Thug Kitchen Four-Bean Salad
This dish. This fucking dish.
It’s so good. You’ll be going back for third, and fourth helpings. They say that there’s enough for 6 to 8 people as a side, but they fucking lie. If you like it as much as I do, there’s not much for sharing.
You can find this delicious Four-Bean Salad on page 84 of your official Instruction Manual, which you will find stowed securely beneath your seat. Please remember to keep your seat in the upright position, unless we are preparing for crash landing, then lean back and enjoy the ride.
So, this recipe is easy as fuck to make, and then it just marinates all by itself in the fridge, making time for you to go drink some beers, or sit in the sun, or stroke your cat, or stalk your ex – whatever it is you get your kicks doing. The dressing is what hands this salad its trophy though. Marination, baby, marination.
Now, all I will say, is that if you are not a seasoned bean eater, then this bean dish will (as all bean dishes do to new-beaners) give you enough fart-power to propel as small vehicle forward. Screw farting in the elevator, you’ll be rocketing skywards without assistance, other than the ASS-istance the beans have offered. You know what I’m saying? Just mentally prepare yourself bean-newbies, and if you eat the ENTIRE salad all by yourself….and you just might – it’s THAT good…then remember to invest in extra toilet paper. Okay? You’ve been warned.
Now to us hardened bean-eaters, this salad didn’t even blip on the radar. So calm yourself. It won’t necessarily lead to you running full speed toward a public toilet. Take a gamble, that’s what keeps life interesting.
Speaking of interesting, I’ll leave you with a story.
Right now I’m working at a kindergarten. We took the kids to a performance recently and I was at the back with this one kid who’s smaller than the others. Poor little dude couldn’t see anything. So I sat him on my lap so he was higher up and could see what was going on. He seemed really happy that I’d lifted him up, and he turned and looked at me, with smiling eyes. He doesn’t speak a lot. He looked back at the performance. He seemed really absorbed in what was going on. He turned and looked at me again whenever something special would happen, almost as if to say, ‘did you see that?’ This one time he looked at me and his look lingered. He stopped smiling for a short second and then he beamed even brighter than before. I smiled back, thinking we’d shared a moment. ‘How cute is this little happy kid?’ I thought. Then I felt a warmth spread across my lap. I realised he’d had an accident. Then the smell hit me. He’d shat himself. ALL. OVER. ME.
With no diapers on any kind of protection barrier, it was just seeping straight from his trousers to mine. Good times.
I think the best part was that after I got him cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes I had to carry on working in my shitty clothes for the rest of the day. Literally.
As I left work, with a little less spring-in-my-step than when I’d arrived that morning, I wondered if he’d had beans for dinner the night before. I’d bet my fucking cookbook that he had.