I'm making red beans and rice. It's sitting on the stove in all it's smushy slurry, sausagey magnificence.
Many people have comfort foods -- I'm no exception. But unlike a lot of people, my comfort foods are not attached to my childhood.
Except for red beans and rice. My mom is a pretty bad cook (sorry, Mom) who overcooks everything to death. Which makes her the perfect person to cook red beans and rice.
I had a really crappy childhood. Almost all of my memories-- the ones I can remember -- make me wince.
Except for red beans and rice. Something about it makes me feel happy and like a child again -- in a good way, this time. Things are possible with red beans and rice.
I never eat it anymore. Neither my husband nor my sons will touch beans, except maybe at gunpoint. (I can sort of get them to occasionally eat green beans, but that's it.) For years I went to the church Mardi Gras party almost solely because the guy in charge of the food was from Louisiana and made proper red beans and rice. He left a couple of years ago, and they haven't been the same since. This year, they were even vegetarian -- proper red beans and rice have hunks of sausage in them.
But I was in the store the other night and decided, what the hell -- the boys (all four of them) could darn well figure out their own dinners; I'm the cook and I'm making red beans and rice. Deal. (Actually, I caved on that part and am fixing them french fries and fish sticks.) I'm sticking up for myself. It feels good.
Rice is done -- time to go eat.
Many people have comfort foods -- I'm no exception. But unlike a lot of people, my comfort foods are not attached to my childhood.
Except for red beans and rice. My mom is a pretty bad cook (sorry, Mom) who overcooks everything to death. Which makes her the perfect person to cook red beans and rice.
I had a really crappy childhood. Almost all of my memories-- the ones I can remember -- make me wince.
Except for red beans and rice. Something about it makes me feel happy and like a child again -- in a good way, this time. Things are possible with red beans and rice.
I never eat it anymore. Neither my husband nor my sons will touch beans, except maybe at gunpoint. (I can sort of get them to occasionally eat green beans, but that's it.) For years I went to the church Mardi Gras party almost solely because the guy in charge of the food was from Louisiana and made proper red beans and rice. He left a couple of years ago, and they haven't been the same since. This year, they were even vegetarian -- proper red beans and rice have hunks of sausage in them.
But I was in the store the other night and decided, what the hell -- the boys (all four of them) could darn well figure out their own dinners; I'm the cook and I'm making red beans and rice. Deal. (Actually, I caved on that part and am fixing them french fries and fish sticks.) I'm sticking up for myself. It feels good.
Rice is done -- time to go eat.
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How did it turn out?
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You may come and cook bean for me anytime!
(My favorite: refried kidney bean)