Praise the name of the restaurant I will never open, where cannellini meet garlic and sage, garbanzos meet spinach, borlotti meet stout kale and hang together with roasted tomatoes and bacon. Praise the way beans wait in glass jars in the cabinet, patient and imminent, prepared for the someday that just might come tonight. I soaked black-eyed peas all day, then gave them three minutes in the pressure cooker. In the pan they joined the deep deep green of spinach and chard. A little salt, a lot of garlic, and a flurry of lemon zested over the pan. Praise the freshness of spring. Praise earthiness, simplicity, the drizzle of olive oil over the top. Praise that first bite, when I said, “I could eat nothing else all my life.”

April 2, 2015