Posted on: Sunday, January 4, 2004

FAMILY MATTERS
Handing down secret of best bean soup

By Michael C. DeMattos

I believe in magic. Not the Harry Potter type of magic, replete with wands, spells and potions, but a different kind of magic. Let me explain.

My favorite food in the whole world is Portuguese bean soup. I was raised on it.

It is not particularly hard to make nor is it expensive. It is a hardy food that sticks to the ribs.

While I am no historian, I suspect that it was the "common man's food." It is a simple dish for simple folk, which suits me just fine.

Still, to make great bean soup one must start with a very good recipe. From there one is just a few ingredients away from heaven on Earth.

I believe all great cooks are secretive by nature. They hide ingredients behind walls of silence as impenetrable as Fort Knox. Though not a great cook, I also have a secret ingredient for my famed bean soup. Actually, it is not an ingredient, but it is a secret, and I am now willing to share it with the world.

It is my magic spoon.

It is an old wooden spoon about 14 inches long and notched at the end so that it can lean on the edge of the pot.

It was made in Italy, though I do not know from what type of wood. It is discolored from years of use and is worn thin two-thirds the way up the handle.

It works well with all the other utensils in the kitchen, but seems most comfortable with the dented stockpot we use for soups and pastas.

It was given to my wife from her parents who used it to make scrumptious dishes like harm ha, pork hash, and — of course — bean soup.

I knew it was magical from the moment I first laid eyes on it. It fit my hand perfectly.

But magic does not just happen. Things become magical. They are used, like my spoon, for years and years and the item becomes the receptacle for the users life force.

My magical spoon was the centerpiece in a kitchen that fed an entire generation. Love passed from my in-law's hands coursing through the spoon and into the food. Now it is doing the same for my family.

My spoon has serious mojo.

Of course, there are other explanations. Maybe I simply enjoy my spoon; it looks good and feels good in my hand. I cook with it and produce a wonderful soup. I attribute my success to the spoon while simultaneously gaining confidence and skill. The soup and spoon are forever entwined. It seems more like self-fulfilling prophesy or simple behavioral conditioning, but I know better. It is magic.

I live in world filled with magical items. They are not the best of the best. I have no Waterford crystal, but I do have a magical mug that looks like a tree. One of my dear friends made it for me and I swear beer held by this mug never runs out and never gets warm.

Now that is what I call magic, but that is a different story for another time.