By New year. 2019. I said it out loud to Calvin over morning coffee on New Year's Day—"2019"—just to hear what it sounded like, and he said, "Yes," and we both sat with the strangeness of it: a year without March third in it yet, a year that hasn't been stained yet, a year that is theoretically possible. I know that's naive. Every year has its March thirds, its phone calls in the middle of the night, its news that rewrites everything. But January has a quality of blankness, of possibility, that I am choosing to let be what it is. Blank. Possible. Open.
The black-eyed peas yesterday were good. Destiny was still here for New Year's Day, and she helped me make the cornbread and she set the table and we ate black-eyed peas and cornbread and collard greens in the New Year's Day tradition, which my family considers spiritually mandatory and scientifically valid—the peas for luck, the greens for money, the cornbread for gold. I don't know if it works. I know we've done it every year of my life and that the doing of it is its own form of luck, the luck of continuity, of being a person who has a tradition to continue.
The cooking classes start back up this Saturday. I've been thinking about what to teach next. We've done biscuits, cornbread, pan gravy, fried chicken. I think this month we do the stews—oxtails, smothered pork chops, neck bones—the slow-cook things, the things that require you to start and then step back and trust the heat, the things that are really about time rather than technique. The lesson in slow cooking is the lesson in everything: you cannot rush what needs time. You start it. You season it. You let it go. You come back and check and adjust. You let it go again. You serve it when it's done. This is cooking. This is also grief. This is also marriage. This is also faith. One lesson, served many ways, from the same big pot.
The black-eyed peas were yesterday’s tradition, but the spirit of them — beans simmering low, the house smelling like something patient and good — stayed with me into the week. When Saturday’s cooking class came around and I was thinking about slow-cook lessons, I kept coming back to this black bean chili: you start it, you season it, you let it go, and it gives you back something richer than what you put in. That’s the whole lesson, right there in one pot.
The BEST Black Bean Chili
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 large yellow onion, diced
- 1 red bell pepper, diced
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 tablespoons chili powder
- 1 tablespoon ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
- 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or to taste)
- 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 3 cans (15 oz each) black beans, drained and rinsed
- 1 can (14.5 oz) fire-roasted diced tomatoes
- 1 can (14.5 oz) crushed tomatoes
- 1 cup vegetable broth (or water)
- 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
- Optional toppings: sour cream, shredded cheese, sliced green onions, pickled jalapeños, cornbread
Instructions
- Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the diced onion and bell pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and just beginning to turn golden, about 7–8 minutes.
- Bloom the spices. Add the garlic, chili powder, cumin, smoked paprika, oregano, cayenne, and salt. Stir constantly for about 60 seconds until the spices are fragrant and coating the vegetables. Don’t rush this step — this is where the depth comes from.
- Add the beans and tomatoes. Pour in the drained black beans, fire-roasted diced tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, and vegetable broth. Stir everything together and bring to a gentle boil.
- Simmer low and slow. Reduce heat to medium-low, partially cover the pot, and let the chili simmer for 25–30 minutes, stirring occasionally. The flavors will deepen and the chili will thicken. This is the part where you step back and trust the heat.
- Adjust and finish. Taste and adjust salt, cayenne, or chili powder as needed. Stir in the apple cider vinegar — it brightens everything. If the chili is thicker than you like, add a splash of broth. If you want it thicker, mash a scoop of beans against the side of the pot and stir it back in.
- Serve. Ladle into bowls and top as you like. Cornbread alongside is not optional in this house.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 290 | Protein: 14g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 46g | Fiber: 14g | Sodium: 620mg