.

I know that I’m prone to hyperbole, but in this case, I’m simply stating plain truths—that’s just literally what’s happening. Here’s one example. And another. And one more.

I’m not trans. And although my gender expression certainly falls outside of what most people might term “manly” on the books, by and large, for the most part, these laws don’t impact me. And yet, they do. There are trans people I love in Florida. There are trans people I love who will go to Florida, who want to go to Florida, and they deserve to feel safe and protected there.

For the first time in a long time, for the first time since these laws have passed, I went back to Florida. And for the first time, I was afraid to go.

For as long as I can remember, my finger and toenails have been painted when I’ve gone home (when I’ve been anywhere, for that matter). For the last three years, my hair’s been big and long and blonde. Two Christmases ago, my sister and I put on some glitter, and I wore a velvet blouse to mass. And, because of my own privilege and also because I sometimes have blind hope and optimism in the world, I’ve always felt safe.

Even though I’ve been harassed by a police officer there, I’ve always felt safe. Even though someone driving by me in a car rolled down their window and yelled faggot at me there, I’ve always felt safe. Even though someone called me a cocksucker and got physical with me my freshmen year of college there, I’ve still, somehow, for the most part, always felt safe.

This is the first time I’ve gone home and didn’t feel safe.

My nail polish, my hair, the glitter, the way I speak and move and dress—all of them flag to other people certain things about who or what, or how I am. And yes, certainly, the nail polish and the clothes are choices—I thought about making different choices on this trip home, but I shouldn’t have had to. No one should have to think or worry for one second that the way they exist in the world is somehow grounds to be on the receiving end of violence or harassment from people who think they can make inferences about other people just by looking at them.

And make no mistake, that’s exactly what these kinds of laws are going to do. It’s what they’re already doing. They’re giving permission to bigots to be bolder in their bigotry. When a state says it doesn’t believe a group of people has the right to exist, it gives permission to hateful people to take matters into their own hands.

I am not so worried, yet, about my ability to just exist in Florida, although I am afraid. What I am worried about are the trans people who live there, who will travel through there, who have yet to be born there, and the trans children there who cannot make a decision as easy as I can to take off nail polish or stay away. My concerns, my fears of the perceived threats I may or may not face, are inconsequential to the reality trans people in Florida are up against.

But it is no mistake that we’ve gotten here. Ron Desantis has been trying to rid Florida of queer and trans people for years. Again, not hyperbole. Just look at this bill. And this. And this too.

I don’t want to rehash well-told news; if you are unaware of what these bills and their recent expansion have done, you can read more here.

As anyone in my family will tell you, I was, and have always, seemed, been, appeared, and acted This Gay. Long before I ever set foot on a college campus, my dad would pick me up from daycare and find me running around in princess dresses. I was asking for highlights and putting on makeup a decade before I ever had a teacher tell me they were gay. My parents found a fashion magazine with naked boys in it tucked under my bed years before I took my first DEI workshop. Nothing about my college experience or any educational experience before or after “groomed” me to be gay. Humanities classes, DEI workshops, visibly queer professors and administrators—they kept me alive. They made me strong and proud and brave. To believe anything else is to be willfully ignorant of the truth.

It’s with no hesitation that I say, were these bills and laws in place when I was in school in Florida, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. My life wouldn’t look like it does. The Garrett that is here wouldn’t exist—and here’s proof:

My freshmen year of college, I took a writing class with a queer professor. They talked about being queer, they wrote about being queer, and they encouraged me to, you guessed it, talk and write about being queer. And so I did. (Also, as a side note, plenty of not-queer students in that class also learned a lot and didn’t spontaneously combust because they knew their teacher was gay!)

In that class, I wrote an essay called “The Only Thing I Need to Be is Myself” (yes, I have always been dramatic), and guess what? Florida State University’s writing program thought it was so good they put it in the school’s writing textbook the very next year! It was my first piece of published writing. It’s what made me believe I could be a writer—that I had stories worth telling and that people would listen. And under current Florida law (Senate Bill 266, to be exact), because my story was about being gay, my school wouldn’t be allowed to include it today. My professor wouldn’t be allowed to teach the way they did. My entire college experience, which shaped and changed me in so many positive ways, would be different. And so would I.

