Exploding Face-Melting Black Bean Soup

I finally pulled my new pressure cooker off of the shelf today to give it a whirl.   Partly because I keep hearing about how much better home-cooked beans taste than canned beans and my curiosity was piqued, and also because it was a rainy, dreary day in Brooklyn and a pot of hot bean soup just sounded good. 

But, dude, this pot is INTIMIDATING.  It comes with a 72 page instruction manual, which is really 10 pages of instructions and 62 pages of HOW NOT TO KILL OR MAIM YOURSELF AND YOUR FAMILY WHILE COOKING WITH THIS POT.  Seriously, this devil manual said things like  “Here are some helpful hints to avoid scalding” and “children should not be in the presence of the pressure cooker” and “do not let any of your friends borrow this pot if they have not read this manual” because if their face melts off the manufacturer will not be held responsible. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Plus, my husband, who grew up in a home where everything was made from scratch, from beans to sweaters, had mentioned something about pots exploding like grenades and beans on the ceiling.

Are beans really worth the potential carnage?  I had to find out.

I got the thing working just fine, but soon a lusty, confrontational hissing started emanating from the devil pot.  Was this normal?  The instruction manual said to expect a “gentle stream of steam” but it did not mention venomous, ear-splitting hissing.  So, I went to ask my husband if this noise was normal.  “Yes, it’s normal,” said his mouth, while the rest of his face said “Do not laugh at her, do not feed her rage or insanity.”

So, I did the only thing a sane person would do: I went back to the kitchen, tied a pasta strainer to my head with a length of cheesecloth and crouched down behind the kitchen island and waited for the impending explosion, eyes peeking over the island like a kitten getting ready to pounce on a ball of yarn.

And then my doorbell rang.  Have you ever tried to loosen a cheesecloth knot in a hurry?  It’s not easy, people.  So, I had to talk to my neighbor through the door for a few minutes, but she’s understanding and thinks I’m normal, and I didn’t have to open my door wearing a nightgown and a pasta strainer headpiece, so it’s all ok.

When the kitchen timer sounded, I told the neighbor bye, reassembled my headgear and crawled across the kitchen floor to the stove to turn off the burner.  TRIUMPH.  No explosion!  But then the devil pot started ticking. Loud, clanging ticking that shot hot electric liquid panic through my body.  Visions of shrapnel and black eyes and the mess of a black bean-coated ceiling danced in my head.  And Lydia!  What would I say to Lydia?

Lydia is my cleaning lady.  She is short and round, and lovely and wonderful, and she sings the Spanish version of “Lady in Red” in the key of atonal while she cleans.  I love her.  And I could not bear to have her come over on Tuesday and find my rotting corpse on the floor and beans on the ceiling.  Especially after I sort of broke up her marriage, but this is another story for another time.

It turns out my fears were all for naught.  The clang-knocking was just the pot cooling down.  Har har har.  Ahhhhh, bean explosion averted.

Full of smugness and much in need of a relaxing cup of tea and some quality Facebook time, I grab my mug and head to the living room. I flip on the light, as I have done every day since moving into this house, and all of a sudden a gunfire noise blasts my left ear, my panic reasserts itself full-force, and I am covered in bits of glass. I make barbaric women noises that send Doyle running to me from the office.

GODDAMN IT!  I THOUGHT I HAD THWARTED EXPLOSION FRIDAY!

Really?  I manage to overcome an hour-long ticking bean time bomb just to get an earful of light bulb explosion?  This is just not fair.  Light bulbs should not explode.

To Doyle's credit, he did not laugh at me when I started ranting about light bulb conspiracies, and instead suggested I drink a glass of wine to calm myself down. Which I would have done, except neither of us had shoes on and therefore could not get to the kitchen, where the wine lives.

My sweet husband then attempted to soothe me in true man fashion, by uttering the first words that came to his mind, "It's not like the lights are haunted."

Excuse me? 

Here I am, speculating over what scientific electrical malfunction just occurred and wondering whether the inside of the wall was on fire, and you come at me with ghosts?  ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?  Have you forgotten that you are married to the person who saw "It" and slept with the lights on until she was 20?  The person who tries not to shut her eyes while shampooing her hair in the shower because she knows that if she closes her eyes for even a split-second, an axe-wielding maniac will somehow be standing in the shower with her?  The person who TOLD YOU her life would never be normal again after seeing that girl crawl out of the television set in The Ring?

The look on my face must have said it all, because he hied himself back to his man cave office while I spent the next ten minutes whispering to myself "this house is NOT haunted, it's only three years old for christ's sake" as I used my pants to sweep up most of the glass and then vacuumed up the rest...in my underwear.  After that I just gave up for the day. I put on pajamas and went into the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of wine at 10:00 AM and made this soup recipe.  I hope you enjoy it.

The bright side:  Through this thoroughly terrifying morning, I learned that a pressure cooker does in fact yield a pot of delicious, perfectly cooked beans.  They really are better than canned.  And now that I have been initiated into the horror noises of the devil pot, I will eventually do this again.

BLACK BEAN SOUP

This is a spinoff of the Moosewood Brazilian Black Bean recipe.  I tinkered with it.

*For this recipe, I soaked the 2 cups of beans overnight in 8 cups of water.  

TO COOK THE BEANS

2 cups of dried black beans, soaked overnight, strained and rinsed

1 smallish onion

2 whole cloves

2 bay leaves

4 cups of water

2 Tbsps olive or grapeseed oil

You can cook the beans via:

Pressure Cooker

Put everything into a pressure cooker, fasten the lid, and cook on high until the steam begins to hiss angrily.  Once this happens, set the timer for 10 minutes, and then turn the flame down to about medium/medium low (whatever maintains the angry hiss but doesn’t cause panic-inducing noises to emerge).  When the timer dings, turn off the heat because those beans are done.  Wait until the pressure dissipates, about 15 minutes or so, before removing the lid, or the steamy beans might kill you or your cat.

Note: Please use a large enough cooker to handle all these beans, and please do not explode anything.  I will not be held responsible for your melted face.  Please use the pressure cooker according to its instructions.

or, via

Stovetop

For this, put everything into a large pot, put a lid on it, bring it up to a boil, then turn it down to simmer for about an hour to an hour and a half.  Beans are done when they don’t break your teeth.

or

You can give your hand a workout and just crank open 3 cans of black beans or break out the crock pot.  Whatever gives you joy.

TO COOK THE REST

You can do this while the beans are cooking:

1 Tbsp Olive Oil

3 cups chopped onion

10 crushed and chopped garlic cloves

1 carrot, diced

2 roasted red peppers (or 1 fresh) chopped

2 tsp Cumin

2 tsp Salt

1 ½ cups orange juice (no, I am not crazy)

1 chopped tomato

½ cup tomato puree

1 tsp red pepper flakes

1 – 2 tsp Siracha sauce (Omit if you don’t like spicy foods)

Salt (about 2 tsp more, to my taste) and black pepper, to taste

Cilantro

Heat the olive oil in a large pot over a medium flame.  Add the onion, garlic, carrot, red peppers, cumin and salt.  Sautee till the carrots are tender (about 15 – 25 minutes).  Dump in the cooked beans and their cooking water, orange juice, tomato, tomato puree, red pepper flakes and Siracha sauce.  Bring up to a boil and reduce heat to simmer for 10 minutes.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  Serve topped with cilantro.  Bathe in your own happiness.