New Year’s Day in Texas requires a pot of beans- black eyed peas to be precise. Our next door neighbor would annually bring over the black eyed peas and requisite cornbread. As a transplant in California, I decided to do a small bait and switch with this tradition this year. Sunday afternoon, we settled in for a bowl of beans, served over brown rice. It seemed a bit of a nod to old and new, which is fitting for New Year’s, is it not?
Fresh back from the honeymoon, I would love to say we filled the kitchen with cinnamon and butter and sugar emanating from a hot oven. Our lives were as they had been a la honeymoon equal parts tense and excited at the possibilities ahead. No, I’m not referring to the early days of marriage but instead whether or not our San Francisco Giants would win the National League pennant. We meandered into neighborhood pubs and pizza joints yukking it up with other fans. On a particular rainy Saturday evening, we shared a booth facing a flat screen TV, watching pitchers get swapped out and batters foul. Over tapas and organic beer, we cheered and cowered, the digestive juices roiling in a perpetual state of uncertainty. But it was made less bitter and more sweet with slivers of flatbread festooned with shaved jamon Serrano and black mission figs with manchego cheese. That night, victory tasted sweet.