I do something extremely important for a living. I don’t make anything per se, at least not in the traditional sense. However, if you take my job out of the equation many things you love will never be the same. You might be wondering what that is. Hold your applause until the next paragraph.
I count beans. You probably think that a classically trained French chef can do without such a position in their kitchen. But it’s not so. Whether lima, cannellini, or dare I say, white ones, cassoulet is nothing without a quantitative analysis.
Many so-called “bougie foodies” have never stopped one time to count the number of frijoles floating in their Sunday chili. They rarely differentiate kidneys from pintos or, dare I say, black ones. It’s essential when making three-bean chili, as I am wont to do, to make dinner perfectly equitable, thereby avoiding any apparent bean disparities.
In theory, this may sound easy, but in culinary practice, it’s surprisingly difficult. Not only must the simmering pot contain equal numbers of bean types, but so should each bowl, each spoonful, each bite, and each digested morsel. Without that level of dinnertime vigilance there’s no telling what might happen.
My hope is that this way of thinking moves to other dishes. An everything bagel that’s fair and balanced. A lemon and poppy muffin with equal representation. Until then, I have some beans to count. Dining will never be the same.
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