Mariah Carey has taught us many things: gratuitious vocabulary words, chopping the top off your jeans with scissors so they’re more low-waisted, and of course, the art of the creatively honourable remix. For the true of heart, riffing on an existing idea doesn’t mean simply swapping out a teaspoon of this or that—it’s about giving a recipe another reason to live. In this case, I suspected that my triple tomato risotto could also be lavishly excellent when pulsified with beans instead of rice. I was correct—and it took quarter of the time to make.

Note, I didn’t say improvement—the inspiration origin is still one of the best dinners you’ll ever have—but for those days when you desire to consume an entire can of beans in a godlike manner, this is an excellent option. As with the previous iteration, the triple-threat tomatoes each have their part to play but here instead of flavouring a risotto, they cling wantonly to tender, yielding beans. By ‘triple tomato’, I of course mean:

• A single fresh, chopped tomato with salt and olive oil coaxing sweetness from its flesh, this process will force lusciousness on all but the most anaemic of specimens
• A vast quantity of tomato paste, fried until richly un-metallic
• Sun-dried tomatoes, knife-pulverised and densely, almost meatily intense

Although the tomato paste and sun-dried tomatoes make this more price-friendly than if you were deriving flavour entirely from actual tomatoes, they’re not just there for mere economic flourish—the addition of concentrated preserved ingredients to the sprightly fresh one provides impact of such magnitude that it’s like being run over by a steamroller shaped like a giant tomato.

The beans, in their pleasantly bland creaminess, make a fine marriage with the vigorously acidic and full-bodied sauce. I chose borlotti for their nutty mellowness, but absolutely use cannellini, navy, pinto, kidney or butter beans here as supply allows.

Now, this is an unsurprising combination, given the proliferation of canned baked beans lining the supermarket shelves, but an exquisite one nonetheless and honestly, not too much more effort. In fact, I imagine this would actually be good on toast, but I’d prefer to have good bread on the side for smearing through the sauce. The pistachios aren’t essential per se—I enjoy a little textural flounce more than anything—but I wanted to make this completely vegan, and their emerald luxury stands in for the original risotto’s parmesan, though now that I think about it, a gleaming crumble of feta would be wonderful here, too. Speaking of subs, a few other obvious pals would work well—a musky bouquet of basil leaves; slivered almonds; extra cherry tomatoes for quadruple flavour; and perhaps even a rakishly fresh scattering of coriander and mint.

For more recipes that make the most of pantry-based tomatoes—other than my triple tomato risotto of course—I recommend this Zibdiyit Gambari (prawns in spiced tomato sauce); this Oven-baked Pearl Couscous with Pumpkin, Sun-dried Tomatoes and Feta; and this Creamy Gochujang Tomato Pasta. And for more bean-spiration (sorry), I recommend my recent round-up of 23 recipes.

And if I may, a reminder that my debut novel Hoods Landing will be published by Āporo Press on 31 October which is THIS MONTH; the launch parties will be that same day in Wellington and on 13 November in Auckland. If you’re not going to buy it at the launch, you can also, thrillingly, pre-order Hoods Landing worldwide and locally for delivery or pickup—tell your friends! Tell your enemies! Tell the indifferent, who could be swayed in either direction! Bring them along to get it signed at the launch parties! Find out more, which you probably already know, at my official author website.

Triple tomato beans

This vibrantly ruby-red dish is fast, easy, and pugnaciously tomato-y. As always, before going shopping for these or any ingredients, I recommend checking out the Boycott Aotearoa zines so you know which brands to avoid. Recipe by myself, adapted from my triple tomato risotto.

• 1 large, ripe tomato
• Salt and pepper
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic
• 6 sun-dried tomatoes
• 125ml (1/2 cup) tomato paste
• 45ml dry vermouth or dry white wine
• 1 x 400g tin borlotti beans
• A handful of flat-leaf parsley and 30g pistachios, to serve

1: First, chop your tomato—you can get away with just using one, especially in this economy, but two are most welcome—and tip it into a small bowl along with any tomato juice that has pooled on the chopping board. Sprinkle with a hearty pinch of the salt and pepper, and pour over two tablespoons of the olive oil. Set aside.

2: Then, take this opportunity to finely slice the three garlic cloves and to roughly chop to the point of almost mincing, the 6 sun-dried tomatoes.

3: Next, warm up the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a wide saucepan, and fry the 125ml of tomato paste, stirring constantly. The heat will thicken the tomato paste and make its colour more richly dark, once it hits this point—about two minutes should do it—add your fragrant rubble of sliced garlic cloves and sun-dried tomatoes and stir for a minute.

4: Pour in the 45ml vermouth, it may bubble up a little in the pan’s heat. Briefly drain your 400g tin of borlotti beans—it’s fine if some can-liquid remains—and stir this into the pan along with the 60ml water. Let it come to a robust simmer, then remove from the heat.

5: Finally, grab your reserved bowl of chopped fresh tomato and empty the lot, including every last droplet of spatula-d olive oil, into the beans. Stir through and taste—carefully, tomatoes tend to be hotter than the face of the sun—and see if it needs more salt, pepper, even another swirl of olive oil.

6: Tear the flat-leaf parsley, and briefly chop the 30g pistachios, if only to give the illusion that you have more than you do—and scatter this over the beans. Serve.

Serves one heartily and robustly, or two with, say, bread on the side for swiping. I wouldn’t say no to bread for one either, though.

Note: Cannellini or butter beans would be great here, too. I’ve also used Dolin Rouge or a splash of red wine as the alcohol to great effect; if you don’t have access or want to leave it out, I’d add a splash more water and really check for seasoning as you go; it may want a little more salt or a squeeze of lemon.

music lately:

Plock by Plone, the whimsy coursing through me as I listen to this! Makes me feel like a shy yet hopeful Casiotone on its first day of university or something.

TRUE FREAK by Nico de Benito, it’s ominous, opulent, truculent, and I adore the tarot imagery in the video.

Yume No Tsuzuki by Mariya Takeuchi, when that gentle, warmly sparkly opening beat suddenly picks up I feel like I could jog through the city streets without complaining about how much I hate jogging.

Ever by Flipper. Ever look at a flower and hate it? I’m telling ya, the hand-claps are crucial here, if it didn’t sound so happy it wouldn’t be as sad.

PS: Feeling hopeless is a luxury that serves no one but those perpetrating the hopelessness. You can donate to ReliefAid’s Gaza Appeal, who are connected with teams on the ground in Gaza; you can donate to Convoys of Good, another registered NZ charity distributing aid. You can also still donate to mutual aid accounts or support the people fundraising via Emily Writes’ Tents 4 Gaza appeal to supply families in Palestine with shelter. As I’ve already mentioned, you can also demonstrate your control and power through the absence of your dollars. Boycott Zine Aotearoa has helpfully put together two comprehensive free zines so you can quickly see who to studiously avoid when buying food, drinks, household items and beauty products.