Black Bean and Avocado Breakfast Burritos

January 2026. New year. I was thirty-eight. The year ahead looked like more of what I'd been building: the land, the catering, the training work at the pipeline, the family gathering around the barn and the food and the work of keeping things alive. That's not a small life. That's everything.

Lily published her second major paper in January—the case study about our work, the land, the food journal, the workshops. She'd sent me the draft in November and I'd read it carefully and made three factual corrections and had no other objections. The paper named me directly, which I knew was coming and had thought about for months. It positioned what I was doing as a form of active cultural stewardship—not preservation, which implies keeping something in place, but stewardship, which implies tending something living. The distinction mattered to me.

She called after it went live and asked how I felt about it. I said I felt like Danny had just been publicly vindicated, which isn't exactly what she asked but is what I meant. She was quiet for a second and then said yes, that's what it is.

Made a winter bean soup on New Year's Day—the Cherokee Trail of Tears beans that had become my winter staple, cooked simply with salt pork and dried chile and onion, served with the last of the fall's cornbread. Kai came over and ate two bowls. He's thirteen now and eating with a teenager's appetite that is genuinely impressive. He asked questions about the paper. I told him it was about us, about this family, about this food. He said he was going to read it. I said good. He went home with the rest of the cornbread.

The Trail of Tears beans I cooked on New Year’s Day are a winter thing—long-simmered, salt pork, dried chile, the kind of patience a cold morning earns. But beans don’t stay in one season, and neither does what they mean to me. When Kai asked about the paper, about the food, about this family, I thought about how to keep that conversation going past New Year’s morning—and one answer is just: keep putting beans on the table, in every form. This breakfast burrito is how that carries forward into an ordinary weekday, quick and honest and still rooted in the same thing.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 large flour tortillas (10-inch)
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
2 ripe avocados, sliced or roughly mashed
6 large eggs
2 tablespoons olive oil or butter
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar or pepper jack cheese
1/2 cup salsa or pico de gallo
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro (optional)
Hot sauce for serving (optional)

Instructions

Warm the beans. In a small saucepan over medium-low heat, combine the drained black beans with cumin, smoked paprika, a pinch of salt, and 2 tablespoons of water. Stir occasionally and cook 4—5 minutes until heated through. Remove from heat and set aside.
Scramble the eggs. Crack eggs into a bowl, season with salt and pepper, and whisk until combined. Heat olive oil or butter in a nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add eggs and cook, stirring gently with a spatula, until just set and still slightly soft, about 3—4 minutes. Remove from heat.
Warm the tortillas. Wrap tortillas in a damp paper towel and microwave 30—45 seconds, or warm individually in a dry skillet over medium heat for 30 seconds per side.
Assemble the burritos. Lay each tortilla flat. Layer with a spoonful of black beans, a portion of scrambled eggs, sliced or mashed avocado, shredded cheese, and a spoonful of salsa. Add cilantro if using.
Fold and serve. Fold in the sides of the tortilla, then roll up tightly from the bottom. Serve immediately with hot sauce on the side if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Black Bean and Avocado Breakfast Burritos — The Beans That Carry the Story Forward