Baked Beans with Pineapple

Four days to the call. I am writing this on Monday morning. By the time this posts on Sunday, the call will have happened. I will write about it next week.

I have prepared everything I can prepare. The kitchen is clean. The doenjang jar from Sempio is on the counter. The sundubu ingredients are in the fridge. My Korean note cards have been flipped through so many times they are curling at the edges. I have written a list of phrases I will try to say — umma, annyeonghaseyo, bap meogeosseoyo (have you eaten rice), mashisseoyo (delicious) — and I have practiced them against a Korean-language YouTube channel until my pronunciation is tolerable. I will say them. I will say them wrong. Jisoo will laugh and correct me. That, I realize, is the gift of a video call that is framed as a cooking lesson: she is going to be in the role of teacher. She is going to be in her authority. She is going to get to correct me. I want to give her that.

James is going to be upstairs during the call this time. He will not be present. Jisoo and I wanted a call that was just us, the way Dr. Yoon suggested. Hye-jin will be on the call but muted when she is not translating. I will cook. Jisoo will watch and correct. If I cry, I will cry. If she cries, she cries. No one has to manage anyone else.

I have not been writing Jisoo every day this week — we agreed to hold back a little so the call would feel like a release. We are saving up. She wrote me a single sentence on Friday: "See you Saturday." That is all. I read it ten times.

Karen had the best day of the month on Friday. She went out to lunch with three friends — her first lunch out since November. Rosa took her. She ate an entire sandwich and half a bowl of soup and had a glass of wine. She called me that night ebullient. I listened to her laugh. I realized, in the middle of her story about her friends, how much I had missed Karen laughing. The Parkinson's has flattened her some, and the flattening is ongoing, and days like Friday are not the rule anymore. But they happen. They happen. Take them.

Work: light. I coded on Tuesday and Thursday. I ran three meetings. I took Friday afternoon off to prepare for the weekend. Priya asked if everything was okay. I said, "Everything is okay. I have a personal thing this weekend I am nervous about." She did not press. Priya, as always: the correct amount.

Dr. Yoon: a short session. She said, "You are ready. Go. Cook with your mother. Come back and tell me." I said, "Okay." She said, "If you cry, remember that you have permission to cry." I said, "I know." I know.

The recipe this week is the sundubu jjigae I have been practicing for the call. The one I will make live. I will share the recipe next week after the call, when it has been performed with Jisoo watching. The recipe will have her fingerprints in it by then. It will have her voice in it. It will, in a sense, no longer be mine alone.

I needed something to do with my hands this week that was not obsessive note-card drilling or rereading Jisoo’s five-word message for the eleventh time — something that would let me stand in the kitchen, stir a pot, and feel like I was doing something useful and grounding while I waited. These baked beans are not sundubu jjigae, but they are slow and warm and a little sweet, and they asked nothing of me except patience, which felt exactly right. Sometimes you cook the recipe that matches your mood, not your occasion — and my mood this week has been: simmer quietly, hold heat, be ready.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 1 hr 30 min | Total Time: 1 hr 45 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

4 cans (15 oz each) navy beans, drained and rinsed
1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple, undrained
1/2 cup ketchup
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
2 tablespoons molasses
1 tablespoon yellow mustard
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
4 strips bacon, chopped (optional)
1/2 medium yellow onion, diced

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 325°F (165°C). If using bacon, cook it in a large oven-safe pot or Dutch oven over medium heat until the fat begins to render, about 3–4 minutes. Add the diced onion and cook until softened and lightly golden, 5–6 minutes. If skipping bacon, simply sweat the onion in a tablespoon of neutral oil.
Build the sauce. To the pot, add the crushed pineapple with its juices, ketchup, brown sugar, molasses, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and black pepper. Stir well to combine.
Add the beans. Fold in the drained navy beans, making sure they are fully coated in the sauce. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer over medium heat, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes.
Bake low and slow. Cover the pot and transfer to the preheated oven. Bake for 1 hour, then remove the lid and bake uncovered for an additional 20–30 minutes, until the sauce has thickened and darkened slightly and the top is just beginning to caramelize at the edges.
Rest and serve. Remove from the oven and let stand for 10 minutes before serving. The sauce will continue to tighten as it sits. Taste and adjust salt if needed. Serve warm alongside rice, cornbread, or on its own as a hearty side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Baked Beans with Pineapple — A Pot on the Stove While I Wait for Sunday