Mushroom and Kidney Bean Bourguignon

food is a labor of love. sometimes we feed the wrong people. this is not for them.

Things you’ll need: a cup and a half of dried kidney beans cooked the way you like, much butter, two pounds of cremini mushrooms, five shallots, 2 carrots, garlic, 1T tomato paste, 1-2T of flour, 1 ½ cups of wine, 1 ½ cups broth*, 1T tamari, thyme or rosemary, optional polenta or rice, optional wild mushrooms for roasting, ubiquitous salt and pepper.

*check out this article about the safe preparation of kidney beans from scratch

Chapter 83

Sometimes you serve everyone first and forget to feed yourself (metaphor). Feeding some people will cost too much and take too much and you will have to stop yourself from serving them.

There have been a few times in your life that you have found yourself embroiled with people who are not good for you. Sometimes it takes you a long time to see it because not all of it is bad. Sometimes you see them being bad for other people, and you think “Wow, there’s a lot of stuff that my person has to work out” and so you are concerned but kind and they tell you stories of the awful things that have happened to them and you care and are compassionate. Sometimes you even think you are helping.

Mostly, they don’t treat you so bad, not worse than you can handle because you can handle a lot, and you do stand your ground sometimes and sometimes they respect it and so you think that change is totally possible, because it is. Change is always possible.

Then change doesn’t really happen. Maybe things get worse. Maybe you just realize how hard it has been this whole time and trying to handle it all took a toll and now you are tired and worn and weary and cannot anymore.

Maybe it takes years. Maybe it takes days. Maybe you are still there, trying to handle it.

Maybe you got out. Maybe you took everything with you or had to leave everything behind. Maybe you even still miss the people that are not good for you. Maybe you let everyone else hate them for you. Maybe you never even speak their names. Maybe you cannot even say their names without swallowing.

If you left, maybe you went back to or found people who are good for you. Some of those people may have helped you get away or helped you see how bad it all really was despite your belief that you were handling it (you weren’t). It’s a long process, understanding why you stayed and why you left, why this hasn’t been the first, worrying that it won’t be the last.

You still feed people, but you are careful. Especially now, when staying away from other people is the safest choice. Especially now, when there is nothing casual about choosing who you spend time with. Especially now, when choosing to share a meal with someone is choosing to trust them with your health and safety.

You feed the people who are good for you and you feed them well, with care. Food requires care. When you make beans from scratch (which is a lot because you are in the throes of a love affair with beans), you have to be deliberate and take the time to make them properly. So, your kidney beans have been lovingly soaked, seasoned, boiled, and simmered. Maybe someone who loves you bought you an instant pot and you are letting their love do the work (40ish minutes on high pressure) so you are free to spend the day cutting 2 pounds of cremini mushrooms into quarters and dicing 5 shallots. Slowly brown the mushrooms and shallots in a dutch oven with salt and pepper. Do it in batches because you care and crowding the pan will boil the mushrooms and will not convey love. Use a lot of butter, which does convey love, and set them aside.

Cut two carrots in whatever way makes you happy and sauté those with a tablespoon of tamari (and butter), until they begin to feel tender, but do not lose their bite. Then add as much garlic as you deem appropriate and cook until the smell makes you giddy. Stir in a tablespoon of tomato paste, a tablespoon or more of flour, and watch the bottom of the pot become rich with caramelized bits.

Pick a good wine, some Zinfandel or Cabernet that you’ve been saving. Add a cup and a half to the dutch oven and stir, helping the liquid deglaze the pan and dissolve all that good good. Then stir in a cup and a half of your bean broth (aka love), a few sprigs of rosemary or thyme, 3-4 cups of your lovingly cooked beans, and your reserved mushrooms and shallots. (If you aren’t into beans from scratch today, then rinse two cans worth of unsalted beans and use whatever broth you like)

Simmer for an hour or so as the sauce thickens and set up a table outside. Plug-in some heaters and wait for your optional rice or polenta to finish. Maybe you were lucky enough to find some oyster mushrooms or hen of the woods, tossed them with olive oil, salt, and parsley, and set them to roast in the oven at 375 for 25-30 minutes.

When your person arrives (one who helps you remember yourself, one who loves you when you forget to love yourself, one who gives and graciously accepts your giving, one who won’t let you give all of yourself if it means you have nothing left) don’t be afraid to feed them well. Spoon in your polenta, heap on the rich stew, top with roasted mushrooms, and finish the bottle of wine together.

(adapted from Cool Beans by Joe Yonan)