Homestyle Refried Beans

The border towns of Texas and Mexico share many things: families, languages, and a fierce devotion to frijoles refritos. These beans have fed ranch hands and senators, appeared at quinceañeras and Tuesday suppers, traveled in casserole dishes to church potlucks and neighborhood barbecues. They are democratic food in the truest sense.

Forget the canned versions with their tinny undertaste and suspicious uniformity. Real refried beans start with dried pintos, cooked low and slow until they surrender completely, then fried in proper fat until they achieve that characteristic glossy sheen. The fat is essential. Lard is traditional, bacon drippings are acceptable, and even vegetable oil works in a pinch. But the fat carries flavor and creates texture that water never could.

I learned to make these beans from a woman in Laredo who laughed at my first attempt. Too much liquid, she said, and not enough patience. The beans need time in the hot fat to concentrate their flavor and develop body. Rush them and you get bean soup. Give them their due and you get something worth crossing a border for.

Make a big batch. They reheat beautifully, travel well to potlucks, and improve after a night in the refrigerator as the flavors meld. Thin them with a little warm water or stock when reheating, and they'll return to their original creamy glory.