When I was growing up, every Monday you could find a pot of frijoles bubbling away on my mami's stove. As we walked in from school, the aromas coming from her kitchen were enough to wash away any ugliness from the day. The arroz lightly frying in her trusty cast-iron skillet was a sure sign that we were having arroz y frijoles for dinner. This was and still is my favorite dish—flavorful rice soaking in broth and piles of meaty pinto beans brimming with that cooked-all-day flavor. I didn't care if it was fajitas or enchiladas as the main dish, as long as I had my arroz y frijoles.