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Sorry I know Bean Dad is really old news but wanna hear how my dad handled survivalism beans?
Firstly, he did this more than once. He started early, pre kindergarten, and sort of repeated the process at random throughout child and teen years.
And he didn't frame it as a lesson either. He just... Imparted knowledge casually.
And he didn't frame it as a lesson either. He just... Imparted knowledge casually.
The earliest "lesson" I remember, it was Thanksgiving. He grabbed a silvery colored cylinder, maybe an inch in diameter and half as tall, and tossed it at me. "Catch"
He told me to "take a look at that little gadget" and then turned around and proceeded to keep cooking.
He told me to "take a look at that little gadget" and then turned around and proceeded to keep cooking.
The rounded edges had holes, four of them. The flat side had numbers etched by three of the holes. 5, 10, and 15.
It had a cursive word too, but I can't read cursive.
It had a cursive word too, but I can't read cursive.
He had a pot on the stove, made of a paper metal than the soup pans, and way paler than the cast iron. It had a thick rim, that folded outward, and was cut in a stepped way, like a gear. The lid was gear-shaped to match, with a black rubber ring.
"C'mere"
"C'mere"
Dad had me lock the lid into place, using the "gear" teeth.
They weren't real gears. But I was like five or so, and I knew what a gear was. Ok?
So, he had me put the lid on, and then tightened it himself, saying he was "locking it on".
The lid had a thing poking up.
They weren't real gears. But I was like five or so, and I knew what a gear was. Ok?
So, he had me put the lid on, and then tightened it himself, saying he was "locking it on".
The lid had a thing poking up.
"this" he announced dramatically" is a pressure cooker." He took the cylinder back, and asked "how much pressure do you want it to take the blow the top off?"
Now
I
Was
HYPED
Now
I
Was
HYPED
And I had a guess. A hypothesis. The numbers were amounts of pressure.
My dad clarified that, no, my child destructo dreams were in vain, it wouldn't actually explode like a bomb and blast a hole through the roof to the moon.
But ... I'd have to watch.
"Let's try 5lb"
My dad clarified that, no, my child destructo dreams were in vain, it wouldn't actually explode like a bomb and blast a hole through the roof to the moon.
But ... I'd have to watch.
"Let's try 5lb"
He showed me how the holes determined the pressure and tbh I don't really remember how that worked. I was still busy thinking about how cool an explosion would be.
And he turned the heat up and sent me off to play while the pressure built.
And he turned the heat up and sent me off to play while the pressure built.
He called me back to the kitchen when the little cylinder was sputtering and hopping on that pokey-uppy thing.
This amazing magical pot would cook under a specific pressure, letting off the extra, in order to make the food the tenderest and best.
Magic.
This amazing magical pot would cook under a specific pressure, letting off the extra, in order to make the food the tenderest and best.
Magic.
Dad has always been a fan of weird food.
Like
Go to the Asian store and buy a fruit because it's shaped weird and the name isn't printed in english just korean or something.
Like
Go to the Asian store and buy a fruit because it's shaped weird and the name isn't printed in english just korean or something.
So, one day he's just like "hm we should buy some beans" and no of course I'm thinking "yes because the eleventy nine cans in the cupboards aren't the right kind for whatever meal he has suddenly decided to make?"
But no.
They were already cooked, see?
But no.
They were already cooked, see?
So he piles us kids into the car and just starts driving
Where? Who knows!
Past the store
Out past the like woodsy areas
Like a wilderness road trip
Farmers market. So we get out and he's like "find some beans that look cool"
Where? Who knows!
Past the store
Out past the like woodsy areas
Like a wilderness road trip
Farmers market. So we get out and he's like "find some beans that look cool"
What does that even mean?
Literally just... Look for pretty beans.
So we did.
Literally just... Look for pretty beans.
So we did.
We come back, each of us kids, with some dried beans that looked cool.
Purplish ones.
Anasazis.
Normal looking by ginormous beans.
Mexican jumping beans in a little red box with flowers painted on it.
Purplish ones.
Anasazis.
Normal looking by ginormous beans.
Mexican jumping beans in a little red box with flowers painted on it.
And dad is standing there at the car waiting with like sixty different kinds of Indian corn and some weird looking potato's and hella fruit
And home we go.
And home we go.
