bean count

I fear I've lost an important battle in the last few months. Sure I won a few, but in all, beans have gotten the best of me lately.

I know what you're thinking: "they are so good for you," or "beans are so economical," or the best yet, "they're good for the heart (and some other bodily functions rhyming with said organ)." Well, I've made my peace with those tiny little nutrient rich legumes. I celebrate my few victories, and I humbly give beans their proper respect as the most difficult thing I have tried to cook thus far. I never saw it coming, but it is true. I cannot crack the code to successfully cooking dried beans.

I consider myself a decent cook. I'm lucky to like being in the kitchen. I like watching the raw ingredients transform from something inedible or unpalatable into something soft, pleasing, and loaded with flavor. Science experiments made me nervous in high school, but watching the chemical transformation taking place in a frying pan fascinates me. My success rate for unlocking the delicious flavor and texture of foods is pretty good, and when I fail, I will try again until I get it right. But try and try as I may, I've not gotten it right with beans. I'd like to take inventory of my recent attempts. Let's call it a "bean count," shall we?

First there were the kidney beans. I found this recipe by the popular food blogger Elise. The recipe looked easy enough, and when Elise started off the post by admitting that beans weren't all that exciting but this recipe was, I felt I could trust her. So I dove in and made the recipe that night. Verdict: Ate it for dinner, tossed the leftovers. Although I got the texture right, the taste was bland. Perhaps using the pork kielbasa instead of smoked shanks was where I went wrong. 1 point for beans, 0 points for me.

Black beans are a story unto themselves. Now let me tell you, if anyone wants black beans to turn out delicious it is me. They were a favorite treat of my childhood. My family and I would visit Miami a few times a year and stay with our Cuban relatives. As sure as I could breathe, I could count on walking into my abuela's apartment with her shiny white tiled floors and find two things going on. One was the television blaring in the corner with big breasted Latin women "acting" on a cheesy, melodramatic novela (soap opera). The other thing I could count on was a big pot of black beans gently simmering on the stove. The delicious, dark elixer of my childhood, these beans were smooth, creamy, and perfectly flavored every time. I have been able to incorporate a lot of Cuban dishes into my own repertoire, but black beans from scratch? That has remained outside of my grasp.

The first attempt at dried black beans was a few months ago. I followed the directions on the bag. I simmered, seasoned, and cradled the pot with love. They turned out overly firm with far too much water, and, therefore, zero flavor. 2 points for beans, 0 points for me.

A few weeks later I went to a friend's house, and she pulled out a container of leftover bean soup to feed her daughter. I sat there and asked her questions about how she cooked it, all the while trying to control my envy at her nonchalant responses. She made it sound so easy. Riding off of her confidence, I went home and put some beans in a pot to soak overnight. The next day I found a similar recipe to my friend's, put the pot on the burner, and left the water and heat to do it's thing. I taste tested a few times and each time felt the beans were still too hard. Finally, around midnight (I started it around 7pm!), I took the pot off the burner. Way, way too much water. Beans were tough. It tasted oh-so-tragically bland. Without a second thought, I flipped over the pot into the sink. And there I stood...at midnight...with my sink clogged by mediocre beans in steaming hot water...and the rest of the house blissfully asleep. Black bean, dirty sink water, anyone? I didn't think so. 3 points for beans, 0 points for me.

You'd think burning my hands at midnight would be enough to convince me to call it quits, but an affection for black beans wasn't the only thing I inherited from my Cuban ancestors. I also inherited a healthy dose of stubbornness. So for my third and final attempt, I set out a few weeks later to finally crack the code. Armed with bacon, onions, garlic, green peppers, and a slew of spices, I stirred that pot vigorously. I'll admit, when I put the lid on and walked away, I smiled sheepishly. It smelled so damn good. There was no way these suckers wouldn't turn out.

They didn't turn out. Hard. Too much water, again. Maybe I should have left the lid off so the water would reduce as it cooked. I felt incredibly dejected. How could I call myself Cuban? 4 points for beans, 0 points for me.

Alas, I must shed some positive light on the whole affair. I have had a few successes with beans as of late. The miso paste I bought from Whole Foods is wonderful. Simply mix in two teaspoons of the organic soy paste with a cup of steaming hot water and you have instant miso soup. Perfect for cool evenings or an afternoon snack with some slices of cheddar cheese and whole grain crackers. It's all the goodness of that cup of miso soup you always get at the sushi restaurant but in the convenience of your home. Love it. That's 1 point for me.

And you can also give me a point for buying frozen edamame. When defrosted and tossed with soy sauce, they are a delicious salty snack, despite what Karis thinks. I liken them to the boiled peanut of the Asian world.

This is clearly not a food blog. If it was, I'd have a recipe to share. This is simply a tragic story of me giving up. No more dried beans. My family and I stand up proudly for the variety packed in a can, birthed somewhere in a factory by a faceless machine. Sure, my pride is hurting. Afterall, beans still remain a mystery. I'll accept your condolences in the comments section below. But whatever you do, please do not tell me about your successful bean adventures. My envy just might turn into optimism, and I just don't think I can handle that.

If you are so inclined, you can read a little bit more about the value and history of beans here and here.