There’s something about a baked bean supper that never goes out of style.

It’s a Saturday night tradition that has been honored by generations of farm families.

These days, the time-consuming preparation is usually undertaken by longtime members of churches, granges and lodges. It’s as much an occasion for meeting with friends as it is for enjoyment of the food.

Although our 150-year-old homestead has a recently-added wing with an up-to-date kitchen, the original kitchen’s Queen Atlantic wood stove still sits at the opposite end of the building, where it serves as an auxiliary heating source.

For decades, baked beans were the centerpiece of Saturday night meals in that old kitchen. My grandmother, Hattie Sargent, created many delicious dishes on that stove.

Thanks to an undated column by my aunt, Edith Labbie, in the Lewiston Evening Journal Magazine Section, I have a new appreciation of the skill and planning required to produce that special weekly feast.

“Saturday night really began Friday evening,” my aunt wrote. “That was the time we picked over the Lowe’s Champion beans.” No matter how careful the cooks might be, it was always possible for a tiny pebble or two to get past them.

After the stove’s firebox was crammed full and the dampers shut before retiring, the beans were put to soak in a large round flat agate pan on the back of the stove.

“Saturday forenoon was the busiest morning of the week for Mother,” the column said. “The oven indicator on the stove door went way up out of sight as the fire box was kept filled with dry hardwood. Molasses cookies, pies, and cakes left a fragrant trail as they were taken from the oven to the pantry to cool.

“By 10 o’clock the all-important bean pot was filled. On the bottom was the hunk of salt pork scored down to the rind. A mixture of molasses, ginger, salt and water trickled down through. Now, some green wood was added to the dry fuel so the oven would hold steady all day,” she wrote.

Those were pre-school days for me, but I vividly remember that kitchen scene, and my aunt’s description of Grammie changing into an “afternoon dress” before sitting down with her needlework or a good book. The sound of the bean juices sizzling onto the bottom of the oven would remind her to check them.

If there was a storm brewing the beans would soak up water like a blotter, my aunt recalled.

“On top of the stove the brown bread was bubbling and clunking as it cooked in a two-quart lard pail set in a kettle of boiling water. Whenever she mixed it up, Mother used to chant a little verse that her mother taught her . . . One quart of sweet milk, one cup of sour, one cup of Indian meal, one cup of flour.”

At five o’clock came the moment of truth. The heavy hot bean pot was set on top of the stove and a large serving dish “was ladled full of the mahogany-colored beans swimming in rich juices and smelling like the Promised Land,” she said.

“The brown bread was turned out onto a platter and the slices were cut with a string held taut between Mother’s hands. This kept the moist pieces from getting soggy. Real butter, made from our own cream, melted as soon as it was spread. Oh my!”

That column also told of dinners at Auburn Grange No. 4 at East Auburn, where my grandparents and parents were active members. The dining hall had row after row of long tables where dozens of members enjoyed dinners and chatted like one big family. Dinners like that can still be experienced at halls throughout Maine.

I like baked beans of all kinds, and I’m even happy with quick-heated beans from a can. Fortunately, my wife, Judy, knows there’s nothing as good as baked beans that start with dried beans from local producers that are usually bought in plain paper bags. Our favorites among the varieties used for Maine baked beans are yellow eyed or Jacob’s cattle.

Are you hungry yet? Then I’ve done my job. Watch for a weekend baked bean dinner served by an organization near you, and most are announced on handmade roadside signs. One word to the wise . . . they all sell out early.

Dave Sargent is freelance writer and a native of Auburn. He can be reached by sending email to davidsargent607@gmail.com.

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