Beans and Cornbread

Do you ever allow yourself to experience the wonderful simplicity of a big ol’ pot of beans? Honestly, there are few things more fundamental than placing dried beans into a pot of water, cooking them, and serving them to hungry souls. If life ever get to be too hectic—if the 21st century ever starts to infringe upon my peace—I just throw a pot of beans on the stove and all my cares and concerns instantly melt away. They’re magical that way.

You can do so much with a pot of cooked pinto beans: make refried beans for burritos (so much better than the canned stuff), add them to a pot of homemade chili, or adorn your delicious Brisket Chalupas (recipe coming soon.) Really, though, it’s hard to improve on the basic dish itself: a bowl of beans, seasoned either delicately or boldly—whatever your mood dictates. Chemical Structure Of Sulphur Dyes

And cornbread. You know, when I was in seventh grade, my mom took me to New York City. Late one night after seeing "42nd Street" on Broadway, we dined at Sardi’s. When my spaghetti arrived at the table and I declined our waiter’s offer to sprinkle Parmesan on my dish, the older Italian gentleman gasped and emoted, "But…but…a spaghetti without a cheese is like a kiss without a squeeze!!!!!!!" I giggled nervously and asked my mom to get me out of there immediately. But I have to say, I feel the exact same way about beans and cornbread as the old man felt about his spaghetti and Parmesan: they just go together. "A bean without a cornbread is like a kiss without a squeeze!" Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.

No matter. Let’s start with the beans, shall we?

The Cast of Characters: Dried Pinto Beans, Thick Sliced Bacon, salt, pepper. Whoa, Nelly—we’re talking simple here, folks.

Measure four cups of beans and rinse them under cool water. If you see any little strange looking bits in there, pick them out and discard.

I use a dutch oven most of the time, unless I need to make a huge quantity.

Throw the beans into the pot.

There’s something so pure and elemental about a pot of dried beans, don’t you think?

Now put some water in the pot…

Cover the beans by a good two inches. (I added more after I snapped this photo.)

Now take four slices of thick-sliced bacon (or one slice per cup of dry beans.)

Slice them into 1-inch pieces.

And throw ’em in the pot.

The bacon adds a nice flavor and a slight saltiness to the beans, but you could certainly leave it out if you want your beans to be more lowfat, though I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that.

Now bring pot to a boil…

Then cover and reduce heat to a simmer. We’ll add seasoning later on.

The beans have been simmering now for about two hours. See how thick and yummy the juice looks? (Or is it gravy? Or sauce? I haven’t decided.) Now it’s time for seasoning.

Start with 1 teaspoon salt. You can always add more later.

Now add 2 teaspoons black pepper. I normally prefer the fresh ground stuff for cooking, but for a pot of beans, this good ol’ powdery stuff is best. Don’t tell the food snobs. (I used to be one myself, you know, so if they rain down their wrath on me, I deserve it.)

Stir together well and check the seasoning. You might want to add a little more salt, but be aware the cornbread with which you’ll serve the beans contains salt. So don’t overdo it.

Now. Most of the time, I stop there. I really think the less you mess with beans, the better. But there are lots of other seasonings you can add if you want a little more punch: Tabasco, garlic, even a little vinegar or chopped jalapenos. I’ve found this special Pinto Bean Seasoning. Bascially, it’s salt, pepper, chili powder, and some other mystery spices.

Sometimes I add a few shakes.

The beans are pretty much done, so you can just cover and turn the heat off for awhile while you make the cornbread. I try never to eat beans without it. And cornbread, I’ve found, is such a personal thing. People are very rabid and passionate about the kind of cornbread they prefer, and it almost always relates back to the variety the ate during childhood. My mom always made this version, usually called "Texas Cornbread" in the recipe books, and to this day it’s the only kind of cornbread I like. While some cornbread recipes are more cake-like and thick, this cornbread is grainy in texture, flatter, and very crispy and brown on the outside. The melted shortening in the batter helps, but what really sets it apart is pouring the cornbread batter into a sizzling hot pan before baking. And unlike many cornbread recipes, there is no sweetness to this one at all. Sweet cornbread ain’t my thing.

Come make it with me, will ya?

The Cast of Characters: Yellow Corn Meal, Flour, Salt, Baking Soda, Baking Powder, Milk, Buttermilk, Egg, and Shortening. Get ready for greatness, folks.

Now, you can use muffin pans, corn stick pans, pyrex dishes—really, anything you want. My favorite way to make cornbread, though, is to use my favorite iron skillet. Whatever pan you use, start heating it up over medium heat (or in a hot oven) to get it pretty hot.

Add 2 or 3 tablespoons shortening to the skillet…or baking pan…or muffin tins—whichever you decide to use.

The point is to melt the shortening in the hot pan before you pour in the cornbread batter. This is the secret to the crispy, brown outside.

And dump it into a bowl.

Now for the All-Purpose Flour.

Now for the salt. See? I told you it’d be in here.

Now measure 1 cup buttermilk. (And remember the trick? If you don’t have buttermilk, just add a tablespoon of vinegar to 1/2 milk and you’re good to go.)

Add 1/2 cup regular milk to the buttermilk.

And crack it into the milk mixture.

Now for the baking powder…

Stir together, then find your baking soda.

Add 1/2 teaspoon. Look how frothy it is already! I’ve always loved those spice-cabinet mad scientist experiments. My mom always loved them, too, because I always cleaned up after myself, right, Mom? And I never, ever touched your little squirt bottles of food coloring. Right, Mom?

Stir together, then pour into the cornmeal/flour mixture.

Now add 1/4 cup shortening to a microwave-safe dish…

Pour melted shortening into the bowl…

Now pour batter into your hot skillet. It will sizzle around the edges, which should make your heart go pitter pat. Sizzle is good.

Even out the batter on top, then bake in a 450-degree oven for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden brown on top.

Did someone say "Golden Brown?"

Neato! It kinda looks like an aerial shot of the Grand Canyon.

Taste your beans again, check for seasoning, and when you’re ready, spoon the lusciousness into a bowl.

Cut a nice square of the warm cornbread…

And place it on the rim of the bowl. You could also make a bed of cornbread and spoon your beans right over it, if you’re feeling like a cowboy today.

I think the beans and cornbread are perfect on their own, but if you want to pep things up a bit, it’s fun to have little bowls of accoutrements such as chopped onions, grated Monterey Jack, diced fresh jalapenos, even Pico de Gallo!

Call me crazy and bizarro, but sometimes I like to plop a nice spoonful of sour cream (not non-fat, puhleeeeeeze) on top.

And because I’m a girl and not Marlboro Man, who would already be through one bowl of the beans by now, I like to throw a little cilantro in there, too. It really adds a nice freshness to the beans.

Oh, baby. How good does this look?

Lawsie mercy. Who invented beans in the first place, anyway?

God? Are you there? I love beans. Thank you for sending them to earth to live among us sinners.

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