Wednesday 22nd June 2011
It was only Zeph & I for dinner last night so an excellent excuse to have baked beans. I say this, because my wife hates baked beans. She dislikes everything about them. The look, texture, taste and even colour. So much so, that her nose wrinkles up and her face contorts just talking about them. She says that she had them so often as a kid that now she has an aversion to them.
I, on the other hand, love them. They were a main stay for me growing up. Me & my sister, Jane, used to come home for lunch at secondary school and beans on toast was a regular favourite. Mum would alternate between soup, toasted cheese sandwiches and beans or spaghetti hoops on toast.
For my beans, I sweated some onions and red pepper with a couple of rashers of streaky bacon and mixed it in with the beans.
I told Zephy they were cowboy beans.
“No they aren’t…” He said.
“Why can’t they be cowboy beans?” I asked.
“Because you’re eating them.” He told me.
He had a point. 😉