He explains on the drive that beans are stored dry as a "dried good" for basically ever. And you gotta rehydrate them and then pressure cook them.
So then at home, we measure beans into bowls of measured out water and fridge them.
So then at home, we measure beans into bowls of measured out water and fridge them.
And dad researches on dial up internet cook times for each kind
Chicken-pecking the keyboard using exclusively his middle fingers.
With like, the very tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration.
My dad. Salt and pepper hair.
I just need you to see that in your heads ok.
Chicken-pecking the keyboard using exclusively his middle fingers.
With like, the very tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration.
My dad. Salt and pepper hair.
I just need you to see that in your heads ok.
Time skip, another set of beans, another cooking experience.
We didn't btw cook the jumping beans my littlest sister bought. Those were obviously too cool.
He told us to keep an eye on them, and we got to enjoy the wonder of the little bugs coming out.
By wonder I mean terror
We didn't btw cook the jumping beans my littlest sister bought. Those were obviously too cool.
He told us to keep an eye on them, and we got to enjoy the wonder of the little bugs coming out.
By wonder I mean terror
So anyways, different cooking time
Anasazis again. They're delish. Soaked the requisite hours, and he puts them in the pressure cooker, and explains, casually, like as if he's discussing the newspaper or work, how rice and beans have complimentary proteins
Anasazis again. They're delish. Soaked the requisite hours, and he puts them in the pressure cooker, and explains, casually, like as if he's discussing the newspaper or work, how rice and beans have complimentary proteins
Tosses the cylinder to one of us "here set it to ten" and then "so proteins are made up of amino acids...."
And at the same time he's got this bag of scorched peppers from some rando who had a grill set up in the Walmart parking lot and didn't speak English.
The
smelled good
And at the same time he's got this bag of scorched peppers from some rando who had a grill set up in the Walmart parking lot and didn't speak English.
The
smelled good
That was his explanation for where they came from. They smelled good from the road driving by, so he stopped and got some.
And he says "don't touch your face" and then demonstrates peeling and de-seeding the pepper and passes me the knife.
(I touched my face. It was horrible. I got roasted jalapeno and anaheim in my eye and nose respectively.)
(I touched my face. It was horrible. I got roasted jalapeno and anaheim in my eye and nose respectively.)
He explains the long history of beans in native culture, which we already know. And how to balance the bean and rice ratio for optimum nutrient absorption.
And a whole lot else.
And a whole lot else.
And we make our food and then home can the leftovers in jars.
And he puts the beans and rice and veggies and meat into the glass jars in layers, like decorative sand, for the aesthetic because why not? Because it's fun. Because that's just... Dad.
And he puts the beans and rice and veggies and meat into the glass jars in layers, like decorative sand, for the aesthetic because why not? Because it's fun. Because that's just... Dad.
And tomatoes on top. I don't like tomatoes, but dad insists. Why tomatoes? Why does *everything* we can involve tomatoes???
"That's for the botchilism"
"That's for the botchilism"
Botulism. Sorry I spelled it phonetically.
My dad explained that Clostridium botulinum just loves to grow in canned goods
But, you put a tomato in and it does some chemical shit that makes a VERY potent and specific smell when that happens. Something to do with acidity?
My dad explained that Clostridium botulinum just loves to grow in canned goods
But, you put a tomato in and it does some chemical shit that makes a VERY potent and specific smell when that happens. Something to do with acidity?
Well, a while back I decides to get a canner and make chili and stuff, and canned some, and had a blast.
I was all proud of myself.
Next week, I opened one to enjoy a lovely sweet-corn chili and
The smell slapped me. Botulism.
I was all proud of myself.
Next week, I opened one to enjoy a lovely sweet-corn chili and
The smell slapped me. Botulism.
I knew that smell, from my dad having us all sniff it when he opened cans he knew were bad.
(He would buy swollen and dented cans with priority, so some idiot wouldn't kill themselves eating it)
(He would buy swollen and dented cans with priority, so some idiot wouldn't kill themselves eating it)
I don't remember learning can openers ,except that I needed help holding it closed, and needed two hands to turn it, and I stood on a chair.
But anyways, I remember the time - years - dedicated to beans, gently, casually
And how it saved my life.
But anyways, I remember the time - years - dedicated to beans, gently, casually
And how it saved my life.
