I started them the night before, like Martha said.
Soaked the beans in the chipped green bowl I’ve had since college—the one Mae dropped once and said, “It’s just more interesting now.”
The kitchen was cold, and the bay leaves smelled dusty in a way that made me miss my dad. He used to rub them between his fingers before dropping them into stews, like he was testing them for secrets.
This recipe had twelve cloves in it. Twelve. I counted out loud. Lost track. Counted again.
I didn’t expect much. But they surprised me.
Sweet, slow, a little bit stubborn. Like someone I used to be in love with.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s baked beans are old-school and unapologetic.
Pinto or navy beans soaked overnight, then baked low and slow for six hours.
She starts with a bed of sliced onions, tomatoes crushed by hand, a drizzle of molasses that smells like winter, and thick cuts of salt pork over the top like a promise.
No stirring. No shortcuts.
Just time, and heat, and a sauce that darkens like memory.
What I Did Differently
Used navy beans instead of pinto—because they were what I had.
Skipped the cloves after six. Couldn’t bring myself to use all twelve.
Added a splash of coffee to the water halfway through.
Don’t ask why. It felt right.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The beans boiled over at hour three.
The oven hissed like it was warning me.
I wiped it up with the tea towel that still smells like that burnt tart from spring. Didn’t panic. Didn’t stop.
They baked again.
The top caramelized into something sticky and deep. I didn’t stir. I wanted to. But I didn’t. That was hard.
By the time Mae got home, the house smelled like every cookout we ever left too early.
She said, “Smells like someone’s trying.”
I didn’t answer. Just dished her a bowl.
A Few Things I Learned While They Baked
Beans take what they want from you.
They ask for your patience and reward you with sweetness that sneaks up on you.
Also: molasses can carry an emotion.
What I Did With the Extras
Ate them cold with toast.
Froze half for a day I forget how to cook.
Gave a small jar to my neighbor and didn’t explain why. She texted, “This tastes like a memory.” I didn’t reply.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes.
But only when I have time to feel things.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The beans are gone. The pot’s still soaking.
The smell hasn’t left the house. I’m okay with that.
If you want something faster but just as nostalgic, I made Martha’s cornbread with honey last month and nearly cried. Different recipe. Same ache.
FAQs
technically, yes. emotionally, no. let them soak. it matters.
no. I used six. it still haunted the pot in a good way.
not quite. but bacon’ll work if that’s what you’ve got. just go heavier on the savory.
yes, but you’ll need smoke. try smoked paprika, maybe a little soy sauce. layer your flavor like you mean it.
3–4 days in the fridge. up to 3 months in the freezer. reheat slow, with a splash of water, and don’t forget to stir this time.
Martha Stewart’s Baked Beans – Nell’s Version
Description
Thick, sweet, and cooked slow enough to remember things you meant to forget.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Soak the beans overnight. cover with cold water in a large bowl and leave them alone. drain when ready to cook.
- Preheat the oven to 300°F. let it warm slow. this is a long-haul kind of recipe.
- Layer the ingredients. in a Dutch oven or heavy pot, add onions, crushed tomatoes, bay leaves, mustard, cloves, brown sugar, salt, and pepper. pour soaked beans on top. drizzle molasses. lay the salt pork over everything like a blanket.
- Add the water. pour in 5 cups of hot water gently. cover with a lid and don’t look back.
- Bake without stirring. place in the oven for about 6 hours. check every 45 minutes and add water if needed. don’t touch the beans. let them be.
- Finish and taste. once they’re thick and tender, take the pot out. adjust seasoning if you want. maybe more salt. maybe not.
- Serve warm. maybe with cornbread. maybe straight from the pot. maybe over the sink, like I did.