Guido is big on the new year tradition of making a pot of beans. This year she used black-eyed peas, simmered with carrots, celery, onions, and a ham hock. She also made a 17-bean soup, which she served with collards and mustard greens flavored with pancetta. We polished off the batch this evening. It’s been kind of windy around the house.
“I always liked black eyes,” she tells me. “Used to eat them a lot, growing up.”
You ate black guys growing up? (Note: my tinnitus has gotten a lot worse over the last year. Takes some getting used to.)
“All the time. Even when we were kids.”
You ate black guys when you were a kid?
“Sure. My mom gave ’em to me and my brother. We loved ’em.”
You and your brother ate the black guys your mom gave you?
“Yeah. Although I do them a lot different, now.”
You do your black guys a lot different from your mom?
“I like them a lot hotter and spicier than I used to. Back then, they were kind of bland.”
Now you like your black guys hot and spicy, I get it.
“Why are you asking me this? You liked ’em, too, didn’t you?
Happy New Year.