Spilling the beans

The one with an unexpected time machine.

One of the best ways you can live a more fulfilling life, according to my therapist, is to accept what reality is, instead of what you want it to be.

Like accepting that the leaves will fall off the tree outside your window, even though you want to be able to look out at them all winter. Or finally deciding to not argue with the nurse at the doctor’s office who writes down 5’3” on your chart, even though you’re basically 5’4” anyways.

Some things are just always going to be out of your control, which was how I’d accounted for my personal tastes. I’m just not a person who likes beans, I’d say. There’s nothing that can be done to change that.

But something my therapist didn’t capture in her advice is that the act of going to therapy is the act of dismantling reality and reassembling the parts of yourself into something new. Creating a new reality, as it were.

So maybe you’re not quite your dream height and never will be, but other things are within your power to change. And challenging yourself is how you grow, so maybe you should try a little bit, or at least that was the thought process that led to me cooking a lot with beans this year.

Beans, famously, are my white whale. Culturally, they’re a staple of so many international cuisines. From an economic perspective, they’re an affordable and filling meal. Nutritionally, they offer so many benefits to the human body: fiber, protein, and antioxidants. Beans are a magical fruit, etc.

But all my life, I’ve hated them. Their mushy texture, interrupted by the flappy and sometimes tough skin surrounding them, the odor they give off when you cook them. And then, the way they inflate your tummy and make you fart. God invented beans to torture me specifically, I’d think with some regularity.

No matter how they’re seasoned or prepared, beans end up tasting like shame and isolation. Like nights sitting alone at the dinner table before being sent to bed early because I had gagged on them one too many times and refused to take another bite.

They’re a shudder-inducing ingredient, a time machine to years past, and that dislike and inability to just get over it has brought me so much personal shame that I decided 2025 would be the year I’d finally make myself like them.

But, Courtney, you might be saying, there’s no need to torture yourself! You don’t like beans, and that’s fine!

And you’re correct, stranger I’ve made up online, and I appreciate your support. But the truth of the matter is, I was vegan once upon a time and didn’t eat beans or nuts and as a result a whole world had been closed off to me. It’s been nearly a decade since then, and over time, I learned to like nuts: pine nuts, pistachios, pecans, walnuts, hemp seeds, pumpkin seeds to be specific. Peanuts and hazelnuts, I’ll pass on, thanks. They’re all delicious staples of my pantry now, ones I eat most days. Nuts bring texture and joy into my life, and in the same vein I felt like beans could do the same.

I had a list of about 9 or 10 other goals this year, some loftier than others, but cooking with beans was at the very top of the list. On New Years Day, I ate black eyed peas at a local Southern restaurant and was tempted to wash my hands of the whole nonsense. It was only day one of 2025, and already I’d achieved my goal! I don’t know a better feeling than that.

But perseverance is a wonderful quality to nurture, and I found yet more success with Brami lupini beans. Sold by the packet now in various flavors, lupini beans are hailed as a new superfood when previously you’d have to track them down at specialty Italian markets. They have a lovely texture that’s unlike most other beans, more like edamame or really fresh peas. Little bursts of flavor in your mouth, a total joy to eat. Success.

Then there was the canned tuna and beans my friend Della wanted at a little wine bar we stumbled into on her birthday. We’d just gotten pedicures, where my foot bath had flooded and the salon had played videos nonstop of a woman coiling eels around themselves and skewering them on a grill, so we were craving something comforting. The little bursts of pillowy potatoes and slightly spicy olive oil complemented the softest beans I’d ever had, all spread on a warm baguette. Maybe they tasted extra good because they reminded us we were alive, that we were celebrating a new age for someone we loved, that it doesn’t matter if your toes smudge before you even leave the salon because it’s the act of being together that makes life so sweet.

But the biggest success of all this year came when I forced beans into a most unnatural shape, bending their reality to my will. Who says beans have to be mushy, a textural nightmare? You could roast them in the oven with olive oil and nutritional yeast to top salads and soups and various bowls. You could blend cannellini beans into any soup of your choosing, treating yourself like a toddler who needs hidden veggies for nutrition. You could even toss a handful into a smoothie (stick with me here) instead of protein powder, and various frozen fruits would mask the taste.

Learning to like beans obviously isn’t solving world peace, and it’s an objectively silly resolution to make, but it’s really been surprisingly rewarding. To look back on my notes and see progress, even if it feels slow going, has taught me how small steps really do add up over time. Like when it came time to form more of a writing community this year, another one of my big goals, looking at how a bean recipe or two every month became a handful of trusted meals given enough time encouraged me to sign up for another group.

Or when some dishes didn’t turn out well at all or I’d get ghosted by people I asked to get coffee, it was tempting to give up completely. But then all it would take was one storebought hummus, one quesadilla with a few black beans scattered in, one person to say yes and sit for a few hours together at a coffee shop, to get back on the horse.

Looking back at the entire arc of the year, sure, eating beans or even thinking about them was maybe low-to-nonexistent some months but the pattern over time is that I averaged out to one new recipe a month. I still made a lot of progress, ate a lot of butter beans with anchovies and tomatoes, bolognese with white beans, more “beans and greens” soups than I can possibly count.

So maybe, as you reflect on where 2025 led you and where you’d like to go in 2026, you can think of some beans. Mushy, yes, if you want to think of them that way. Ready to be taken in a new direction if you think about them in a new way. A longer project you can pick up and set back down over time, as the seasons change. Something small that can change your whole outlook on life.

(Just make sure you rinse them really well first.)

Next week, I’m publishing a roundup of everything that made this year special. Hopefully you’re not burnt out on these by now!

In case you’re not already, subscribe so you get future posts like this straight to your inbox:

Mostly just this post about ASMR that I think got buried in the shuffle of the long Thanksgiving weekend here in the US:

The big business of our discomfort

See you next Sunday!