I made refried beans.
Hmmm… perhaps you aren’t reading this correctly.
I MADE REFRIED BEANS!
Alright to be fair, some of you haven’t been around me enough to know that bean burritos are my staple. I’ve been eating them since the womb. No food makes me quite so happy as cheese melting on beans, as warm beany goodness mixing in with cool sour cream. Not even chocolate chip cookies can make me so very excited.
Some absolutely excellent family and friends know this fact about me and have sent me cans of Rosita or Old El Paso because they’re afraid I might not function otherwise (these people know me). And yet, all this time, I was inches away from completing one of the easiest recipes. A quick cost-benefit analysis rendered Cooking My Own Refried Beans as a must-do. I decided to go for it, and some garlic, onion, cumin and ground chillies later, I was chomping on heaven.
You can read a real recipe for refried beans if you want, or you can do the following:
(Ingredients: some beans, some garlic, some onion, some cumin, some ground chillies, some forgiveness-of-self, some self-indulgence)
1. Sit on your butt for a year following this regimen almost exclusively: pizza rolls, egg tacos, chocolate chip cookies, repeat.
2. Dance around your house upon receiving a package from home. Increase dancing tempo upon seeing that oh-so-familiar can of Old El Paso.
3. Wait one year.
4. Get scolded by fellow PCV who tells you how easy it is to make refried beans at home. Be inspired by her incredible cooking skills.
5. Go home. Boil some beans. Chop up some garlic and onion. Wait for five hours, passing time by cleaning, watching episodes of Seinfeld and Big Love. Read some Middlesex. Burn your tongue testing a bean for squishability. Add the chopped garlic and onion, sprinkle in a bunch of the cumin and the chilly. Smash.
6. Make a bean burrito. Eat it, and die a thousand deaths.
7. Forgive yourself for not doing this so much sooner.
8. The next evening, “forget” your tummy’s morning objections. Eat four more bean burritos.