Welcome to Abita Butterbean! This blog showcases the work of my hands, be it "craft" or "art."
Why such a moniker? Because I get the warm-fuzzies hearing the word "butterbean" - I associate it with the most loving person I knew during my childhood, Grandma. I grew up in the small town of Abita Springs and ate a lot of what my deeply loved grandmother called "butterbeans & rice." The beans were dried large white limas. She dumped the cellophane bag of Camellia brand beans into a white porcelain enamel colander and picked through the beans, taking out all the moldy or broken ones. Then she soaked the remainder in water overnight and simmered them with pickled pork, for hours, until they were soft and swimming in a steaming sea of savory cooked-down bean gravy. Grandma served them over hot white rice with a side of sliced red Creole tomatoes. Mmmm, mmm! She drank a glass of sweet tea and I drank milk with it. Of course.
Mama made red beans and rice with pickled pork and sausage every Monday, following the southeast Louisiana tradition of red beans on wash day, but her independent mom made what she grew up eating in Alabama. Not only an excellent Southern cook and from-scratch baker, Grandma was also a skilled seamstress, embroiderer, and crocheter. Through her I learned to appreciate handwork, textiles, and so much more. Grandma was my safe person and her home, less than a ten-minute walk from ours, was my safe haven; "Abita Butterbean" is a tribute to her and my hometown.
Why such a moniker? Because I get the warm-fuzzies hearing the word "butterbean" - I associate it with the most loving person I knew during my childhood, Grandma. I grew up in the small town of Abita Springs and ate a lot of what my deeply loved grandmother called "butterbeans & rice." The beans were dried large white limas. She dumped the cellophane bag of Camellia brand beans into a white porcelain enamel colander and picked through the beans, taking out all the moldy or broken ones. Then she soaked the remainder in water overnight and simmered them with pickled pork, for hours, until they were soft and swimming in a steaming sea of savory cooked-down bean gravy. Grandma served them over hot white rice with a side of sliced red Creole tomatoes. Mmmm, mmm! She drank a glass of sweet tea and I drank milk with it. Of course.
Mama made red beans and rice with pickled pork and sausage every Monday, following the southeast Louisiana tradition of red beans on wash day, but her independent mom made what she grew up eating in Alabama. Not only an excellent Southern cook and from-scratch baker, Grandma was also a skilled seamstress, embroiderer, and crocheter. Through her I learned to appreciate handwork, textiles, and so much more. Grandma was my safe person and her home, less than a ten-minute walk from ours, was my safe haven; "Abita Butterbean" is a tribute to her and my hometown.
