Frijoles y Chorizo

Labor Day weekend. The accounting: hay in the barn, calves healthy and growing, the farrier accounts in good order, the writing producing four strong magazine pieces and two major essays this year, the therapy continuing at monthly intervals with something approaching completion visible on the horizon, Tom Whelan's second book coming along, Cole's baby eight weeks out.

I've been thinking about what I wrote in September of last year — that I wanted a relationship where someone knew all of it. I still want that. The wanting is cleaner now than it was a year ago, which I attribute to the therapy and to what the writing has done. The more I say the real things in the writing, the less afraid I am of saying them to a specific person. The practice of honesty in public is making honesty in private feel more available. Dr. Crain would call this progress. She'd be right.

Dad and I walked the east fence line Saturday. He managed the full section — the first time in a year he's done the whole east side. He was slower than he used to be and he stopped twice to check a post that turned out to be fine, which I now recognize as a rest stop with plausible deniability. I checked the posts too, with equal seriousness. We got the whole section done and came back to the truck and he said: Good fences. I said: Every year. We drove home. That's the conversation. That's enough conversation.

Made slow-roasted pork shoulder Saturday — overnight brine, then low heat for eight hours. The meat fell apart. Made pozole on Sunday with the leftovers. Two meals from one piece of meat, same as always. The ranch way. Nothing wasted. Everything in its sequence.

The pozole was good. But if I’m being honest, what I kept coming back to all weekend was something even simpler — a pot of frijoles y chorizo I’d put on while the pork was still in the oven Saturday morning. Same principle as the pozole: one effort feeding the next, nothing elaborate, nothing wasted. After walking that fence line with Dad, after the quiet of the truck ride home, it was the right kind of meal. The kind that doesn’t ask anything of you except that you sit down and eat.

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

Ingredients

1 pound dried pinto beans, soaked overnight and drained
12 ounces fresh Mexican chorizo, casings removed
1 medium white onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 roma tomatoes, diced
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
4 cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Fresh cilantro, for garnish
Crumbled queso fresco, for serving

Instructions

Cook the chorizo. Heat vegetable oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium heat. Add the chorizo, breaking it apart with a wooden spoon, and cook until browned and cooked through, about 8–10 minutes. Transfer to a plate, leaving the rendered fat in the pot.
Build the base. Add the diced onion to the pot and cook in the chorizo fat until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, jalapeno, cumin, chili powder, and smoked paprika. Stir and cook for 1 minute until fragrant.
Add beans and liquid. Add the drained pinto beans, diced tomatoes, and chicken broth to the pot. Stir to combine. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and cover.
Simmer. Cook on low heat for 25–30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the beans are tender and the liquid has thickened. If using soaked beans, this may take longer — check at 25 minutes and continue as needed.
Finish. Return the cooked chorizo to the pot and stir through. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Let everything simmer together for 5 more minutes.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh cilantro and crumbled queso fresco. Serve with warm tortillas or crusty bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Frijoles y Chorizo — Two Meals From One Piece of Meat, Same as Always