Sometimes simple is just better.
Over the weekend, perhaps inspired by Marisa, I made a large pot of white beans. Cannellini beans, to be precise. As you can see it was nothing fancy: a mess of beans, one onion split in half, a whole head of garlic (unpeeled), a bay leaf and some leftover salt pork. Hungry for lunch, I spooned some of the finished beans along with plenty of their broth into a bowl, and topped them with a generous pour of olive oil, salt and pepper. I passed one spoonful to Dan to taste, and he commandeered the bowl. I served myself another.
I liked it so much, that I wanted basically the same thing for dinner tonight. Only instead of leaving well enough alone, I got out of hand tossing ingredients into the pot, ultimately obscuring the good thing I remembered. First I added some frozen peas. Next came diced ham. Then I tossed in willy-nilly a handful of noodles and too much rosemary. It was nothing like the comforting bowl I had on Sunday, tender beans thrust into a spotlight of olive oil, and I was pretty let down.
I thought I should make a note to myself that there’s a kitchen and life lesson here. Making things complicated when they ought to be easy is recipe for disappointment.