If someone had told the teenage Adriana that I would one day be cooking beans ON PURPOSE, they would have been met with such a derisive scoff they would have questioned their own relevance in the world.

I didn’t like beans and I certainly didn’t EAT them!

Unavoidably, like all kids in a Mexican family, I was regularly put to work sorting them. This involved sitting at a table with a bowl in my lap and a huge pile of shiny, brown pinto beans in front of me. The beans were spread out in sections and I had the saving-the-world job of picking out the black, grainy rocks, shriveled, and even just broken beans. The ones deemed worthy were swept into the bowl with a satisfying clatter.

Being a stupidly picky eater, I avoided the finished product and never would have imagined how delicious they actually are. Never mind the nutritional benefits, they are perfect alone or alongside crispy chicken tacos, Spanish rice, and homemade salsa. I love them whole and soupy as much as I crave them smashed and refried with gooey gobs of melted cheddar cheese.

I just put a pot on to cook. Beforehand, I half-heartedly rifled through them and literally found only one broken one and not a single rock. I don’t relish slave labor, but it would have been fun to mindlessly sort them and listen to the sound of dropping beans.

Modern machinery and convenient efficiency has made my childhood job obsolete. My kids missed out; though, I’m sure they would answer that observation with a derisive scoff.