Friends Let Friends Make Beans and Rice

This is a tale of one city and three friends. Last week, Friend #1 was having a tough go of things. Nothing life threatening, mind you, but a patch of time and space that was rough like gravel underfoot and a seemingly endless series of pot holes to navigate around. The e-mail rally of support and phoned-in morale injections were doing little to ease the pain.

Habichualas guisadas. Photo: Viv/Seattle Bon Vivant.

By Day #3, Friends #2 and #3 agreed that a staged intervention was necessary to wash the woogies out of Friend #1’s hair. The trio met at the home of Friend #1 over wine and sugary snacks, a happy hour-style diversion that effectively turned Friend #1’s frown upside down. After a few hours, it became apparent to Friend #2 that food of a substantial variety was in order if she wanted to prevent an impending diabetic coma.

Friend #2 had long wanted to try Friend #1’s beans and rice, known in Puerto Rico (where she grew up) as habichuelas guisadas. So Friend #2 threw caution to the wind and asked. “Why don’t you make us your beans and rice?”

There was no hesitation. Friend #1’s husband was given his marching orders for the supermarket, where he’d pick up missing ingredients. Meanwhile, Friend #1 turned on the tunes, pulled out the cutting board and started chopping.

From the other side of the counter, Friends #2 and #3 looked on. Friend #1 was dancing. Her hips swayed like palm trees back home. Her face brightened like a ripe mango, and the zippy, infectious energy that Friends #2 and #3 know all too well had returned.

With an hour, dinner was ready: Habichuelas, arroz (rice) and a few optional glugs of Trinidadian pepper sauce. The house was warm, the air filled with the sweetness of butternut squash. The Friends and Mister Husband sat down with their steaming plates. They lapped up every last morsel.

Just a few days later, the doldrums showed up at the home of Friend #2, who was equally inconsolable and despondent.

Newly mended Friend #1 knew that the only way to get her friend out of this rabbit hole was to get back into the kitchen.

“You want me to come over and we’ll make habichuelas?” Friend #1 said to Friend #2. “I’ve got sofrito. Do you have ham?”
Check.
“Rice?”
Check.
“I’ve got calabaza, too.”

The rest is history, or history repeating itself, with the squash scenting the air and two kindred spirits nourishing each other, body and soul, at the stove.

Habichuelas Guisadas
Vegetarians: Don’t be put off by the use of ham. Omit and start the dish with a wee bit of oil and the sofrito.

Ingredients
4 ounces ham steak, cut into 1-inch cubes
wee bit of of vegetable oil to lubricate pan
2 tablespoons sofrito (how-to details follow)
1 1/2 cups winter squash, such as butternut or hubbard, cut into 1-inch cubes
2 15-ounce cans red kidney beans, plus liquid
1 1/2 tablespoons tomato paste
About 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
Traditional add-ons but optional: 5 olives stuffed with pimientos and 5 capers

Here’s what you do:
In a wide skillet or medium saucepan, pan fry ham with oil until brown and crispy. Reduce heat to medium, then stir in sofrito and mix well. Add squash, and stir. Then add beans, liquid, 2 cans’ worth of water, and tomato paste (and if using, olives and capers). Stir well, and bring up to a lively simmer.

Cook uncovered over medium heat, until squash is fork tender and sauce has thickened, about 35 minutes. Season with salt, and add more as you see fit.

Serve with rice. Makes about 4 servings.

Sofrito
Ingredients
2 bunches cilantro leaves thoroughly washed, dried
1 cup recao leaves, thoroughly washed and dried (also known as culantro and in Vietnamese markets, as ngo gai; if unavailable: increase cilantro by 1/2 cup)
1 large sweet onion, roughly chopped
juice 1/2 lime
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 red jalapenos, seeded and roughly chopped
6 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
salt and pepper

Here’s what you do:
Place all ingredients (but salt and pepper) in the bowl of a food processor or heavy duty blender. Pulverize until thoroughly pureed. Season with salt and pepper as you see fit.

Makes about 2 cups.

Can be frozen in ice cube trays for future use.