Bean Hole Bake

 

Day 8 of the Flash Fiction Marathon: Write a story based on your favorite taste or smell, all the better if it has to do with fall. What recipes or traditions do you practice during fall that are connected to your senses?   The women were in the club house wrapping hams in layers of wet cheese cloth. They chatted about this and that as they did every year. Apple and pumpkin pies were baking in the oven. The click of a knife against a cutting board created a beat as a pile of cabbage and carrots grew. This day would not be the same without the cole slaw. The beans had been soaking all day, then boiled before being put into the brown pots. Just the right amount of molasses, mustard, a slice of onion and salt pork went in before the pots were filled to the top with water. There was a collective cheer when the covers were added. Outside, the men were braving the cold wind that blew the few remaining colored leaves off the trees. The men had taken turns digging the hole in the same spot where it had been dug for the last three generations of club members on the first Saturday in November. As much of a tradition as the annual bean hole bake was, so was sipping hot buttered rum as they worked. They weighed the chances of the Pats, Celtics and Bruins that year for bringing home another championship. Once the hole was completed, a wood fire was started. “We gotta wait until the embers are a good three inches deep,” Tom said. He was head of the committee in charge of the annual Bean Hole Bake for the 15th year. They all knew by the crackle of the wood, when the embers were ready to add the ten softball-sized rocks. These rocks were kept in a special cabinet in an oak cabinet in the club’s storage area.

The women had long ago gone to bed, leaving the bean pots and hams on the kitchen counter for the men to retrieve.

Using a shovel they removed the heated rocks from the hole, replacing them with the ham and beans which they covered with tin foil. Only then did they seal the hole with the hot rocks. By noon the next day, the club members had filtered in. This year the table would be inside because the wind was too strong to eat outside, but everyone stood around as the rocks were removed and the bean pots and hams were recovered. The women opened cans of Boston Brown Bread. It was only in the last five years, that the Boston Brown Bread was bought after determining for all the work that went into it, no one could taste the difference between the bought and homemade. This year, there had been a list of topics not allowed. Among the 50 forbidden topics were the name Democrats, Republicans, politics, BLM, socialism, steal, BBB. Someone had built a fire in the walk-in fireplace. Outside, the wind howled. Inside everyone felt happy. 470 words