I seem to be enjoying a trip down memory lane this week so what the hell. Here is a re-posting of a story that I did on November 9, 2005. I am sure the aroma of the post hasn't changed a bit.
This weekend while browsing in Target, I saw a handy dandy kitchen appliance; an electric tabletop barbeque grill from Crockpot, that can hold three racks of ribs. Although it is against my religion to call anything cooked indoors barbeque, this looked handy for those times when the West Texas wind is barreling across the plains or the occasional hard rain, although I have carted the pit under the car port in times of need. To prove my dedication, I have even barbeque during a tornado watch patiently watching my smoking pit as the neighbors scurried for the storm cellars. When the all clear signal went up, I was taking up my ribs as the heads of the neighbors peeked from the ground like a bunch of mullet headed snake charming gophers.
Living in Redneck America, the fine art of the barbeque is not only a prerequisite but an intuitive thing ingrained in the womb. I consider myself a fair hand at cooking anything that doesn't dodge bullet or bumper but I generally do not do much in the area of cooking in a dutch oven except for a cobbler or chili, but once I had a hand in producing one of the most dangerous pot of beans known to man.A group of friends and myself decided to have a kegger/cookout about 20 miles from civilization out in BFE. After the meal had been devoured and buckets of beer had been drank, the only two left standing were Charlie and myself.
We were both night owls with a renowned prowess in the drinking arena. When the first light of false dawn arrived, we felt the inevitable hunger pangs associated with any all night drinking binge. Upon searching the campsite, we discovered that the only foodstuffs were some dried out tortillas and about two pounds of beans left out by the fire.The crusted over beans more closely resembled a dried out creek bed than anything edible. Therefore we doctored it up by pouring in a generous amount of Budweiser from the keg and put the pot back on the fire. We also figured that anything that crusty had to have lost much of it's taste so we added a copious amount of salt. As the sun peaked over the horizon, the pot was bubbling with an eery intensity.
These beans were fantastical. Not only were they crazy tasty but they produced intestinal gas that is legendary to all the other campers/victims that arose to the stench wafting through the West Texas Plains. I have not ate any dish since that created in my digestive system such a lethal and toxic flatulence. The lasting power, volume, and stench of the malodorous emanations were an incredible once in a lifetime achievement. Beans anyone?