I’ve always been a staunch defender of the batshit crazy place that is Florida. I’ve always said no one is allowed to talk badly about it unless you’ve lived there. For every wild Florida Man story, there are a hundred more irreplaceable warm summer nights with friends. For every coo coo bananas spring breaker, there’s a sunset or a manatee or a big ol’ cloud you just can’t find anywhere else. There’s the best Cuban food around and farm stands selling the sweetest watermelon you’ve ever had, and sure, the humidity might be off the charts, but some of the best beaches and the highest concentration of people I care about in the world are there too. When it comes down to it, I love Florida. I just wish Florida loved me back.

Florida is full of magical people, and they deserve a state that loves them back.

I survived my trip back to Florida. I don’t think I’m making up that I got more sideways looks than I’ve ever gotten when I’ve been home before, but I made it. And for now, a judge has blocked a bill that bans care for trans kids. But there’s still so much more to do. Every trans and queer person in Florida deserves to feel safe and loved and at home. They deserve to receive care, learn about their history, and see themselves reflected in school. If you can, I think this is a great place to donate to this Pride. Or pick your favorite LGBTQ+ cause and throw some money that way. Call a friend in Florida and check in on them. Call someone who might disagree with all this and see if you might change their mind. If you disagree with this, feel free to respond—we can chat. I mean that in the sweetest, most open way. I’ve got the time, and I really believe a conversation might be able to make a difference.

After filming the show, I got this email, which made me smile and made me cry (in a good way). Maybe I’m the first gay person you’ve ever rooted for. Hopefully, I’m not, but maybe I am. Either way, there are so many gay and queer, and trans people you should root for. You should be rooting for all of us, actually, and today’s a great day to start.

The problem isn’t just Florida. What’s happening, there is happening in other places too. And it just feels like time we all said enough is enough. Make the fava bean salad, or don’t. But definitely, please, no matter what you do—stand up for queer and trans people now, today. No recipe needed.

fava bean salad: ingredients

If you thought that was long, just wait until you have to prep fava beans—THAT is long. If you don’t want to do all the work, you can maybe find them in the freezer section already peeled. If you can’t, you can sub edamame. Just buy the shelled frozen kind. You can also use lima beans, but they would be my second choice.

It’s close to the end of fava bean season, so you’ll need to work fast if you hope to find fresh ones. Again, they’re a lot of work, but I think they’re really, really worth it. They’ve got this fun, meaty, nutty, buttery flavor. I love them! And like lots of things I love, they’re a real piece of work.

• 2 cups fava beans, shelled and shelled again (I’ll explain): To get 2 cups of beans, I’ve found I need about 2-2.5lbs of whole beans—but to make it all worth it, you really do need two cups!

• 2 bunches asparagus: for this salad, I like them on the thicker side

• 1 bunch parsley: flat leaf, not curly

• zest and juice of two lemons: it’s zippy!

• 3 cloves garlic, grated: it’s zippy!

• 2 tsps nutmeg: I freshly grated mine, but you can use ground—don’t skip it, this is the secret ingredient!

• 1/4 cup olive oil: the good stuff! (or not, whatever)

• 1.5 tsps kosher salt: diamond crystal (or another kind, but start off with less if you’re using another kind)

• a lot of fresh ground black pepper! you know I don’t measure pepper

fava bean salad: method

First, set a large pot of very salted water to boil and make an ice bath in a separate bowl (we’re blanching, baby!)

While the water comes to a boil, get to work getting the fava beans out of the pod. You’ll notice they have a skin around the individual beans. That will come off, too, but after the blanching. Yes, it’s a lot of work!

After the beans are shelled, chop the asparagus into 1-inch pieces. I do this on the bias, but you can also do it straight across. Up to you.

Next, blanch your asparagus. Drop them into the boiling water and cook for two minutes. Using a spider or slotted spoon, scoop them out and then directly into the ice bath. After about a minute in the ice bath, scoop them out and place them in a large bowl (the one your salad will come together in), and set aside.

Repeat the process with the fava beans, only you’ll want to put them in a separate bowl because now it’s time to remove their second skin. Sounds gross! It isn’t, it just takes a while to do. Here’s a fava bean tutorial if you need further instruction. But discard the skins and place the cute little beans in the bowl with the asparagus.

After that’s done, rough chop the parsley (stems and all!) and add it to the bowl with the asparagus and the beans.

Next, grate in 3 cloves of garlic, the zest of two lemons, and 2 tsps of nutmeg. Add the oil, salt, pepper, and juice of one lemon (to start, you might need the second!), and mix well.

Taste it! Adjust seasoning as necessary, and enjoy, baby!

Love ya,

Garrett