Ranch Style Beans---an Encounter

I've always wondered about those Ranch Beans. They come in a black can. The label says they are "appetite pleasin' " and to illustrate this there is a cartoon guy licking his lips. I have to say if there is a phrase I have never been able to resist, it's  --"appetite pleasin'.  The beans also brag that they are packing "Real Western Flavor", and you know that's not something you can get just anywhere. There is a lot going on across the front of the can.

So I decided to give them a try. Some people experiment with drugs, or sex. I experiment with beans. They did give off kind of a psychedelic glow when I opened them. The beans are a nuclear shade of orange, and swim in a thick sauce that can only mean lots of additives. Yum.

What exactly is in them? Pintos, dressed up with tomato paste, onion and garlic powders, other un-named spices, a blend of vegetable oils and "rendered beef fat," which I think is another way of saying lard.

Ranch Style Beans have been around since 1935, and from the looks of the can they haven't changed much. But these are some beans that believe in themselves. I never saw a bean work so hard at self-promotion. The advertising from the back of the label is insistent:

"We think you will like them with just about anything."

"Ranch Style beans are hearty and true!"

I find the earnestness of the last declaration kind of touching. I don't usually expect a lot from canned food products. But I've always wanted my bean to be true.

These beans, though, are kind of evil, in that they are oddly compelling. Their flavor is hard to pin down. You think, "what am I tasting?" So you keep eating them trying to figure them out. They are heavily seasoned with something that might be gunpowder. You suspect that this can't be good for your stomach. But you keep eating them and eating them anyway. Straight out of the can.