Beans and Rice Dinner

Election Day is tomorrow and I have done what I can: I voted, I mailed Marvin's ballot, I assigned my students a reflection essay on civic participation, and I made soup, because soup is what I make when I am anxious and the anxiety this week is not about Marvin or the virus or the school but about the country, the actual country, the one Irving came to in 1929 and which has been, for ninety years of Rosen-Feldman history, the place where we were allowed to be Jewish and safe and free, and the freedom is not guaranteed, it never was, but the not-guaranteeing feels more acute this year than any year I can remember, and I remember a lot of years.

I taught "The Crucible" this week — I teach it every fall, and every fall it's relevant, and this fall it's so relevant that I had to stop myself from editorializing, which is not what English teachers do, English teachers ask questions: Why does Proctor refuse to sign his name? What is more important, truth or survival? When does silence become complicity? The students answered. Some answered well. Some answered in ways that surprised me. A boy named James, quiet all semester, said, "Proctor refused because his name was the last thing he had, and he wasn't going to give it away." I wrote it on the board. I let it sit there. Some answers are too good to follow with more questions. You let them be.

I made a lentil soup — a thick, cumin-scented, lemon-brightened soup that is my election-anxiety food, because lentils are cheap and filling and democratic in the most literal sense: everyone can afford them, everyone can make them, and the soup asks nothing of you except a pot and an hour and the willingness to eat something humble. Humility is in short supply this week. The soup provides it. I eat the soup and I wait for the results and I hold Marvin's hand on the couch and he doesn't know what we're waiting for but he holds my hand back, which is instinct, which is muscle memory, which is love stored in the fingers, and I will take it.

The lentil soup I described above is close kin to this beans and rice dinner — same spirit, same logic, same answer to the same question: what do you cook when the world feels too large and your kitchen feels like the only thing you can actually control? James’s words about Proctor were still on the board in my mind, and Marvin’s hand was still in mine, and what I needed was a pot of something that asked nothing complicated of me — just beans, just rice, just heat and time. This is that pot.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1 can (15 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
2 cans (15 oz each) kidney beans or black beans, drained and rinsed
1 1/2 cups long-grain white rice
2 3/4 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Juice of 1/2 lemon
2 tablespoons fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped (for serving)

Instructions

Sauté the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Bloom the spices. Add the cumin, smoked paprika, and red pepper flakes (if using). Stir constantly for about 30 seconds, letting the spices toast in the oil until fragrant.
Add tomatoes and beans. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices and stir to combine with the spiced onion mixture. Add the drained beans and stir everything together. Let simmer for 3–4 minutes.
Cook the rice. Add the rice, vegetable broth, salt, and black pepper. Stir well, increase heat to bring to a boil, then reduce to a low simmer. Cover and cook undisturbed for 18–20 minutes, until the rice has absorbed the liquid and is tender.
Rest and finish. Remove from heat and let the pot sit, covered, for 5 minutes. Uncover, fluff gently with a fork, and squeeze the lemon juice over the top. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh parsley or cilantro. Serve warm, directly from the pot — this is not a dish that needs a formal presentation.

Nutrition (per serving)

Beans and Rice Dinner — The Humble Pot I Made While Waiting for the Country to Decide