Sandy Supposes....

Kitchen Calamity, "Bean" There...

Share some of your favorite Fall foods/snacks/recipes, and perhaps a memory to go along with them.

         

         

         

         

         

         

         

                   

This is the time of year when I hang up the barbecue so to speak, and I begin to cook more casseroles, soups, and comfort foods. Translation: we choose to eat "heavier/heartier" meals that pack on extra winter insulation. I hesitate to label this as blubber, but hibernating animals prepare for the colder temperatures ahead. We have parkas to fill out.

         Back at the time my eldest was still an infant and blessedly not yet stricken with an aversion to beans, I decided to drag a wedding gift from the dark recesses of a kitchen cabinet and dust it off. This cooking vessel was not pretty in appearance. It resembled a large Brown Betty teapot minus the handle and spout. On top was placed a jaunty little lid that rattled in place. I had great plans to utilize this crockery known as a bean crock.

         I phoned my mother and requested her family-tested recipe for 'Old Fashioned Baked Beans'. During the conversation that didn't just deal with the topic at hand, she mentioned that this recipe was 100 years old. I'll admit I did feel awed and a wee bit intimidated. This clearly could be categorized as an heirloom, an antique. Ancestors probably ate similarly prepared sustenance.

          Anyway, I purchased a bunch of beans of the navy variety I believe, and I soaked them overnight in cold water. That step couldn't have been simpler.

          In the morning, I followed the directions scrupulously, and I simmered those beans for thirty minutes. So far, so good.

          I measured out the molasses and the seasonings as per the recipe. I stirred and mixed everything together. I spooned the beans into that awaiting bean crock, and I carefully placed it in the oven. Then I noticed the baking time.... seven hours.

         Fast forward, and it was time to release the crock from its hot cavern. This incredible aroma had been wafting all afternoon. Mouth-watering best described it.

         I donned a pair of oven mitts, and slowly pulled the steaming crock into my grip, or so I thought. Actually, my grip was not sure, or tight. I lost possession of that cantankerous crock and it hurtled to the kitchen floor. Hot beans have a marvelous travelling trajectory. They somehow scattered, slithered, and smeared everywhere including an impressively large puddle under the stove. Shards of ceramic also co-mingled with the mess of beans.

         As I recall, the clean-up took effort and time. Slippery beans must be shovelled and coaxed.

         My home-baked beans didn't last long enough to be sampled. I filed this under kitchen calamity, and it would be years before I felt ready to attempt this recipe again.