This soup bears the name of one in my earlier book, How to Eat, but is very different in composition. There are fewer ingredients in it and fewer demands on the cook who makes it. But how could I lose such a title—in this chapter of all places?

The point about this is that it provides a way of using up the sweet, dark liquor that the Coke-cooked ham has left behind. I know I’m extravagant, but as I’m so fond of intoning, I’m never wasteful, and this is a rewarding way of satisfying my need to use up every last thing in the kitchen. It’s not as if you need to make the soup right away; by all means freeze the stock for future soups if you want. In terms of flavor, I dare say it could be used for a variety of soups, but there is an aesthetic factor to be considered—which isn’t the same thing as being queeny about presentation. The point about black beans is that they’re black: what do they care about the color of the stock they’re simmered in? If anything, the sludgy darkness of this liquid enhances their muddy glory.