Twenty-five years ago, there was barely a
farmer in America who knew how to grow these things. Today they can’t get them in the ground
fast enough. Why? Hummus! OK! So let’s set the record straight:
This is a chickpea. This is a garbanzo. They’re the same thing! Now if you’ve seen this show you know that
I love to get to the bottom of a food’s name. So I talked to lots of chickpea experts: farmers,
breeders, agronomists. And no one could really explain why America
is the only English speaking country that uses the Spanish name, garbanzo. But I have a theory: Long before Americans were eating hummus,
long before we were growing chickpeas in a big way, we only knew them as a canned bean. And those canned beans... were coming from
Mexico. Chickpeas are packed with protein. They’re starchy and filling. So they became central to so many cuisines. India grows more chickpeas than the rest of
the world combined. You’ll find them in stews like chana masala. But the chickpea plant — one of the oldest
cultivated foods on earth — originated in the Middle East. From Egypt to Israel to Lebanon, you’ll
find chickpea dishes like falafel and hummus everywhere. In fact, the Arabic word for chickpeas is
“hummus.” When America’s own chickpea industry took
off in the 1990s, the crop was mostly sent abroad. But now domestic consumption has skyrocketed. Our lust for hummus — a plant-based, gluten-free,
vegan puree of chickpeas — means a lot more of the crop is being used right here at home. So I’m heading to the heart of chickpea
country, along the Washington-Idaho border where Sabra, America’s top hummus producer,
sources 100% of its chickpeas. They’re grown by a group of family farms
— all members of the Pacific Northwest Farmers Cooperative. This mesmerizingly beautiful place is called
the Palouse. Today it’s blanketed in farmland but it
was once all prairie grass. These were the hunter-gatherer lands of Native
Americans and their famous Appaloosa horses. Under Abraham Lincoln, the Homestead Act opened
up millions of acres of these hills to settlers. And by the 1920’s it was known as the wheat
basket of the world. The farmers here still grow lots of wheat;
but now they’re also a top source for chickpeas. Chickpeas require very little water -- that
makes them perfect for the dry lands of the Palouse. Farmers here don’t actually irrigate! They don’t need to: these soils are deep
and rich. They hold the water from the fall and winter,
and that sustains the chickpea plant until it’s time to harvest, when farmers actually
want the plant to dry out. But we’ll come back to that in a minute. Now, the chickpea is often called a bean. But like all beans, chickpeas are actually
seeds! They’re the seed of a legume plant. What’s a legume? That’s the family that includes lentils,
and soybeans, and green peas, pretty much anything we eat that grows in a pod. And that’s exactly how chickpeas grow: one,
maybe two, in each stubby little pod! But before there can be pods, there must be
plants! I’m meeting up with Travis Grieser, whose
ancestors were original homesteaders here. Travis rotates between wheat, barley, and
chickpeas across his 2200 acre farm. That’s actually considered a mid-sized holding
in these parts! In April, Travis covered 700 acres with chickpea
seeds. (Nicole): So you plant the very chickpea that
we eat? (Travis): Yup. That’s what we plant right there. And in fact, this field is seed, so… (Nicole): Oh! These are being grown for seed for next year’s crop! Chickpeas might all look the same to you and
me but there are hundreds, if not thousands, of different kinds. The one Travis grows for Sabra is known for
its smooth texture and nutty flavor, and is smaller than the chickpeas sold in cans. Let’s try a green one. Here we go. Mm, oh, it’s so sweet. It’s so much better than a green pea because
it has the nuttiness of a chickpea. Guys, if you knew how delicious this was,
we would all be demanding green chickpeas. Insects don’t really bother chickpea plants
here. That’s because the plants secrete acid through
fine hair-like glands that cover the pods and stems. The acid doesn’t hurt humans, but if you
get it on your clothes… (Travis): Yeah, I’ve had a friend that,
he actually wore pants three or four times out in a bean field and then went to wash
them, and it actually ate holes in his pant legs. (Nicole): As the plant dries out, that acid
sort of dries out as well. But I do feel a bit of a sticky substance
on my fingers. (Travis) Yeah. (Nicole): That I probably shouldn’t be rubbing
in right now. Throughout the summer, the plants will flower
and grow pods, until it gets so hot and dry that the plant starts to shut down. By September, the chickpeas are mature inside
