by Gina Lawton

Created on: June 14, 2009

My mom died in 2005. With her passed from this life a magnificent cook who lived by the "pinch and taste" method of culinary greatness. Although I tried to prepare for the inevitable, asking her to jot down favorite recipes and methods, it wasn't until she was gone that I realized how woefully incomplete my preparation had been.

In the years that have followed, I've spent a good deal of time trying to figure things out. Some have been easy ... the tasty home made banana cake with peanut butter frosting she made every year for my birthday, or the "dough-glob" soup of boiled broth topped with baking mix, spooned noodles that waited for me after a cold, winter walk home from the bus stop.

Others, however, have come by trial and painful error. Just yesterday, I took baked beans to a friend's gathering. My friends went on and on about the amazing beans ... and seconds and thirds flew from the buffet table.

My mom always made amazing baked beans. No cans were harmed in the process; from dry beans and simple ingredients, she would whip up a taste of summer that was renowned among family and friends alike. But her beans were one of those recipes that I asked about numerous times, and always got the same answer - "Oh, I just soak them, then throw in some ketchup, mustard, and brown sugar. Bake them for a while, and they're good to go."

The first time I made Mom's beans, I did exactly that. Sadly, I had to stop at the store and buy something else, because they were uneatable, hard, and tasteless. I could almost hear my mom laughing from the great beyond ... her magical beans and their ability to usher in warm, family memories went to the grave with her.

But I was determined not to let this priceless recipe fade with time. I set about perfecting the bean recipe, going on what I knew and the flavor of my mom's beans I remembered. Sometimes, I met with great success. Others, I was left with half-cooked beans, or beans so overwhelmed with the taste of mustard I had to throw them away.

One night, as I was approaching the bean dilemma again, I pulled a long-forgotten memory to the front of my brain. We were preparing for what would be the first of many wonderful family reunions at a local park. My mom, with her great love of family, had worked to make sure every family member still alive was invited. She was making her baked beans, and my husband and little boy were spending the night at my parent's home in preparation for the reunion.

Again, I asked my mom: "So, how

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