Beans for Dead People, pt. 2

As a sequel, this post feels a bit more like performance than recipe. Like I papered the town with flyers for my show and now it’s time to step on stage and I’m wondering if I should have actually practiced my lines (or cooked this recipe more than once). 

Thinking about it though, this is very much my style— going full steam ahead with little preparation, fingers crossed n’ hoping for the best. And by all means the Do First, Think Later Method is brilliant and has really worked its magic on many occasion (it is partly to thank for the existence of FRANK). Other times, it’s is a too-long, miss-the-mark wedding speech that I thought I’d “just wing” (Sorry Jenna and Malka) or it’s drunkenly, yet confidently, putting cubes of cold tofu in Spaghetti Marinara. What I’m saying is, MISTAKES HAVE BEEN MADE using The Method. And I can’t tell if this is another one, writing about beans for dead people with a recipe I’ve made exactly once and didn’t really eat, while Palestinians are being exterminated. But, for now I’m trying to accept that most things good or light-hearted or fun feel mistake-y, and joy, in its purest form(s), is a necessary ingredient in our resistance work.

So, here we are, it’s opening night and the townspeople (that’s you) have been promised a recipe. 

This year’s Night of Three Dinners ended up the Night of Two Dinners because our oldest kids were with their Mom. Still, between handing out candy, juggling 5- month-old, cooking a new recipe, drinking wine + trying to distract said 5-month-old long enough for breastmilk to be alcohol free, and making a somewhat involved staple pasta dish, my partner and I didn’t eat until well after 9. And the table for our departed wasn’t set until almost 11 (I’m still working on how to be a do-it ahead organized cook…will circle back if it ever “clicks”).

For the Samhain dinner, I made a bizarro version of Pasta e Fagioli (or pasta and bean soup). It was a little too light on the broth to call it a soup but it had broth and it had pasta and beans, so it was more like brothy pasta and beans? And even though I only tasted it in process (as a rule, I do not eat the finished Samhain dinner) it was exactly what I hoped - comforting, light-yet-hearty with a good little zing on the finish. When the soup was done we set the table, lit the candles, and served dinner. With everyone’s plated, we sat on the floor looking up at the table and listened to Fairport Convention’s Who Knows Where The Time Goes to help us forget our tiredness and get in the mood for nostalgia. Our eyes full of tears, thinking about all of the lives and stories and beginnings and endings and love at one table. Longing to hear the laughter of the guests, to have a moment with them again. Five minutes and five seconds of reflecting on our impermanence, our connections to the past, and what we carry to the future.

Basically, it was big time tenderness over a big bowl of soup, just how my Gram would have wanted. 

We Are Carried by Sara Rian

Samhain Brothy Pasta & Beans

Ingredients:

Bag of Mayocoba Beans (note: I had every intention of making this recipe an ancestors’ bop — these beans originate in “Mexico or Peru” …and I do not. But, the right beans are for the think-ahead cook and if you are that cook (bless you for figuring that part of life out), please enlist the exactly right bean for Pasta e Fagioli— Barlotti Lamon from RG’s Fagioli section)

Bag of Orcette Pasta (note: not my first choice on pasta either, but they ended up being really lovely in this dish, almost like little pasta bowls of beans in every bite…)

3 large leeks

1/2 white onion

1 head garlic

1/2 cup olive oil

4 tablespoons, good olive oil to finish

3 sprigs fresh rosemary

Fresh red chilis or goat horn chili pepper or red chili flakes

flaky salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

lemon

good bread

How To:

1. Cut the root end and dark green tips off leeks, cut lengthwise in half and roughly chop remaining leeks, rinse well and set aside to drain

2. Finely chop 1/2 onion

3. Finely chop entire garlic head

4. Rinse beans and set aside

5. Get a big, heavy, preferably cast iron enamel pot and put a glug or two of olive oil in the bottom (enough to cover).Heat should be on medium, or whatever your stove needs to heat without getting high enough to burn the oil

6. Add finely chopped onion and sauté until translucent, try not to brown it too much

7. Add chopped leeks and a bit more olive oil (you’re nearing 1/2 cup of oil now), let them cook down until they start to soften and brown

8. Add chili pepper, finely diced or a teaspoon, or multiple tablespoons, depending on your spice preference, of goat horn chili pepper

9. Add 1/2 head of garlic and stir until garlic is fragrant, and slightly golden

10. Add beans and water to cover, add salt, pepper, and a splash more olive oil to taste…broth should be yummy!

11. Add 2 sprigs of rosemary to simmer

12. Place lid slightly askew and cook on medium-low until beans are tender + perfect to your liking (1.5-3 hours), continue to add boiling water (and salt!) if water level gets to low

13. Remove rosemary sprigs and discard

14. Cook Orcette pasta in plenty of well salted water, when cooked “to the tooth” as my grandma would say (you know, al dente), drain pasta, reserving 1-2 cups of the cooking water

15. Add pasta to bean pot along with some of the pasta water, depending on how brothy and how salty your bean broth already is, keep tasting…This is NOT the moment to over-salt or dilute your broth base

16. Taste and add a bit of acid- lemon or ACV to brighten things

17. Quickly fry remaining garlic and chopped rosemary in a little butter or olive oil

18. Rub a piece of cut garlic on rustic bread, do not toast, top with butter if that’s your thing, and dip it into the soup

19. Ladle the “soup” into bowls, add a spoonful of fried rosemary garlic, some more chili pepper, drizzle a bit of oil to finish and zest a little lemon on top + some freshly grated parmesan if it pleases you.

20. Turn on some nostalgic tunes & enjoy!