I made a pot of beans this week. My husband loves beans (arguably his favorite food) and I don’t often make them for him, because my mom likes to keep him in a fairly steady supply of beans. She makes a really good pot of beans, and she makes them often.
I decided to make him a pot of beans after our latest trip to Mexico City, which had me buying some masa harina to make conchas* funny enough. The company I bought the masa harina from happens to also sell dried beans, so I threw a couple of varieties I’ve never tried into the cart. And, I’m glad I did. You see the few days before I stood at my stove making a simple pot of beans where a tense time in our little home. We received some unexpected sad news about a family member, and it brought up a lot of emotions as news of that nature tends to do.
The day I made that humble pot of beans was made up of cleaning my kitchen and spending time in it cooking. I made granola, I baked a lemon gateau and finally the beans. It wasn’t until I started going through the motions of cooking a pot of beans that I realized I was letting go of some of the weight of the previous few days.
Inhale. Check for bits of debris. Exhale.
Inhale. Rinse the beans. Exhale.
Inhale. Pour water over the beans. Exhale.
As they came to a boil, before their long simmer, I found myself grateful for the ritual and ordinariness of making that pot of beans.
So, wherever you’re at, and whatever you might be feeling, may you find peace and grounding in the rituals and ordinariness of your day.
“Infinite Ellipses of Ritual and Flavor” I enjoyed this article by Andrea Aliseada on beans and her family’s ritual around making a pot of beans.