My grandmother’s idea of comfort food was a pot of beans (red or pinto) with some kind of smoked pork and diced potato over white rice. Seriously delicious! I remember asking her if it was an Irish dish and that two foot nothing woman looked me dead in the eye and said,”Yes, it is sweetie.”
If you have any Irish blood in you, you know my grandmother was lying through her dentures. I found out after I was an adult that she got the recipe from her Hispanic neighbor. I think Senora (that’s what we kids called her) was Peruvian.
Grandma could cuss a blue streak too when she was heated. Never minced words, never used a euphemism – when she was pissed she brought the noise and the funk. Which brings me to the “why” of this post.
I’d promised myself not to let the current political clime get to me this weekend. Made a pot of grandma’s “authentic Irish” beans today as a reward for doing just that – until the wooden spoon kinda jiggled off the edge of the pot and attacked the stove top. Red beans flew everywhere – the burners, the toaster, the cabinets, the floor…moi.
As I was flicking beans out of my hair, I realized I can cuss just as good grandma, if not better.
Next time, I’m gonna make one of my African-American grandmother’s dishes. Never heard of cornbread attacking anyone.
Oh yeah… and Trump sucks. *feh*