That Time I Ate Black Beans In Thailand

Dear reader,

I ate black beans in Thailand. And it’s worth writing about.

Why? Because I’m Cuban. Cuban-American. Or American-Cuban? That’s a rant for another day.

If there’s anything we Cuban-Americans, American-Cubans know is the black bean. THE black bean. Our food may not be in the likes of gourmet french cuisine or high-end sushi spots. For God’s sake, we barely touch a vegetable.

Ok, I’ll admit it. We don’t have the best food in the world. It lacks variety in flavor, texture, and pretty much in general. Our food lacks variety. It’s cheap, heavy farmer food that leaves you bloated and keeps you bloated. It’s not the best. It’s good. At times damn good. But, not the best.

I grew up on this stuff, so I make these claims confidently. 

And although our food isn’t mind-blowing, our black beans are. In my humble opinion, it is our signature dish. There is nothing in the world like Cuban black beans. Black beans may make an appearance or two in some other Caribbean dishes, but Cubans made them the star.

It’s not so much WHAT they’re cooked with, but HOW they’re cooked. We’re talking slow food. No, not this new-age “slow food” movement counteracting fast-food and making you pay quadruple the price to eat food the way it’s supposed to be cooked like it’s some kind of revolutionary concept. Not that slow-food, but actual slow food. Like it takes all day and the night before to make these damn beans kinda slow.

The patience and dedication combined with the never-fail trio of sautéed garlic, onion and green pepper makes for the perfect porridge like beans that can be enjoyed as a soup or poured over white rice.

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So this whole black bean rant brings me to May 2019. I had been backpacking and eating my way through Thailand for about two months at this point. It wasn’t long before Thailand became my favorite food country. Now here was a cuisine that did NOT lack flavor, texture and fresh vegetables. The sweet, spicy, crunchy, coconutty goodness consumed me and I couldn’t get enough of it.

But I missed the black bean. As a vegetarian, beans are my favorite source of protein. I eat them pretty much everyday. Going two months without a bean in sight had me feeling it.

Until...

I was at a night market in Koh Samui when I saw a black and white sign flashing at me :“Black Bean Bun” . I lasered in and took a straight shot like my life depended on it. At the time, it felt like it did. I asked the vendor multiple times, “Black beans? Like this?”, aggressively pointing at a google image of black beans on my phone like a hungry two year old pointing at her mouth. She confirmed with a gentle nod and handed over two steamed buns. I couldn’t wait to get my change and bite into these savory, wet black beans!

Come to mama!

I ripped into that bun like the carnivore I wasn’t. To anyone that’s eaten beans in Asia, you know what’s next…

Sweet. Dry and sweet. I smacked my confused Cuban lips wondering what went wrong here?! Everything. Everything went wrong. Black beans and sugar do not belong together. Dry black beans and sugar inside steamed white bread definitely don’t belong together. They just don’t. 

I didn’t give up though. After a few bites, it eventually grew on me. I managed to finish it. It wasn’t so much that it was bad, because honestly, it wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t right.

In my six months in Asia, I never did satisfy that black bean craving. 

Confused AF.

Dear beautiful Asian people. I love your food. Seriously, it’s the best food in the world. We’ll leave the noodles and even the rice to you. But please, leave the black beans to us.