I’m writing from my favorite sushi spot which, as luck would have it, is just a few blocks from my apartment. I worked my CSA shift tonight and, despite having just picked up two bags’ worth of glorious fruits and vegetables, hunger compelled me to stop off for some chirashi. The fish was great, as always, but the steamed edamame that came on my platter seemed like a sad afterthought.

This reminded me that I’d been meaning to post about grilled edamame. When last in Baltimore, I dined at a swanky Japanese restaurant with an exceptional happy hour. Edamame were a mere $1.88, so I figured I’d order some to soak up the mystery punch I was drinking. (When in doubt, order the punch.) The edamame that arrived were a revelation. After some liberal sampling, I hazarded that grilling was the key.

As luck would have it, a few days later, I found myself in a beach house with a grill…

Grilled Edamame

As with so many good recipes, this one starts with a cocktail or two. I leave that part up to you and your bartender of choice. Once everyone is good and liquored up, determine that someone should do something about dinner.

Oh wait, that someone is you.

Fortunately, you threw those t-bones in a bowl with a little olive oil, salt, pepper, and a whole mess of garlic before you left for the beach this morning. But there are skewers to be soaked, vegetables to be cut, and shit, you’re almost out of olive oil. Dispatch one of your housemates to a neighboring rental house to scavenge.

In the meantime, pull the bag of edamame in their shells out of the freezer and toss them with whatever oil you have left, some black pepper, and that strange pre-mixed rib rub that seems to come with every beach house. You could defrost the edamame. You could make your own seasoning mix. But this is vacation cooking.

Fire up the grill, taking care not to do the same to your caftan. Noting the charred remains of asparagus, onions, and peppers that slipped through the cracks during previous evenings’ grilling adventures, retrieve the top portion of the broiler pan from the oven and stick it on the grill. When the grill is good and hot, spread the edamame across your makeshift vegetable basket, shut the lid, and sear away.

Discover that your housemate has returned from his mission with olive oil and a stockpile of wine that the folks in the other house didn’t think they could finish before their checkout tomorrow. Don’t mind if you do.

Open the grill and push your edamame around to get an even distribution of tasty charred bits. Note that the grill has mysteriously turned itself off. After attempting to relight the grill, conclude that you’ve run out of propane. Shut the grill and cross your fingers that the carryover heat will be adequate to finish these babies because, now that you think of it, you’re rather peckish.

Contemplate broiling the steaks in the oven. Discard that idea once it’s determined that another housemate is a couple of cocktails behind and can still drive to the big grocery store to exchange the propane tank. Pour yourself another glass of wine and check on the edamame. Lo and behold they are done. And they are good.