Smoky Beef Black Bean Chili — The Luck You Carry With You

New Year's. Mama and Joy are still here — they'll go back to Beaufort on Wednesday — and the house is still full. Mama made Hoppin' John on New Year's Day, of course, because Hoppin' John on January 1st is not optional in the Simmons family — it is tradition, it is law, it is the thing you do to ensure luck for the coming year, and the fact that luck is not determined by black-eyed peas is irrelevant because faith is not about evidence. It's about practice.

I sat beside Mama in the kitchen while she cooked, and for long stretches she was entirely herself — competent, commanding, the general of the kitchen. She told me stories I've heard a hundred times about the New Year's celebrations at Tabernacle Baptist, about Daddy preaching the midnight sermon. She told them as if I hadn't heard them before, and I listened as if I hadn't, because the telling is its own kind of nourishment.

Joy helped make the cornbread — she crumbled it with her fingers, which is not the correct technique but which produced a cornbread crumble that was honestly better than knife-cut, because Joy's fingers have no agenda. They crumble without overthinking. I should learn from this.

I drove Mama and Joy back to Beaufort on Wednesday. Joy was asleep in the back, Mama watching the marsh go by. When we arrived, I helped Mama into the house and checked everything — stove, doors, medications, the refrigerator. I kissed her goodbye and she held my face in her hands and said, "You're a good cook, Naomi. Better than you know." And I drove back to Charleston weeping, because the compliment carried everything — her approval, her legacy, her own recognition that the knowledge was being transferred, that the kitchen would go on without her.

Robert met me at the door when I got home. He didn't ask why my eyes were red. He made me a cup of tea and sat with me in the kitchen, and the quiet between us was the kind that holds things rather than hides them, and I was grateful.

That drive back to Charleston, with Mama’s words still sitting warm in my chest, I didn’t want anything fussy or precious for dinner—I wanted something that cooked down low and slow and meant it. Smoky beef black bean chili is Robert’s quietly preferred thing, the kind of pot that asks nothing of you except patience, and that night patience was just about all I had left to give. Here’s how I made it.

Smoky Beef Black Bean Chili

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 1 lb ground beef (85/15)
• 1 medium yellow onion, diced
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 2 cans (15 oz each) black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 can (14.5 oz) fire-roasted diced tomatoes
• 1 can (8 oz) tomato sauce
• 1 cup beef broth
• 2 tsp smoked paprika
• 1 1/2 tsp ground cumin
• 1 tsp chili powder
• 1/2 tsp chipotle chili powder (or more to taste)
• 1/2 tsp dried oregano
• 1/2 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
• 1/4 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
• Optional toppings: sour cream, shredded cheddar, sliced scallions, cornbread crumbles

Instructions

1. Brown the beef. Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the ground beef and cook, breaking it up with a spoon, until browned and cooked through, about 6–8 minutes. Drain excess fat, leaving about 1 tablespoon in the pot.
2. Soften the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add the diced onion and bell pepper to the pot and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more, stirring so it doesn’t burn.
3. Add the spices. Stir in the smoked paprika, cumin, chili powder, chipotle chili powder, oregano, salt, and pepper. Let the spices toast in the pot for about 30 seconds, stirring constantly.
4. Build the chili. Pour in the fire-roasted tomatoes, tomato sauce, beef broth, and Worcestershire sauce. Stir everything together, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot.
5. Add the beans and simmer. Stir in the black beans. Bring the chili to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for 15–20 minutes, until slightly thickened. Taste and adjust salt and heat as needed.
6. Serve. Ladle into bowls and top as desired. Cornbread crumbles — broken with your fingers, not cut with a knife — are strongly encouraged.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 27g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 8g | Sodium: 620mg