Black Bean Tacos with Radish Salsa and Feta -- Because Beans Are Always the Point

The thing about winter in Kentucky is that it gives you time to think. Summer is too busy — the heat, the construction pace, the garden, the grilling. Fall is football. But winter... winter is soup on the stove and a slow evening and the kind of quiet that lets your mind wander. Mine wanders to Harlan County. Always back to Harlan County.

I've been thinking about writing a cookbook. Not a real cookbook — not something you'd buy at a bookstore, if bookstores still existed — but a collection. Betty's recipes, written down, organized, preserved. I've been writing them on the blog one at a time, but the blog is scattered. A recipe here, a story there. What I need is a book. A thing with pages and an order and Betty's name on it. "What Betty Made." I thought of the title this week and it felt right. Not "Betty's Cookbook" — too generic. "What Betty Made" — specific, personal, a statement that implies the woman behind the food. That's what matters. Not the recipe. The woman.

I mentioned it to Connie on Saturday night. We were sitting in the living room, me with bourbon, her with tea, the house quiet because Clay was at Tyler's. I said "I think I might write a cookbook." She looked at me. "Betty's recipes?" "Yeah." She nodded. "You should." That was it. No discussion, no planning, no logistics. Just "you should." That's how Connie supports things — not with enthusiasm but with certainty. She doesn't get excited about ideas. She gets definitive. "You should" from Connie is a command more than a suggestion.

This week's recipe: brown beans and ham. Now, I know I've talked about beans approximately forty-seven times in this blog, but beans are the foundation of Appalachian cooking and they deserve the attention. Brown beans are pinto beans cooked with a chunk of country ham — not a ham hock, not bacon, but a piece of dry-cured country ham, the kind they cure in smoke houses in eastern Kentucky. Country ham is saltier and more intense than regular ham, and it gives the beans a depth that no other pork product can match.

Soak a pound of pintos overnight. Drain, rinse, put in a pot with a big chunk of country ham (about a pound), a diced onion, and enough water to cover by three inches. Bring to a boil, then simmer for three hours. The country ham will slowly dissolve its salt and smoke into the broth, turning it from bean water into something rich and amber and soul-deep. By the time the beans are soft, the broth is a meal in itself. Pull out the ham, chop it, put it back. Serve in a bowl with the broth, with cornbread for soaking.

There's a distinction in Appalachia between poor and cheap. Cheap is a choice. Poor is a circumstance. Cheap food is ramen noodles and dollar menus. Poor food is beans and cornbread — food born of necessity that became something beautiful through repetition and care and the absolute refusal to let poverty determine quality. Betty never made cheap food. She made poor food, and she made it with a dignity and a skill that no restaurant has ever matched. That's what the cookbook is about. Not poverty. Dignity.

Writing down Betty’s brown bean recipe this week — really sitting with it, trying to put into words what country ham does to a pot of pintos over three slow hours — reminded me that beans reward attention no matter what shape they take. These black bean tacos aren’t Harlan County. They’re quick and bright and a little crumbly with feta. But the same principle holds: start with a good bean, treat it with care, and you’ve got something worth sitting down for. Connie said “you should” about the cookbook, and I keep thinking the same thing applies here — you should make these on a winter weeknight when you need something fast but not cheap.

Black Bean Tacos with Radish Salsa and Feta

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4 (2 tacos each)

Ingredients

• 2 cans (15 oz each) black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 8 small corn or flour tortillas
• 1 cup radishes, thinly sliced into matchsticks
• 1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
• 1 jalapeño, seeded and minced
• 3 tablespoons fresh lime juice, divided
• 3 tablespoons fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
• 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
• 1 avocado, thinly sliced
• Hot sauce for serving

Instructions

1. Make the radish salsa. In a small bowl, combine the sliced radishes, red onion, jalapeño, 2 tablespoons of the lime juice, and cilantro. Toss well, season with salt, and set aside to let the flavors come together while you work on the beans.
2. Season and cook the beans. Heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the drained black beans along with the cumin, smoked paprika, garlic powder, cayenne, and a generous pinch of salt and pepper. Stir to coat, then cook for 8–10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the beans are heated through, slightly dried out, and beginning to crisp at the edges. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon lime juice and stir to deglaze the pan.
3. Warm the tortillas. Heat tortillas one at a time in a dry skillet over medium-high heat for about 30 seconds per side, or char them briefly over a gas flame, until pliable with a few toasted spots.
4. Assemble the tacos. Spoon a generous portion of seasoned black beans down the center of each tortilla. Top with a spoonful of radish salsa, a few slices of avocado, and a crumble of feta cheese.
5. Serve immediately. Pass hot sauce at the table. These do not wait well — eat them while the beans are warm and the radish salsa still has its crunch.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 385 | Protein: 16g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 53g | Fiber: 15g | Sodium: 610mg