Jenn's Bean Diaries, #4

I've been hesitating to open any of my bean can-panions because

1) I love them.
2) I will have fewer friends.
3) I do not have the containers or room in my fridge and freezer.


If you'll remember from bean diary #1, each can is 6 pounds and 14 ounces.
That's 110 ounces of black beans.
13.55 cups of black beans.
6.87 pints of black beans.
3.43 quarts of black beans.
.859 gallons of black beans.
4.2% of a $10 20-gallon plastic kiddie pool from Target (this one*).

A standard measure of fridge storage for a caterer is in quart containers or pints, depending on what is clean. They stack, freeze well, and you can label them with permanent marker. No matter how many bulk cases I buy for gigs, I am somehow always short a lid or the right size for the amount of food that I'm trying to put away.

I'm forced to navigate the shelf above my sink that has all the impossible to nest nicely, mismatching tupps, round, and rectangular to-go containers. About 99% of the time, I will rummage upward and an errant lid will bop me like little bunny foo foo or land in the dirty procrastination of dishes below. My shoulders droop at the thought of this.

When we open my fridge, it's looking less and less like a losing game of Tetris. I could fit 3 quarts and a pint container in there but I do not currently have the vessels. I could opt for my larger 8 and 12-quart Cambros (big big catering Tupperware!) but those would not fit with my current supplies.

Once I open a can, it's like a bomb about to go off. I am one person with a tiny appetite. I figure I could only put up with beans once a day. That's a quarter cup or ~54 Jenn-sized portions. Even if I forced the beans upon myself for every meal, there is no way I will finish all 54 portions in a week before they go off; stinking up my fridge, fermenting into uselessness.

You can't open my freezer without something flying out and landing on your foot. I have a semblance of airflow between packages of overstock and vegetable scraps. I know myself and aforementioned tiny appetite. While meal prepping, I store half in the freezer right away. Half a butternut squash, cubed. Half a batch of mashed potatoes. Half a pack of bacon. Half a coil of Italian sausage. Last week, when I turned in an ice cream sundae article, I had to secure the freezer closed with a strip of mailing tape.

I could drain and re-dehydrate the beans for dry storage/making prepared chili mixes. Scouting Magazine suggests 125 degrees for 6 to 8 hours, they'll crack and rehydrate faster later. Then there's the business with the aquafaba. Yes, black beans also have aquafaba, not just chickpeas. Its black-purple viscosity can be harrowing but still useful as a vegan egg replacement. Do I have a container for that right now? No.

I've been squirreling stock for future gigs, unexpected company, recipe testing, and experiments for someone else to try as I get ideas mid-conversation. Remember that? An in-person conversation? Barely. Manic rummaging and yelps as I dodge a frozen chicken quarter grasping for the puff pastry in the back.

I don't know when I will get to cook for another person or group of persons again. This sense of loss hits me every time I feel hungry.

Until I eat my way to more room, I cannot bear to open Banzo, Garbra, or Bea.



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*Wherein the beans would be soaking me.

All bean diaries: One | Two | Three | Four (You are here) | Five | Six