Bean there...cooked that: A novel approach to a standard dish

I walk into my mother-in-love's house and I am HOME. I sink into her couch. I rummage, like a squirrel, through her stocked cupboards. I enthusiastically kick little Ziggy's blockade pillows off the staircase as I skip down the steps after my sound slumber. The Keurig is surrounded with k-cups customized to my flavor palette. A banana bread with slivered almonds and hand-pressed chocolate chunks is pre-cut for effortless consumption. There are books EVERYWHERE. I am home.

Ensconced on the comfy couch, wrapped in soft,  snuggly blankets, I reached for a nearby novel. Unfortunately, in this weak moment, I went for the low-hanging fruit. Nicholas Sparks. Ugh. I know better. An excellent writer but you always know where you're headed. Water-Works City. Past Sniffle Town. Down Bawling Boulevard. I'm blaming Jeff. Because of his recent heart attack, I was emotionally vulnerable. Angsty teen girls should avoid John Green (who I call the "Nicholas Sparks of the Young Adult genre") and overwrought women should stay away from Nicholas Sparks. Linda didn't know how close she came to getting her ass kicked at 2 am in the morning as I lay in her living room, gasping for breath, crying my eyes out. WHY would she have even had that awful book in her house? She knows I have NO self-control!

Of course, she apologized profusely in the morning. "I haven't read it yet," she admitted, "What was it about?" I stared at her, stunned. It was Nicholas Sparks. What did she THINK it was about? Character is confronted with an unanticipated harsh blow from which they must battle to over-come...just when we think we're going to make it...WHAM...gut-wrenching death sentence that we must endure SL-OW-LY for several agonizing chapters as life lessons, advice, pep-talks, and insights are slowly delivered like a literary IV drip into our tortured veins. Just pull the plug, already, Nicholas. 

Sprinkled, among the endless towers of tombs in her house, are cookbooks which I always find amusing because Linda could write her own cookbook and it would be the only one I would read. She can subtly pizzazz up the most ordinary dish to make it spectacular. For example...I adore her baked beans. I learned, from her, years ago, that adding ketchup, mustard, brown sugar and, of course, EXTRA bacon to a can of baked beans transforms it from a side to the star of the meal. But, it turns out...there was MORE to the story. This was no Nicholas Spark sob story...no. Linda Mosiman has layers. She is unpredictable. She keeps our taste buds on their toes.

I noticed, immediately, but didn't comment, on the addition of the smoked sausage simmering in my baked beans, nestling comfortably with a bed of bacon. A current of excitement shot through me. What has she done? I peered closer, realizing that the color had more depth. I scanned the counters...shocked to see that, instead of the bright yellow French's...a jar of Dijon. And then...no...was it? No? Did she add a Great Northern Bean? A Great Northern Bean is big but what I was seeing was HUGE. It transformed the dish. What is it? I had to know.

It was a butter bean.

What?!?

My mother-in-love never ceases to surprise and delight me.

What on earth is a butter bean?

Chuck was quick with an answer.

Butterbean was a retired wrestler. 

Not helpful, Chuck.

Turns out, a butter bean is a mature, load-bearing Lima bean. Up to this point in my life, I have not been a fan of Lima beans. I had no idea that they were just teen-agers. That explains so much. But a Butter bean...? Transformative.

So great was my enthusiasm for this dish that my mother-in-love thought I was kidding. It was only when the pan was empty and I was sobbing like I'd reached the end of a Nicholas Sparks novel, did she believe me. 

Before I went home, I begged for the recipe. Linda, like any talented author, knew better than to reveal the plot and refused to spill the beans. I can't wait for the sequel!