Recently I was accepted into a certain very exclusive, years-long-of-a-wait club. It feels like it took at least five, but in reality I can’t remember when I signed up. It was probably during the early days of the pandemic when I was definitely desperate for community — any community.
You might be thinking the club is some elitist sanctuary where I would have to wear a blazer and still have to pay to dine at the restaurant, but no, this club is a bean club. Yep, you read that right. I am now officially a member of a club where I will be receiving pounds and pounds of dried heirloom beans from small sustainable farms in California, the greater US, Mexico and beyond. Full disclosure: This is an ad-free column so the club will remain unnamed.