Tag Archives: babies

Quick and Easy Black Bean Soup

During my post-holiday blues, I used cooking to drown out my sorrows. I didn’t plan it that way consciously, but as a new day dawned and I had to wrangle up something to occupy my mind and take it off my achy heart, cooking was a natural direction to head. After my morning coffee and Bible time, I opened up a cookbook and dreamed away. What did my taste buds want to experience that evening? Something deep and smoky? Light and bright? Comfort food or something a little more razzle-dazzle? After making a grocery list for the day and traipsing down to the Devon Market (which is so conveniently located right next to our apartment), I spread out my goodies on the kitchen counter and gazed with pleasure at the bower of cilantro, the neatly ranged cans of beans, and the glorious meaty pink of salmon fillets.

Having long kitchen projects with multiple courses involved was so therapeutic! And it was also a useful (and necessary) thing to put my hand to since we had our friend Tyler in town, my brother-in-law staying with us, and a couple dinner parties lined up. So I focused my efforts on flank steak, salsas, soups, fish, and threw together bacon omelets on a whim.

With pauses of course to care for this little thang.

Who, incidentally, put on her fussiest behavior especially for her Uncle Tyler!

Yup. She was a basket of neediness, that delightful little stinker.

Hey! I will fuss WHERE I want, WHEN I want, hear me?

And–back to food–in case you haven’t noticed my recent recipe posts, yes, I’m officially obsessed with soups. Namely the ones in the America’s Test Kitchen Quick Family Cookbook. This one graced the table accompanied by rice, honey-lime salmon and freshly made toasts. I love a good bean soup, and what sets this one apart is the rich, smoky, meaty flavor of Spanish chorizo. Mmmmmm.

It’s quick to throw together, so grab a can opener and a sharp knife, and make ye this soup!

Ingredients

(Serves 4-6)

4-15 oz cans black beans, drained and rinsed
3 cups chicken broth
8 oz Spanish chorizo sausage, diced
1 onion, diced
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 TBS vegetable oil
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp dried oregano
½ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp chili powder
1 bunch green onions, minced
½ cup minced cilantro
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Process 2 cups of black beans and 1 cup of broth in a blender until smooth.

2. In a large pot or Dutch oven, combine the oil, sausage, onion and bell pepper and heat over medium high. Cook until vegetables are slightly browned (about 7 minutes).

3. Add the garlic and spices to the pot and cook for about 30 seconds, until fragrant.

4. Add the broth, beans and blended broth/beans to the pot, stirring together and scraping up any browned bits from the bottom.

5. Simmer for 15 minutes, taste, and re-season if needed.

6. Stir in the cilantro and green onions and serve hot! Garnish with hot sauce and crusty bread or croutons if desired.

Click here for printer-friendly version: Quick and Easy Black Bean Soup

Heartache

I have heartache.

When I was little I used to get the post-Christmas blues because of the big letdown after the adrenaline-pumping excitement of opening presents. In fact, the whoosh of sorrow would hit just as the final crackle of wrapping paper of the final opened present subsided . . . and all was silent. It was over. For another year . . . which seemed like an eternity.

Now that I’m nearing 30, the letdown doesn’t happen after the last present is opened anymore. Instead, it’s happening now that we’re back home after 2 incredible weeks with family. I’d been looking forward to this Christmas for pretty much a full year, ever since we agreed that all 3 of us sisters (plus spouses and children) were going to spend the holidays with my parents in their new house in snowy Stevens Point, Wisconsin.

And now that we’re back in Chicago, unpacked and settling into our routine, everything seems strangely quiet. Except that it’s not the crackling of wrapping paper being torn that I miss, but the little voice of James saying “syaaaah!” (his version of “yes,” which intonation-wise goes up and down like a roller coaster), and the murmur of conversation in the kitchen as Dad makes someone a cup of espresso.

I’m entering day 3 of a kind of dragging sadness. I miss the companionship of my sisters.

Next to my husband, they are the best friends I could ever have hoped for.

I miss my mom’s amazing energy and untiring care for all of us, including our kids.

Her ready smile and enthusiasm for talking and singing to our babies was such a joy to me.

I miss my dad’s wonderful way with little Liam, and seeing him hold Alice melted my heart every time.

I miss the togetherness, chaos and crying babies included.

And of course, adoring the babies together as they slept.

In general, looking at my life as a whole, I have my heart’s desires. A relationship with a loving God, an amazing husband, a delightful baby, a wonderful church, health and youth, a great job, financial security.

There are very few (if any) things I long for that I don’t feel able to reach out for by God’s grace and grasp. But one of my dearest desires for this life would be–is–living close to my sisters so that we can raise our families together and be there for each other as we keep learning, changing, maturing and becoming (hopefully) more godly wives and mothers.

But all 3 of us living in the same city is just not going to happen in this life–at least for the duration of our working lives. With two army husbands and my darling academic who will have to follow the job market wherever it may lead once he finishes his PhD, the probability of ending up in the same place is minuscule, if not entirely nonexistent.

I feel powerless to realize this desire. And yet the desire won’t be pushed aside in my heart. I want to see Liam learn to sit up, laugh, scooch around. I want to be there to listen to James’ sing-songy conversation as it becomes more and more coherent.

I want my sisters to be around and share in my joy as Alice fattens up and smiles her goofy and enthusiastic “good morning” smile, the one she dons when she first spots our faces from her bassinet after a night’s sleep or a nice nap.

But I don’t get my way in this. There’s nothing I can do to make it happen.

I hate feeling so powerless.

I’m trying to urge my heart to hope for heaven, when the sting will be taken out of all goodbyes because we have eternity ahead. Theoretically that knowledge should also take some of the sting out of this particular goodbye . . . right? If I really believe eternity is ahead (which I do)?

But somehow I can’t shake the sadness of now, when I desire but can’t have.