their pods and drying out in the field. Which is what the farmers want: if they’re
picked with too much moisture, they’ll rot in the storage bins. Harvest here is dramatic. The hills of the Palouse are steep. A combine does two things: it cuts the plants
down AND it threshes them — that means it knocks the chickpeas out of their pods. Fourth-generation farmer Doug Stout is a bit
of a rockstar in these parts — he’s won national awards for his top yields. But quantity isn’t the only thing he’s
after — he wants quality. So what matters more than size is the color
of the chickpeas. They all must be a uniformly creamy-tan — because,
well, that’s how we like our hummus to look. Nailing the correct color is mission critical
for these farmers: if they fail, their chickpeas could be downgraded — which means they make
less money or they could be rejected altogether. So what affects the color? As Doug is harvesting his chickpeas, he’s
also cutting whatever weeds are in the field. Those weeds have juices in their stems and
leaves, which could stain the chickpeas black as it all passes through the combine and gets
mushed together. So this is really a moment of truth: has Doug
done a good enough job at controlling the weeds in his fields? Well, we’re about to find out! Riding in the combine is the best place to
be — while my camera man is being choked by the clouds of dust we’re kicking up,
I’m in a protected little bubble. As sturdy as the combine is, going down the
steepest hills, I still felt my heart in my mouth. OK, we are so vertical that I am, like, pressing
down on my feet to keep seated! Doug reckons the field we’re harvesting
could be a record-breaker. And I must say, it looks very weed-free. Woohoo! I didn’t want it to end. I leave him to carry on, and just as I’m
starting to regret not getting behind the wheel myself, I get a call from my buddy Travis. He’s getting out his grain gleaner — a
small combine whose header doesn’t automatically flex with the terrain. And he’s got a nice, flat patch for
me to try! Travis squeezes himself into the cab beside
me for a quick lesson. There’s a lot more to monitor and adjust
on this combine. Finally I give it a go myself. I’m on my own baby. Hey, at least I didn’t run over Travis’
dog. It’s hard to believe that the booming chickpea
industry here almost blew up before it began. Back in the 80s, when chickpeas were first
grown on the Palouse, they were wiped out by a fungus. But the industry was reborn, thanks to a gift
of chickpea samples… from Syria! Where they had already bred varieties resistant
to that specific blight. Local breeders brought them back to the Pacific
Northwest where they were crossed with other varieties. From those chickpeas blossomed this! I love the thought of something Syrian thriving
here in the face of all the devastation that country has been through. And I love that it’s chickpeas — the foundation
of hummus, a food at the heart of middle-eastern cuisine. So, I think this is a good time to clear something
up for those of us who don’t live in the middle east: hummus is way more than you think
it is. Follow me to my kitchen… Hummus is so much more than just a snack. In the Middle East, it’s often the meal. And that’s how I like to eat it: as the
main star of a dish, sort of like you’d think about pasta. Today I’m going to start with Sabra’s
classic hummus -- maybe made with chickpeas that I helped harvest — and I’m going
to serve it with roasted vegetables and an easy sundried tomato pesto. I’m using bell pepper, zucchini and eggplant,
but you can use your favorite vegetables. Toss it with olive oil, salt and pepper, and
roast in the oven at 425 F until they’re soft and tender, about 30 minutes. OK, while that’s roasting, you’re going
to make your sun-dried tomato pesto in a food processor. You’re going to use sun-dried tomatoes,
parsley, basil, garlic, lemon juice and a pinch of salt. Blend it all with 3 tablespoons of olive oil. I like to use the stuff that comes right out
of the jar of sun-dried tomatoes. You want it to be a sauce that’s still a
little chunky. I’m going to put the full recipe, with all
the measurements, in the YouTube video description below. OK, now let’s put it all together. Place the hummus at the bottom of your bowl. And make sure it’s at room temperature;
not cold from the fridge. Spoon the tomato pesto down the middle. Arrange the warm vegetables around. Maybe a sprig of parsley. And a sprinkle of pine nuts wouldn’t hurt
either.
Q: what's the difference between a chickpea and a garbanzo bean?
A: I've never paid to have a garbanzo bean on my face.