How To Make Jelly Beans
Sometimes, when you haven’t bought groceries for a long period of time, you are forced to make do with what you have on hand in your pantry. I’ve created many exotic dishes this way—there was one time I only had four pounds of fresh mangoes, a cup of brown sugar, two sticks of celery, a pile of cranberries, a tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil, two yellow onions, a few ounces of apple cider vinegar, a half cup of minced ginger, three garlic cloves, a pinch of salt, and some love. From this, I was somehow able to craft a batch of what I named Third World Cranberry Mango Chutney, for that is how I imagine suffering people cook. They make what they can, and then create folk music on garbage can lids. After that I pan-seared a twelve ounce steak in some butter and poured the chutney over it. I took one bite and threw everything away, because I realized that I do not like chutney, and the taste had ruined the steak.
So, the other day, I found myself with literally nothing but some very old grape jelly, and half a can of black beans. I put those beans in a pan, then added the jelly and let it simmer for five minutes.
I named the dish Jelly Beans. They did not taste good.
I think you may have put too much love into your chutney. If you put in too much love and heat it for too long, it can turn into hate, and that’s probably what made the steak inedible.
That actually makes a lot of sense. Nothing but sterile, loveless cooking from here on out!
Black jelly beans never taste good.
That is true. My overinflated ego was telling me I could be the one to change that. I have been humbled.
You should try the candy jelly beans!