Biscuits and Beans

Mid-March, and Mama is still here. The still-here is the daily miracle that I no longer take for granted and that I greet every morning the way the faithful greet the dawn: with gratitude, with awareness, with the understanding that the greeting may be the last and that the last-ness makes the greeting sacred.

She takes broth. She takes water. Her hand squeezes mine when I hold it. The squeezing is weaker every day — not dramatically, not measurably, but perceptibly, the way you perceive a tide receding: not by watching the water but by noticing the shore.

James comes home every weekend now. The commute — Columbia to Charleston, two hours each way — is the pilgrimage of a man who is making the trip not because the grandmother he visits will remember the visit but because the grandson who makes the visit will remember the making, and the remembering is the reason.

Carrie calls every day from Fukuoka. The calls are short — three minutes, sometimes five — and the shortness is not insufficient but complete, the way Joy's phone calls are complete: I love you, how is Mama, tell her I'm here. The three sentences are the call. The call is the love. The love crosses the Pacific in thirty seconds.

Robert has been reading to Mama every evening — not the Psalms now but her favorite hymns, the lyrics spoken rather than sung, because speaking is what Robert does and singing is not. He reads "Amazing Grace" and "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" and "It Is Well With My Soul," and the lyrics spoken in Robert's baritone fill the room the way Ruth's singing fills it, differently but equally, the room holding all the voices that have loved this woman.

I made she-crab soup on Sunday. I made it and I brought a bowl to Mama and I offered a spoonful of the broth, and she took it, and the taking was the tasting, and the tasting was the she-crab soup, and the soup was the life, and the life was still here.

The she-crab soup was Mama’s — every drop of it, even the one spoonful she took. But James had driven two hours and Robert had read hymns until his voice went low and Carrie’s voice was still echoing from across the Pacific, and all of them needed feeding in the plain and practical way that the living need feeding. I turned back to the stove and I made biscuits and beans: nothing elegant, nothing that required tending, just warmth in a pot and something to pull apart with your hands and the smell of it filling the house the way a house needs filling when it is also holding grief. It was the right meal for the rest of us — sturdy and simple and enough.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

For the beans:
4 slices thick-cut bacon, chopped
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 cans (15 oz each) navy beans or pinto beans, drained and rinsed
2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
For the biscuits:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
3/4 cup cold buttermilk, plus a little more to brush tops

Instructions

Cook the bacon and aromatics. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, cook the chopped bacon until the fat renders and the bacon begins to crisp, about 5 minutes. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes more. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute until fragrant.
Build the bean pot. Add the drained beans, chicken broth, brown sugar, smoked paprika, salt, and black pepper. Stir to combine. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the broth thickens slightly and the beans are very tender.
Preheat the oven. While the beans simmer, heat your oven to 425°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Make the biscuit dough. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Add the cold butter cubes and work them into the flour with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with some pea-sized bits remaining. Pour in the cold buttermilk and stir just until a shaggy dough forms — do not overmix.
Cut and bake the biscuits. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and pat to about 3/4-inch thickness. Cut into rounds with a floured 2 1/2-inch biscuit cutter or glass. Place on the prepared baking sheet, brush tops lightly with buttermilk, and bake for 12–14 minutes until golden on top.
Finish the beans. Stir the apple cider vinegar into the beans just before serving and taste for seasoning. The vinegar brightens everything — don’t skip it.
Serve. Ladle the beans into wide bowls and nestle one or two warm biscuits alongside, or split a biscuit and spoon the beans directly over the top. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Biscuits and Beans — The Table I Set for the Living While Tending to Mama