Bean Counter Chowder

The last week of 2019 and the last week of a decade, though I have never been particularly moved by decade markers — time does not care about our systems of counting it. What I do know is that when I look back at the decade from this chair by the woodstove, I see: retirement in 2015, which was harder than I expected and then found its shape. Helen signing me up for the blog in 2016, which I resisted and which has become one of the genuine pleasures of these years. James born, Lucy born, the grandchildren growing from small bodies into people with opinions and reading levels and opinions about gingerbread decoration. The farmhouse steady. Helen beside me. Frost at my feet.

I made the black-eyed peas for New Year's Eve, as I have every year since the late 1990s. Ham hock, onion, bay leaf, the long cooking until the pot liquor is rich. I eat a bowl at eleven-thirty while Helen is asleep and the woodstove ticks and the new year arrives in whatever combination of cold and quiet Vermont delivers. This year it arrived with light snow, which is the right weather for a new year — not dramatic, not plain. Particular.

Helen's year-end reflection: 2019 was a good year. The Champlain Valley Fair, where her strawberry jam came second. The maple season with the grandchildren in March. The summer week with all five. Ben starting kindergarten and calling to report his reading achievement. Christmas. The table full.

It was a good year. When I am honest — and I try always to be honest, even about good things that might not last — I know that 2019 was a year that will seem better in retrospect than it seemed in the moment. Most good years are like this. You see their quality more clearly from the next year, or the year after, looking back. I resolve to remember 2019 while I am still in its last hours. I am remembering it. Right now. This is the memory: the stove, the snow, the quiet, and Helen asleep in the next room. This is what good is.

The black-eyed peas I described above are the tradition, the ritual — but the Bean Counter Chowder is what I make when the house fills up, when Helen is awake and the grandchildren are underfoot and the night calls for something that stretches. It is built on the same logic as my New Year’s pot: beans, long heat, a good broth that deepens as it cooks. If the black-eyed peas are the quiet ceremony of eleven-thirty, this chowder is the table full — the one Helen described as the year’s best thing.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 stalks celery, sliced
2 medium carrots, peeled and diced
1 medium russet potato, peeled and cubed
2 cans (15 oz each) mixed beans (such as navy, kidney, and black-eyed peas), drained and rinsed
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
4 cups low-sodium vegetable or chicken broth
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 bay leaf
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped (for garnish)

Instructions

Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Add the vegetables. Stir in carrots and potato. Cook for 3 minutes, allowing them to begin to soften and pick up some color.
Add beans and liquid. Pour in the drained beans, diced tomatoes with their juices, and broth. Stir to combine.
Season and simmer. Add thyme, smoked paprika, bay leaf, and a generous pinch of salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover partially and simmer for 30–35 minutes, until potatoes and carrots are fully tender and the broth has thickened and deepened in flavor.
Finish and adjust. Remove the bay leaf. Taste and adjust seasoning. For a thicker chowder, use the back of a spoon to crush some of the beans against the side of the pot and stir to incorporate.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and garnish with chopped parsley. Best eaten by a woodstove, with no particular hurry.

Nutrition (per serving)

Bean Counter Chowder — The Quiet Bowl That Marks Another Good Year