A process meditation
Like many cooks— I cast kitchen spells.
Many spiritual workings take root a the hearth, over the stove, and in conversation with ancestors who speak, or otherwise gesture to the one engaged in tending the pots at the exact moment there’s enough seasoning.
For me, it’s an intuitive process— a series of timeline hopping serendipities: acquisition, intention, and actulization. These forces, and the materials alchemize into nourishment.
Bless all the hands that prepare the foods— and till the land, and every mouth (and spirit therein) that’s fed. May we all be so!
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Each day I walk past the working altar that lives on two shelves at the center of my kitchen. Laden with a rotating mélange of items, many tranformation process of this lifetime and the next are held here.
I take stock— taking down some of accumulations of the last year and encounter many items pertaining to my cooking practice:
Matches, molasses, and big paper bags of anise hyssop I plan to incoporate regularly into spiritual baths. Bay leaves, and a bowl of drying tobacco from last years garden to smudge in a manor that pleases in particular my known linneages based in so-called virginia and maryland. There’s packs of seeds saved, florida water, and prayers scrawled on scraps of paper. Reaching up into the back corner my hand brushes a folded up plastic parcel.
“How long yall been up here?” The last time I partook in your firm flesh, the weather was warm. I remember sweat sliding down my nose, and steaming up my glasses. But perhaps it was just the first of the warmer days— I want to recall that temporality because there was no smell of rot in Chinatown that accompanies the lifecycle of fresh foods, fish, and garbage after a day of hot sun.
Stunning in hue— you were something I’d never seen before— but I wasn’t drawn to you through a lens of leering exociticism, rather intrigue, and familiarity. These are the shape, and size of the butter beans I came up on, but varying in shades of deep dusky purple, speckled like pinto beans.
I recall the time I prepared the first half of this package of Scarlett Runner beans:
Scents of cooking oil, cigarette smoke, decomposition, sweat and my own sunscreen intermingle as we left a shop selling bamboo and money trees int the front window, for a lunch counter with roasted duck hanging in the window facing the street.
I loved and trusted my friends enough that I saved the bones we nibbled clean from a shared platter of fluffy bao buns, and half a roast duck. Simmered in a pot with fresh water, plenty of salt, and aromatics: a dank, and smokey roasted duck broth emerges.
Reading the instructions on the package of my scarlet runners— I noted that a pre-soak was not required according to the cooking instrucitons. Feeling that I knew as much about cooking dry beans as any package directions, I completed my customary night before pre-soak with a pinch of baking soda to tenderize and neutralize some of the compounds that create gas (although I’ve also read a soak with a knob of ginger can achieve the same thing as baking soda).
At the axis of my judgy, and ritualistic nature, I’ve wondered aloud sometimes “who the hell can’t remember to soak they beans the night before they want them for dinner” in response to content from folks online who claim to ‘never pre-plan wanting to use dried beans in the first place’. I’ve even read about folks freezing pre-soaked beans, or even the ultimate power move: throwing them in an instant pot pressure cooker and nailing the settings to keep your beans from going to mush.
Soaked beans went into the baby dutchie pot with sweated onions, garlic, and duck broth. Over two hours of simmering, my pot filled the whole kitchen with savory smells as the beans became velveted in texture, the purple color giving way to a deep dark brown, and a soft but firm bite.
To brighten the earthy flavors, I threw in a scotch bonnet for the last hour, and then at the very end stirred in a jammy stewed relish I cooked off on the side with tomatoes, celery, fresh herbs, salt and pepper, vinegar, and a little honey.
To top the bowl, I seared some maitaike mushrooms from the farmers market in confit garlic oil with thyme to a delightful crisp with a pinch of salt added at the end to taste. Adding the salt too early in the sear causes mushrooms to get soggy, from drawn out the water.
The second half of the pack:
Today in my cleansing I uncovered the forgotten folded over second half of my Scarlett runners, as they sat on the counter in the midst of the action of an evening of ‘meal prep-Monday’ a routine observation in the flow of my household.
I noticed an inklining seeming to say prepare these now… Not to wait for a better timed moment. To clear and make room on the altar, and to be fed.
There is a wisdom in just getting started sometimes, moving into a process quickly: In my case, too quick to be weighed down by contemplations, and planning that can become an impediment to decisive action while seeking that perfect moment.
This evening, I poured boiling water over the scarlett runners for a quick soak: a same-day dried bean preparation hack adding my customary pinch of baking soda. They probably hit the pot at 8pm this time with smoked turkey parts from the freezer, and green seasoning.
By the time we began closing down the kitchen around 11:30pm, the beans were still cooking away on the stove. I added water several times, boiling them on high to try an rush a process that would take it’s own time to doneness from the starting point.
The flavor was deep— the cumin i’d added seems to have been lost in the cooking process…but they were still delicious.
The lesson I chose to take from these moments is more an affirmation: With certain undertakings in life, making a start is the impetus that will allow time elapsing to do it’s work.
