Refried Beans and Rice

One week of quarantine and I have already established a routine because without routine I will spiral, and I have no time for spiraling, I have a husband with Alzheimer's and 150 students on Zoom and a kitchen that needs to produce three meals a day for two people who are now together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, in a house that was designed for two people who spent eight hours apart and is learning, architecturally and emotionally, to accommodate constant togetherness.

The routine: wake at six. Coffee. Crossword — the New York Times, in pen, because ink is a commitment and I do not commit in pencil. Check on Marvin. Breakfast — oatmeal, toast, or eggs, depending on Marvin's appetite. Prepare for Zoom classes. Teach from nine to two, with breaks for Marvin, who sometimes wanders into the kitchen during class and stands behind me, visible on camera, and my students think this is charming and I think it is both charming and heartbreaking, because the man behind me on camera is not participating in a joke; he is lost in his own house and has found me the way a child finds a parent, by walking toward the voice.

Gloria, the aide, has stopped coming. She has elderly parents of her own, and the risk is too high. I understand. I do not blame her. But her absence means I am now doing everything — the caregiving, the teaching, the cooking, the laundry, the cleaning, the emotional labor of pretending to fifteen-year-olds on Zoom that everything is fine while my husband stands behind me asking where we are. Everything is not fine. But everything is also manageable, because I am Ruth Feldman, and I have been managing for forty years, and the pandemic is a new adversary but it is not a unique one — it is, like everything else, a thing that requires endurance and soup and the refusal to quit.

I made a lentil soup this week — cheap, filling, nutritious, the food of people who needed to feed a family on nothing, which is always relevant and particularly relevant now, when the grocery stores are being stripped bare by people who have apparently decided that the apocalypse requires two hundred rolls of toilet paper. I cook from the pantry. I cook from what I have. Sylvia cooked from what she had, and her mother cooked from what she had, and in the shtetl that meant potatoes and onions and the will to survive. I have more than potatoes and onions. I have lentils and chicken and flour and eggs and the will to survive. The soup is excellent. The will is intact.

The lentils were already in the pot by the time I thought to write any of this down, so I’m giving you the next best thing — another dish from the same spirit, the same pantry, the same logic: dried beans, rice, and the refusal to let an empty grocery store dictate what goes on the table. Refried beans and rice is the food of people who have always known how to make something from nothing, and right now that feels like exactly the right inheritance to claim. I made this on a Tuesday between Zoom sessions, with Marvin sitting at the kitchen table telling me the soup smelled wonderful, and I did not correct him, because he was right about the important part.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup long-grain white rice
2 cups water or low-sodium chicken broth
2 tablespoons olive oil or vegetable oil
1 medium yellow onion, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon chili powder
2 cans (15 oz each) pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1/2 cup low-sodium vegetable or chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
Black pepper to taste
Juice of 1/2 lime
Optional toppings: shredded cheese, sour cream, sliced scallions, hot sauce

Instructions

Cook the rice. Combine rice and water (or broth) in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to low, cover, and simmer for 18 minutes until water is absorbed. Remove from heat and let steam, covered, for 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork.
Soften the aromatics. While the rice cooks, heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 6—8 minutes until soft and translucent. Add the garlic and cook 1 more minute until fragrant.
Bloom the spices. Add cumin, smoked paprika, and chili powder to the skillet. Stir to coat the onion mixture and cook for 30 seconds until the spices are fragrant.
Add the beans. Pour in the drained pinto beans and the 1/2 cup of broth. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook for 5 minutes, letting the beans absorb the flavors and the liquid reduce slightly.
Mash to your liking. Use a potato masher or the back of a wooden spoon to mash roughly half the beans, leaving some whole for texture. Stir everything together — the mixture should be thick and creamy, not soupy. If it seems dry, add a splash more broth.
Season and finish. Add salt, pepper, and lime juice. Taste and adjust seasoning. The lime is not optional — it lifts the whole dish.
Serve. Spoon rice into bowls and top generously with the refried beans. Add any toppings you like. Eat while it’s hot.

Nutrition (per serving)

Refried Beans and Rice — The Pantry Is Not Empty, and Neither Am I