after quick-soaking the beans, i found i had seriously overestimated the amounts. after adding the beans, chopped onions, spices (great-grandma's secret ingredient: cumin), and liquid, it completely fills the pot to the brim. it's been cooking for almost 3 hours now. i'm afraid to leave the house. i have a feeling that it's all going to start overflowing all over the counter. if this works, i'll be eating beans and corn bread for weeks. my god, the flatulence. |
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it made me think of a short story i read in the new yorker years ago. it's by a woman, but i can't quite remember her name. all of her stories are set in native american commuities. in this one, a wife tortures her husband by feeding him undercooked beans. i went to my old stack of new yorkers and started pulling issues out at random, hoping to find this woman's name. she seemed to be in there a lot. i never found her, but i did find two haruki murakami short stories: 'u.f.o in kushiro' and 'man-eating cats.' that woman's name is on the tip of my tongue. something like eldri[d]ge? like eldritch? |
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I love her. |
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