When I landed, I thought maybe the worst was over. That was wishful thinking.
I stayed with my sister and her boyfriend in a cramped, smoke-filled apartment. The couch became my bed. The air was heavy, not just from cigarettes, but from unspoken tension and sideways glances. I didn’t speak English. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t know how to drive. And I quickly learned I wasn’t welcome.
The only time I felt like myself was when I stood in the kitchen. Here’s a glimpse into my story, and how habichuelas con dulce helped me find my courage in a world unknown.
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A Dominican Classic With Deep Roots
Habichuelas con dulce, or sweet beans, isn’t just food. In the Dominican Republic, it’s comfort. It’s tradition. It’s a dish you look forward to when Lent rolls around, or when you just need a taste of something that reminds you you’re not alone.
It’s made in big pots, enough for the neighbors and the aunties and the cousins and whoever else might knock on your door. It’s not a dish you rush. You simmer it slow and let the spices open up. You let it fill the house.
The First Dish I Made in My New Home
In those first few weeks in America, I felt invisible. I was mocked, ignored, belittled. But when I made habichuelas con dulce, it was like I lit a candle in the dark. Barefoot on cold tile, stirring coconut milk and cinnamon sticks into a pot of sweet beans, I remembered something: I am still me. Even here. Even now. I didn’t have to earn my right to exist. I had already survived so much.
That first pot of habichuelas con dulce was the first time I felt like I belonged in this strange, unkind place. It wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about reclaiming my voice through flavor. Cooking has always been a safe space for me to reconnect with my body. This is just one moment of many.
Read More of My Story Through Cooking
Habichuelas con Dulce Recipe
Ingredients
- 4 cups boiled red kidney beans or cranberry or pinto beans
- 6 cups water from boiling the beans or more water if using canned
- 2 cups coconut milk
- 3 cups evaporated milk
- ½ tsp salt
- 1 cup white granulated sugar
- 1 tsp Dominican vanilla extract
- 2 cinnamon sticks
- 4 anise stars
- 10 cloves
- 10 whole allspice
- ½ lb white batata (sweet potato) peeled and diced
- ½ cup raisins
- 2 tbsp salted butter
- 1 Cup milk cookies For Garnish
Instructions
- Boil beans until soft (about an hour).
- Blend beans with water and strain to remove skins.
- Combine bean purée with coconut milk and evaporated milk, salt, sugar, vanilla, spices, and batata.
- Simmer on low until sweet potatoes are tender, stirring regularly.
- Remove spices, add raisins, and cook 10 more minutes.
- Remove from the heat, then stir in butter. Let the mixture cool and chill.
- Serve with cookies.
Tips for First-Time Makers:
- Choose the right beans. Red kidney is traditional, but cranberry or pinto will do in a pinch.
- Don’t skip straining. The smooth texture is what makes this dish feel like silk on the tongue.
- Use white batata. It’s not the orange sweet potato you might know-it has a lighter, starchier taste that balances the sweetness.
- Let it chill. This dish thickens as it cools. Cold is how we serve it back home.
Cooking as a Bridge Between Two Worlds
This recipe isn’t sweet just because of the sugar. It’s sweet because of what it gave me. A moment of peace. A reminder that survival can still taste good. If you’ve ever felt stuck between identities or lost in a place that doesn’t feel like yours, let food be your anchor. For me, habichuelas con dulce wasn’t just dessert. It was resistance. It was self-love.
Want to know how food helped me heal? I share more stories like this one in my book, Rising Above Adversity: Healing and Nurturing Your Inner Child.
For those of us with Dominican roots, mangú is more than a breakfast staple. It’s a little taste of home, no matter where in the world we are. And for anyone discovering it for the first time, you’re tasting more than plantains. You’re tasting history, resilience, and joy.
Where Food Meets Healing
I didn’t grow up with softness. But now, every time I stir a pot of habichuelas con dulce, I offer myself the gentleness I was once denied. And I offer it to others too. This dish isn’t about remembering where I came from. It’s about honoring who I’ve become. If you enjoyed this recipe, check out some of my others to learn more about my story, my culture, and my favorite dishes:
