Slow Does Its Magic

Beans in a Bottle or Fagioli al Fiasco

All photos by author

I first glimpsed a woodfired oven in third grade when my Belgian school class visited our local baker. The bakery, located right across the road from our classroom, provided bread to the community. The baker also brought delicious pastries to our school at recess time. From the back of his small truck, he would sell gaufres (typical Belgian waffles covered in caramelized sugar) and Pain à la Grecque, cinnamon scented flaky squares still warm from the oven.

When we toured his bakery, I remember standing in front of the huge woodfired brick oven. I could feel the heat from the coals pouring out, and I watched as he carefully loaded breads onto a peel, the wood paddle commonly used by bakers. Then, he slid them into the oven to bake. The smells and the gestures drew me right in and I thought to myself, “Some day, I want to have one of those.”

It was only after ten years of work at my bakery that all the pieces fell together. We found plans. Jim and I read books. We made a proposal to our landlord and he said yes. Since no one in town had ever built a woodfired brick oven for their business, we had some new hoops to jump through. We set up a meeting with the building commissioner, the fire department chief, and the zoning administrator, presented our proposal and they heartily approved the project. The health department still had to sign on and, after I wrote them a letter explaining our plan, they approved it as well!

Jim did the bulk of the work with some help from a couple of friends. It took about two months to complete. The health department created a new form for the official approval since they hadn’t ever had to approve a woodfired brick oven. We made our first fire in it and never looked back. What we discovered was that the oven loved bread and food. Anything we put into it to cook or bake always came out tasting better than usual.

When I left the bakery, Jim had already made sure we had a woodfired oven at home so we could continue our cooking and baking there. And the bread and food it produces still has that extra je ne sais quoi. When we first started using the home oven, we hosted a 48 hour marathon for friends and learned a little bit of what can be baked or cooked in it. But that's a whole other story...

And that's how I decided to make beans in a bottle. I had heard of this traditional Italian method of cooking beans called Fagioli al Fiasco. In the back of my mind, I imagined a fiasco, our English word for complete failure, rather than the Italian word for flask. How could a bottle bake beans without breaking? How would the beans come out of the bottle?

This method of cooking was used by Italian bakers at the end of the bread bake. While the oven was still warm, they would throw the ingredients in a bottle and use the leftover heat to bake the beans. And that's exactly what I did. I took a bottle out of our recycling bin and washed it out. I put about 2 cups of soaked beans in it, added a glug of olive oil, some peppercorns and salt, 3 or 4 smashed cloves of garlic, a sprig of sage and a sprig of rosemary and enough water to top the beans by a good two inches. I stuffed a folded piece of clean muslin in the bottle opening so steam could still escape while the beans baked, and once the oven was holding steady at 275 degrees, I gently popped the bottle in.

Four to five hours later, the woodfired oven had done its magic! The bottle was still intact, and the beans looked baked. I carefully pulled out the piece of fabric, and one by one, the beans came out, tender and juicy. And the oven had turned those simple ingredients into a flavorful dish. It became the centerpiece for a picnic along the water. These days, we often bake beans in the leftover heat of the woodfired oven after making pizza. I’ve tried many varieties and they all have turned out deliciously.

Sometimes, we have to learn to allow time to do its magic on us, just like those beans. I often am looking for a quick solution to a problem or the quickest way to work through pain or grief. But over and over, I learn that time will do its magic and, though nothing seems to be happening, underneath it all, in its quiet way, there is healing or an answer. The process is as much a part of the story as the outcome. Here's to slow cooking and to intentional living!

P.S. I just finished Once a Day in May, a daily nudge of the good life, for some of you who signed up for it. I will be starting a new one in July, Drop by in July. If you want to be a part of it and receive a daily nudge or inspiration, let me know in the comments or by email. I’d be glad to have you join me!