Living 2 Eat |

 These baked beans were a family staple and expected at every get together. My Aunt Fran was the best cook in the family. This is because she was a Southern gal hailing from Birmingham, Alabama. She raised my brother and me. Frequently, we would come home at the end of the day before she arrived and poke around believing there wasn’t going to be any supper on the table without a shopping trip. She would fly in the door after work and looking at the same ingredients we had seen, whip up a delicious meal within the hour.

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Fran was a fearless cook, always experimenting. She really never measured anything, just sort of eyeballed the dish and threw things into it a bit at a time. She tasted everything as she went along until she was satisfied.

There was always a crock of bacon grease on the stove. Sunday morning was often smoked pork chops with eggs over easy — cooked in bacon fat. Homemade biscuits, of course, with jam or honey and plenty of Tennessee Ernie Ford hymns playing on the stereo. My Uncle Jim would frequently sing along.

Smart friends and neighbors made it a habit to drop by at meal time. There was always enough. Fran could stretch breakfast for four into brunch for ten without blinking an eye.

When I was dating, I had one frequent suitor who often came by at dinner time. He would walk into the kitchen and lift the covers off of all the pots on the stove. “What you cooking, Frances?” he’d ask her. (He was Greek and his English was a new second language to him.) He’d lift the covers and inhale, then smile at her. “Oh, no wonder you fat!” We’d all laugh and she’d make him a plate of whatever while I got ready for our date. He never stopped smiling. I wasn’t sure if he was dating me or Fran!

She’s been gone exactly one year and even though it has been a long time since she was able to create her magic in the kitchen, I know that she is in heaven fattening up all the angels.

Shortly before Aunt Fran passed, my brother (who, as you know died six weeks after she did) was here visiting for the final time. One late afternoon while he was at the hospital with her, I decided to make her baked beans for supper. Jim walked in the door with his shoulders slumped and immediately brightened up. “I know that smell!” , he said, with a huge grin on his face. We sat down and finished every last bit, laughing and sharing stories about our memories around the family table. That evening together was one of our last and I will cherish it forever.

Patricia White Kearney

Palm Beach Gardens, Florida

Aunt Fran’s Baked Beans

2 - 8 oz. jars or cans of Boston Baked Beans

3 tbsp honey

1 large sweet onion, chopped

Ketchup to loosen a lot

1 tbsp of wet mustard or 2 teaspoons of dry mustard

Strips of raw bacon

Mix all ingredients, and place bacon on top.