On Being a Beaner

I love beans.  And when I say I love beans, I mean it in every sense of the word.  There’s nothing on this planet, at least on the two continents I’ve visited, that can compare to the feeling of sustenance, home and comfort that beans provide.

Of course when I say “beans” I mean pintos, refried please, although I have to give props to black and peruano beans, too.  I know that for my Central American friends, black beans have the same sustaining effects as pintos do for me.

Last night after a wonderful concert by the lovely Janelle Monae (who, incidentally, sings beautiful songs about people fighting the power!) a friend and I stopped at Taco Cabana for a midnight snack.  For those of you who’ve never been to Texas, trust me when I say Taco Cabana is the best Mexican food chain out there (the food actually tastes good).  I ordered a small bean and cheese nacho plate and, after adding a few jalapeño slices, I was officially in heaven.

At times like these, I feel so fortunate to be a beaner because — with finals, the holidays, the post-election blues and winter coming — I know exactly where to find a sure-fire (and cheap) cure for any ill!