Once upon a time, so long ago, Mister B sauntered into a supermarket in Crouch End, London. So far, so good. But then he crashed to a halt. It was an arresting experience: one of the supermarket's shelves had a long row of blue tins that were, verily, rhythmically pulsing a day-glo bright blue colour.
Perhaps that had something to do with the hallucinogenic he had ingested an hour or two earlier.
But those eight-ounce tins of Heinz Baked Beans. . . identical, innumerable. . . temporarily neon-light bright. . . where did they come from? And inside the tins, what kind of beans were they? Where did they, you know, grow?
Thus began an alchemical quest to discover the true nature of things. It lasted a couple of weeks, until another distraction interfered. That might have been psilocybin or a girl named Lesley. Or, psilocybin and Lesley. Who knows? It's a long time ago. Anyway, it was only later, much later, that the truth about baked beans became known: baked beans
Elsewhere, a cornucopia of new books tells us where our food comes from. By Tom Philpott, good read: grist